By the Light of the Silvery Moon

by Amanda McIntyre

  Dan doubled over and his giant shoulders quaked with laughter. “Looks like your work left you a little high strung, Jerome,” Dan offered with a teasing grin.

  Shelly smiled sweetly and held her napkin out to him.

  Jerome patted the crotch of his jeans with a wad of napkins, attempting to ignore Dan’s taunting.

  “You best be changing those drawers before you head out into them woods, boy. You don’t want some coffee-loving varmint to catch wind of that scent. You could find yourself in one heck of a lot of trouble.”

  Jerome offered Dan a half-sneer. “Funny.” He slid a humiliated look to Shelly.

  “I love coffee,” she mouthed, out of sight of Dan’s teasing torment.

  Jerome’s crotch twitched as he held her sultry gaze. “I, uh, gotta go, Dan. Put this on my tab.” He left before he embarrassed himself further.

  He stood outside the diner and gulped in a healthy portion of crisp autumn air to clear the lusty fog in his brain. What he needed was a cold shower, but even better, perhaps a night with Shelly in his bed. It was as though his body was completely in tune with hers. Like she knew what he thought. The notion of course, was absurd. Whatever it was, he sure as hell never experienced it with any other woman. Not that there had been many, anyway. The itch for her was getting worse, that much he knew.

  “See you around, Jerome. You can pick up your pictures later this afternoon. They should be ready.”

  Shelly emerged from the diner and stepped down the single concrete step turning up the block towards the Quik-Foto.

  His love-struck gaze rested on her heart-shaped butt, encased in those painted-on black jeans. The cowboy boots she wore only added to the provocative sway of her hips as she walked away. He knew sure as the full moon that he would waste another roll of film just to see her again today. It was then he realized if he ever intended to find relief from this self-imposed torture, he must get up the balls to ask her out.

  Hinkle. She’d sensed his interest like a second skin. The desire emanating from his body beckoned to her with animalistic power. Shelly stuffed another film roll on the conveyer belt. A roll of pictures developed in an hour was a Quik-Foto policy. It was one of the single, most-treasured aspects of life in this small town and one of the fastest things next to town gossip.

  Shelly’s mind wandered to Jerome. Was he as ruthless as it was rumored his father was? He seemed like such a quiet, soft-spoken man.

  She thought of what her mother said about finding her mate in the most unusual of places. Given the history of their families, why then would she be so drawn to Jerome? Truly a well-built man of the earth, she never saw him in anything but jeans, a flannel shirt, and boots, but they fit his naturally-honed physique with the same appeal as any man who spent hours in a gym.

  Her mind wandered to the anguish on her mother’s face as she retold the death of Shelly’s father and brothers. She could not deny what she felt for Jerome, nor could she deny the instinct to protect her mother from anymore pain. She’d had enough in her life. Shelly didn’t want to be the cause of more. After all, one Hinkle had already tried to take her mother’s life. Could the apple fall that far from the tree? Maybe what she sensed was his warped obsession with her family? Did he know they were she-wolves? Maybe he still blamed her family for what happened to his father? If she was ever to have any peace of mind, she would need to find out the truth.

  After at least two dozen rolls of film, Jerome finally mustered the courage to ask Shelly for a date. He figured the odds of her saying “no” outweighed the torture of his continued unrequited desire. He knew about the rumors between their families and he wanted to assure her that he was nothing like his father. He was astounded when she readily agreed to have dinner with him

  “I’m willing to fix something at my place,” he gallantly offered brushing his fingers over her latex gloves.

  Her eyes widened in horror. “You mean where you have all those stuffed animals?”

  “They’re dead before they’re stuffed, Shelly. It’s not like they feel anything.” He shrugged. “Besides, I’m not into that like my dad was.”

  Her expression softened. She regarded him with those gorgeous golden eyes. He never noticed before how quickly they changed to a beautiful honey color. Maybe it was related to her mood. Her long dark hair, scooped up in a thick ponytail revealed even more of her gorgeous oval face. Her hair swished back and forth when she walked, holding Jerome a helpless prisoner.

