To win such a female, a male had to be truly worthy. It was the notion of being worthy of her that had him so excited. It was a challenge.
Please, gods, let her be a wolf.
Rafe had seldom uttered a prayer more sincere to the twin deities governing the spiritual wellbeing of the two-natured people. Another predatory shifter would do as well, but a wolf would be perfect.
Then he shook himself. He couldn’t stand outside the door all day, dreaming about her. But he couldn’t go to his meeting with Mr Latimer sporting a raging hard-on either, and so he forced his body under control with the ease of a truly strong alpha shifter. Only, he couldn’t control his heart, and it raced in anticipation as he pushed the door open and entered the office. He was sure she heard it, but he didn’t care. She should know he intended to have her. That was part of the chase too, the anticipation.
The office didn’t match the image he had gotten from the outside. The firm was located at the London’s newer business district of Canary Wharf, so he had expected chrome and glass and the energetic atmosphere of making money fast. Instead, it more resembled the traditional chambers around the Inns of Court, its décor like a copy of the firm he had dealt with since 1910. The family-run firm had recently ended its operations when there had been no one to continue it, putting him on the market for a new solicitor. The hardwood and antique leather furniture, heavy drapes, and oriental carpets the vast office was decorated with represented the unhurried excellence to which he was accustomed.
As he made his way along the aisle towards the back of the room, he took in the six groups of desks with their occupants, seeking the one he wanted. Air-conditioning was working against him so he couldn’t get a scent, but as five desks were occupied by men, his task was easy. His eyes shot to her and met a gaze exactly as strong as he had hoped.
To his utter relief, she was a gorgeous young woman. He had been half afraid that she was an older matron, her strength of will accumulated over a lifetime, but she looked about his age – the age he seemed to be anyway, somewhere between thirty and thirty-five.
He could tell by the long stretch of stocking-clad legs neatly folded under her chair that she was tall, but that she wasn’t ashamed of her height, judging by the way she held herself straight even when sitting down, and by the three inch heels of her black shoes. Standing in them, she would be close to his six foot five. He usually dated short women, but now he couldn’t understand why. Of course his woman would be tall.
Suddenly, an image of the two of them stretched naked on a bed flashed in his mind. He would be able to kiss her and thrust into her at the same time. The fantasy was incredibly vivid, transporting him to another place. He could practically smell the scents of their lovemaking and from a half a floor away he saw her nostrils flare too. She clearly had the scent of his arousal. Good. Her nipples were growing hard in response, pressing against the fabric of her expensive white blouse. The blouse was deceptively modestly cut, but it couldn’t hide the shape of her nicely-rounded breasts that would more than fill his large hands.
The only thing missing from her perfect chest was the aura of her beast. The translucent, full-colour 3D image of her animal protruding out of her like a figurehead of a ship would have allowed him to see what kind of a shifter she was from afar, but he wasn’t surprised by its absence. She was a strong shifter and so able to hide the aura when needed. He had hidden his wolf too; it tended to dominate everyone.
Then again, judging by the onslaught of aftershaves that was clogging his delicate scent receptors, everyone else in the office was human, so hiding the aura was unnecessary – not to mention that it was illegal to discriminate against those with second natures; in theory anyway. However, sometimes the aura’s independent observations were distracting when one needed to concentrate, so perhaps she had asked it to retreat.
It didn’t matter. Only a couple of steps and he would be close enough to have her scent, unhindered by the artificial scents and ventilation. She simply had to be a wolf. It would be a crime if a woman so gorgeous were, say, a panther, like her dark colours suggested.
There was something feline about her though. For a woman so tall she was delicately built, and very feminine, with only enough muscle tone to prevent her from looking gangly. Sometimes taller women seemed to lose their curves, which was why he preferred the short ones. Her features were finely sculpted with refined cheekbones and a stubborn jaw, a straight nose, and arching black brows over dark brown eyes. Her cherry-lipped mouth was, in a word, generous. To top it all, she had a long black hair she had tied neatly in a bun at the back of her head. He yearned to see it flowing free.
Then he was within range of her scent and he drew it in deep, filling himself with it. She wasn’t wearing any perfume – no shifter would – so he got a lungful of pure her. Her scent was strong yet delicate like he had known it would be, with a heady mix of fresh, citrusy scents adding sweetness and sharpness to it. And she was…
Human.
His disappointment was so profound he couldn’t comprehend what his senses were telling him. Almost disgusted with her now for causing him such a blow, he walked past her desk, barely giving her a second glance in his stupor.