  “How about my place?” she spoke over her shoulder as she bent over the file, retrieving his last deposit of photos. “Do you like old movies?”

  Jerome’s heart began a slow thud. The thought of a cozy dinner and snuggling next to her on the couch was pure bliss.

  “Sounds perfect. What time?” He pulled his focus from her backside as she faced him.

  “I get off early on Friday. How about four o’clock? That way we can turn in early since we both have to work the next day.” She grinned. “Oh, now this isn’t going to cause any problems with your research, is it?”

  Jerome shook his head, his brain still musing at the “turning in early” part.

  “Can I bring anything?” He hoped he could walk out of the store with the enthusiasm swelling in his jeans.

  “I’ll have everything covered.” She smiled in response, placing the pictures on the counter between them.

  Not if I have anything to say about it. Jerome touched the brim of his ball cap.

  Her smile showed white, even teeth against her tanned face. Hot damn, what a night this was going to be.

  He glanced up at the late afternoon autumn sky, beribboned in shades of amethyst and orange. He’d better drop in Farley’s Drugs and pick up some aftershave and a few other provisions, as well. He refused to dwell on how at ease Shelly seemed to be with the date; it made him want to kick himself for not asking her out sooner.

  Try as he might to stay calm, Jerome couldn’t prevent the sweat from darkening the front of the blue silk shirt he’d found while sifting through his father’s old clothes. He figured silk was timeless and women loved the feel of the slick fabric. He raised his fist to Shelly’s door, took a deep breath and knocked. A moment ticked by and when it opened, she stood there before him—a proverbial goddess.

  “Hey you.” She smiled and stepped aside to let him in the foyer of her home.

  She had simple tastes, down to earth, like him. The rich scent of leather furniture and a crackling fire teased his already heightened senses.

  Some type of rock fountain, Zen art he figured, graced the corner of the open living room. Beside it, shadowed in the flickering glow of the fire, stood a life-sized stone statue of a beautiful, nude woman, her arms raised to the heavens. Provocative and alluring, if not for the fact the woman’s head resembled a wolf with a mane of human hair cascading over her shoulders.

  “That’s some statue, Shel.” Jerome nodded toward the unusual piece.

  “One of my brothers carved it. It’s quite alluring, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is,” Jerome muttered, his attention distracted by the silhouette of Shelly’s body through the sheer caftan. He stumbled down the single step into the sunken living room. “Boot caught.”

  She smiled easily. The firelight behind her illuminated the deep bronze fabric that draped to her ankles, making her look like a Mayan goddess. Her dark hair was styled just as he loved it best, loose and free, cascading over her slim shoulders.

  “Gawd Almighty, Shelly, you look good enough to eat.”

  She turned briefly and offered him a seductive smile. “I’m not on the menu.”

  Jerome kicked himself mentally for moving too fast. He needed to give her time, maybe even let her make the first move.

  “I decided we could eat in front of the television, while we watch our movie. How does that sound?”

  Like heaven. “Sounds fine, that’s what I do most of the time. You ever watch that show called Animal Habitat?”

  She reached for his hat. “
Sorry, I’m not familiar with it. Would you like a glass of wine, a beer maybe?”

  “Beer’s fine, thanks.”

  He took an opportunity to look around, noting that the living room was decorated in a rustic lodge motif. Aside from the statue, the focal point of the room, a brightly colored Native American rug hung on the wall of the loft along with several framed prints of a variety of wolves. It surprised him to see so many groupings. Her furniture was a perfect blend of wood and leather. In the corner, a blazing fire tossed out heat from a giant stone fireplace. “Your place is real nice, Shel. Just the kind of stuff I’d love to have one day.”

  “Really? We have the same tastes in décor, that’s interesting.” She handed him a bottle of beer, held up her glass of wine, and tapped it gently against his bottle. “To new beginnings.”