Mr Latimer, he presumed, as he was unable to pay attention, came to meet him and he shook his hand mechanically before following him to his office. Only one thing filled his mind. She could not be human. Gods could not be that cruel.
Chapter Three
One by one, the lawyers returned to their tasks after having paused to watch the man cross the room. All but Charly. She was sitting perfectly still, hoping that no one would notice how strongly she had been affected by him. She was feigning calm, but she was squeezing the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles were standing out in white relief.
She hadn’t lost control of her body so completely since childhood, when her rages had made her disregard her physical safety. Yet with a mere scent that man had managed to override all her careful restraints, releasing sensations she wasn’t ready to feel. Couldn’t afford to feel. A bone-melting arousal had glued her to her chair and she could only helplessly watch him cross the room with a confident stride, his scent growing stronger and more compelling as he drew closer.
She had known she was sensitive to scents, but never in her life had she been attracted to a man based on how he smelled. She more tended to be repelled by the fashionable products men used that had all her girlfriends in a swoon. And the oddest thing was, he wasn’t using any artificial scent. Her arousal was triggered by something that was essentially him. How she was able to tell the difference, she had no idea.
She turned the air-cleanser to full blast with the hopes that it would banish any lingering remnants of him, holding her breath to prevent his scent from overtaking her body again. But then she remembered what he looked like. She inhaled sharply for the memory and almost whimpered when a jolt of arousal shot through her again. She had seen handsome men before, but something about him just spoke to her.
He had been a picture of a powerful and self-confident man. He was extremely tall, around six foot four or five, but he carried himself well; a man comfortable with his height. His body was visibly strong, but he wasn’t brawny or overly bulgy. Rather, his trimmed torso indicated stamina instead of empty muscles acquired by pumping iron. The buttons of his well-cut suit jacket had been open, hinting of washboard abs, as his broad shoulders narrowed to a waist that didn’t show an ounce of extra weight. Then there had been his long legs, their strength obvious in jeans he had worn in deference to custom. But they had suited him perfectly. A suit represented tame and institutionalised power. His was wilder, raw power that shouldn’t be restrained by propriety.
His face had untamed savageness about it too. It was strong and chiselled with a firm-lipped mouth set in determined lines, and a slightly aquiline nose with wide nostrils; an arrogant nose for a fierce face. His eyebrows were straight and sandy, and his deep blue eyes had been sharp as he’d studied the office as i
f scanning it for dangers. His complexion was slightly tanned, contrasting with his eyebrows and sun-kissed dark blond hair, giving her a notion that he spent a lot of time outdoors. The thick hair was a bit overgrown and tousled as if he had recently battled with wind or had only run his fingers through it upon waking.
Watching him approach, she had imagined him lying in bed just after waking up and another jolt of arousal had shot through her. His eyes would be drowsy, his hair even bigger a mess, and his chest would be bare and hopefully dusted with light hair.
Just at that moment, he had looked directly at her. More, he had known exactly how he affected her, judging by the smug quirk of his upper lip. Not a great surprise there. Men like him aroused women wherever they went and they knew it.
And then he had simply walked past her as if she were air.
The shock of it had jolted her to her senses. She was just one of many swooning women on his path and didn’t even merit a second look. But the impact of him was so enduring that for once she wasn’t strong enough to control her body. That brought on a genuine fear that if she failed now, she wouldn’t be able to control herself the next time she got angry. So she set out to go through every technique in her repertoire, from meditation to mind games, in order to become her own master again.
It spoke volumes of how he had affected her that it took almost a half an hour before she was calm again and able to concentrate on her work. The loss of time aggravated her. She had to finish her case by the end of the week and it was Thursday already. She couldn’t afford to let her mind wander.
And then Mr Latimer returned. “Miss Thornton, could you come to the meeting room, please. Mr Green would like to speak with you.”
There went her equilibrium. Seizing control of herself immediately, she got up to only slightly shaking legs, her heart pumping wildly. She spent a moment straightening her pencil skirt, wishing she had worn something less form-fitting. Then she put on the suit jacket she had wrapped over the back of her chair and headed to the meeting room.
Gary shot her a mischievous smile when she passed his desk. “I bet you wish you’d made the coffee yourself now.”
His words stunned her. Not because they were an indication of a gender stereotype, but because they were true. She would have loved to make coffee for that man. What was wrong with her?