  Jerome nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”

  He eyed her over the end of the bottle and nearly forgot to swallow as his eyes traveled down and he realized being close enough to see, that she didn’t have on one stitch under that caftan. Her pert nipples tented the thin fabric. He swallowed past the constriction in his throat and wondered how he was going to get through the evening with a painful hard-on.

  “Do you like full-bodied women, Jerome?” She smiled when he lifted his eyes to hers.

  A glint of humor played in them, heating his blood another notch. Apparently, she was not at all shy in talking about it and it gave him the courage to speak freely. “I’m a man who takes in the whole package, Shell, and I have to tell you, I like what I see.” He tipped his bottle towards her in a toast.

  “I’ve noticed how you look at me when I come in to Big Dan’s.”

  Jerome sensed the heat rise, climbing up his neck.

  “I found it very sexy.”

  “Yeah?” He caught her eye and grinned.

  She lifted her shoulder and smiled. “What woman doesn’t want to be looked at like that?”

  Sweat beaded on his brow. He rubbed the cool bottle over his forehead. “For the record, Shel, I think you’re pretty damn sexy. Is it warm in here?” he asked.

  “Not yet, Jerome.” She took a sip of wine and arched her brow. “Shall we eat?”

  Hell, food was the furthest thing from Jerome’s mind.

  The prime rib tasted wonderful, rare and succulent, just as he liked it. The vegetables cooked to perfection, seasoned with just the right balance of herbs, delighted his taste buds.

  They spoke little during dinner, made light conversation, but Jerome was keenly aware of the sexual tension building between them. He wondered if they would dispense with the movie all together. His fingers itched to touch her soft skin, taste her sweet lips.

  “Do you like scary movies?” She turned to him holding up a DVD. They’d cleared away the supper dishes in record time. Shelly told him to just stack them in the sink; she would clean them up later. She was anxious to pop in a movie and get comfy. Jerome hadn’t argued.

  Jerome spread his arms across the back of the couch. “I’m fine with about anything, Shel.”

  “I’m partial to the classics myself.” She smiled.

  And I’m partial to whatever you want. Jerome studied her profile, aware of the gentle sway of her breasts through the fabric.

  She slid in the DVD and moved to the windows, drawing together the drapes, then turned, and walked toward him with a predatory gaze. She sat down on the leather couch, tucked herself under his outstretched arm, and then slid her caftan up around her knees so she could curl her legs beneath her. It was the most effective foreplay he ever experienced.

  The action on the screen quickly took a backseat to the action happening on the couch. He shifted to nibble the sweet warmth below her ear. Her sighs blew softly against his cheek, and Jerome followed her lead when she took his hand and placed it over her breast. He groaned against her flesh. “I’ve been thinking about this all night, Shel.” He caressed, and squeezed. Her quiet scream matched the woman in peril on the screen. Only Shel wasn’t calling for help, to his delight, she called out his name. “They never get help,” he whispered, taking liberty with her sumptuous mouth, their kisses growing fierce, hungry and hotter than a Landon sidewalk in the dead of summer.

  He weighed her breasts, flicking his thumb across their firm peaks and she pressed into his hand, silently asking for more. Jerome was more than willing to oblige. He dipped his head, drawing both the fabric and her rosebud tip in his mouth. He eased her onto her back, lost in the euphoria of her kisses and her hands working frantically to tug his shirt from his jeans.

  “Do I turn you on, Jerome?” Her question came in a strangled whisper. She bent her knee, wrapping one leg around his hip, the sheer material slid to her waist and exposed her thigh.

  “Shel, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His hand moved between her warm thighs. He captured her lips in a fiery kiss, tracing her opening, finding her slick and ready. Jerome’s jaw clenched as he held himself back. She held his face, and sighed between kisses as her hips responded to his coaxing. A low growl purred from her throat on cue, it seemed with a growl on the television.

  “Shel, darling. I’m going crazy here in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Her hand slid over the front of his jean, stroking his length. “You think I haven’t thought about you, Jerome. Every night, in my bed alone, wanting you inside me, moving…deep—”

  “Shit, Shel, I need this off of you.” Jerome sat up, pulling her up with him. He grabbed the whisper-thin fabric in his hand and she stopped his hands.

  “Did you mean it Jerome, when you said I was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen?”

  “Shel, it’s crazy maybe but this is stronger than I have ever felt about a woman.” He captured her mouth again, their tongues mating in wild abandon.

  “Jerome, how do you feel about hairy women?”

  She turned her head, allowing him free reign to nibble on her neck. Her musky sweetness overpowered his sense of reason. Right now, he cared less if she was hairy, bald, green, or blue.

  “Stay here, I’m going to take care of this thing once and for all.” The hero on the television said to the frantic woman.

  “Why does Hollywood insist on making the werewolf so menacing?” she whispered against his ear.

  He couldn’t answer for Hollywood, but he could answer her. “Gawd Almighty, Shel. I want you so bad. Besides, a little hair on the right woman wouldn’t matter to me.”

  She pressed him away, her face aglow in the light of the television.

  “Really, Jerome? Do you truly mean that?”

  He looked down at her fingers working savagely on the buttons of his shirt. She finished with a victorious smile, jerked it over his shoulders and flung it across the room.

  She leaned forward and traced her tongue along the pulse at the base of his neck, setting fire to his brain.

  “I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he managed to force out through the sexual haze in his brain.

  She smiled, her teeth white in the dim shadows of the light from the television. The credits rolled on the screen and Jerome was more than ready to roll with Shelly.

  “So glad to hear you feel that way,” She kissed her way down his shoulder, over his chest and licked his taut nipples.

  He laced his fingers through her hair, and offered his body for her pleasure.

  “Jerome?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yes, Sweetheart?”

  Her teeth nibbled at his earlobe about sending him over the edge.

  “How do you stuff an animal?”

  Jerome frowned in his euphoric state, the oddity of her timing in asking the question quickly replaced by the bliss of her tongue, lining the curve of his lower lip. Jerome fought to think straight. “I don’t know, Shel. I guess you have to be very careful. You don’t want to damage the skin.” Hell, maybe this turned her on to talk about it. She was kind of an outdoorsy type if he read her house décor correctly.

  She smoothed her palms down
his chest and pushed his back to the couch, rested her fingers on the zipper of his jeans.

  “Go on,” she purred in a husky voice.

  “Are you sure you really want to talk, Shel?” He reached up, ready to take her face in his hands and kiss her until they both couldn’t see straight.

  The television screen went black.

  “The movie is over, Jerome,” she said quietly. Darkness surrounded them, except for the gentle flicker of the dying embers in the fireplace.

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked, praying like hell that she didn’t.

  “No, Jerome, I want you to stay.”

  He watched her stand and pull the caftan over her head. She looked down at him and let it drop from her fingers. In the dying glow of the fire, he admitted to never seeing that much hair on a woman, though in Europe it was a cultural thing. His gaze traveled up her perfectly shaped thighs, the pale slope of her stomach, those magnificent breasts. A little hair was something he could get used to.

  “Do you find me attractive, Jerome?” She held her arms out to him.

  Where most people have hair on their forearms, Shelly’s was admittedly thicker, but the rest of her was as sweet as he’d imagined. He wasn’t about to let a little hair detour him from a fantasy he’d held inside for too many years. “My God Shel, you’re everything I imagined and more.” He held out his hand and she took it.

  “You make me happy, Jerome.”

  “I sure as hell would like to give it my best if you’d let me.”

  Shelly eased him back on the couch and took little time dispensing with his jeans and boxer shorts. Somewhere along the way, he went from hunter to prey, but Jerome quickly deduced that, in truth, he really didn’t mind who was on top.

  She balanced her hands on his chest, lifted her leg over his hip and eased onto his rigid shaft.

  Jerome closed his eyes, his hands grasping her soft thighs, moving, adjusting until he filled her completely. “You feel so good, Darlin’.” Tight, slick, warm—they were a perfect fit, a perfect mate, if Jerome had anything to say after this was said and done—and maybe done, a few more times tonight.