Mr Latimer was holding the door to the meeting room open for her and she took courage from him. With his grumpy presence, she would be able to go through the meeting without embarrassing herself. But then the door closed behind her and she realised to her horror that Mr Latimer wasn’t in the room with her. She was alone with that man.
Chapter Four
The half an hour interview with Mr Latimer had given Raphael enough time to get over the worst of his disappointment. He didn’t even know why he had reacted so strongly to her being a human. In general, he didn’t date humans if he could avoid it; they were so fragile and he had to hide what he was from most of them so that he wouldn’t offend their delicate sentiments. Then there were the human women who wanted to date him only because he was a shifter, which he found even worse. He had had enough of parties where he was exhibited like a curiosity item to his date’s friends, or family gatherings where he was used as a weapon to hurt parents’ feelings.
And that was only the casual dating. Mainly, he wouldn’t date humans because there couldn’t be a lifelong commitment between them. In the best-case scenario the relationship would last as long as the human’s pitifully short lifespan, leaving the shifter to mourn the loss of a partner for who knew how long. In the worst case, things went the way it had for his brother. That, if anything, served as a warning against committing to a human. It was best to leave them alone.
Then he remembered how she looked and especially how strong she was, and he got excited again. He might give her a try anyway. Therefore, when Mr Latimer asked if he preferred to choose his solicitor himself, Rafe implied he wanted someone like her without asking for her directly. He had a feeling Mr Latimer wouldn’t react favourably if he had.
“As you know, our firm is on the lookout for a long-term partnership. However, for this one I’d like someone with the spirit and tenacity of a pit bull terrier.” He’d wanted to say ‘with a spirit of a wolf’, but the poetry of that would have been lost on Mr Latimer who had no idea he was dealing with a shifter. With the debates that were going on in the Commons, it would be unwise to stir that particular pond.
To his delight, Mr Latimer immediately suggested Miss Charlotte Thornton for him. There was such a smug look on his face though, that Rafe suspected he only did it to add to her already heavy workload to get even with her for their battle of wills. Rafe didn’t care. Her mere name stirred him.
“That is, if you don’t mind working with a woman,” Mr Latimer then added, plunging Rafe’s estimation of him even lower. If it hadn’t been for her, he might have ended the talks then and there and looked elsewhere for his representation. “Miss Thornton is a barrister too, and she is used to winning her cases. She’ll put her whole attention to solving your problem, I’ll guarantee that.”
Rafe just bet he would. He hid his annoyance and simply nodded. “Then she’s exactly who I need.”
He requested a private meeting with her, and although Mr Latimer wondered about it, he didn’t want to alienate a possible long-term client. He just escorted Rafe to a small meeting room across the hall to wait for Miss Thornton.
Left to his thoughts, the anticipation of seeing her again made the small room feel caging, and he began to pace it, unable to settle down. He was a tame wolf, well used to modern housing, but he preferred rooms that were a bit more spacious than one large enough only for a table for eight. Even the view from the window was cut by a high-rise across the street, the road between so narrow that he could see the faces of the people in the office opposite. If his business hadn’t required privacy, he would have suggested that they talked by her desk.
Besides, he couldn’t wait to be alone with her. His excitement baffled him, considering that he didn’t like human women, and that she was hardly the first woman he had tried to pursue. However, this time there was a difference to his chase. For the first time his wolf was showing interest in the woman too, pacing within him, wanting to be let out so that it could get a proper scent of her. It hadn’t accepted yet that their quarry wasn’t a shifter.
After what felt like an eternity but was less than five minutes, the door opened and she came in. Rafe paused in mid-stride and turned to face her. His brain ceased to function for a painful moment as all his blood flowed downwards, tightening his trousers again, indicating that his body hadn’t accepted reality either.
She was magnificent standing up, her posture straight and her well-formed calves showing to their advantage in a knee-length skirt that hugged her curvy hips. She paused at the door as if offering him a chance to look his fill, and he obliged. He ran his eyes slowly upwards, not wanting to spoil the moment by being hasty.
She had put on a form-fitting jacket that was probably meant to make her look professional, but as it was cut to bring out her narrow waist and emphasise her breasts, the effect on him was something quite else. Her face, once his eyes reached there, was as beautiful as he remembered, and slightly flushed for his slow study, as if she wasn’t used to being admired by men.
He wondered about it, but then again, human men, especially Englishmen of her class, weren’t known for openly showing appreciation for women of their species. He couldn’t understand such reticence. Shifters were creatures of emotions and instinct. When a shifter man was drawn to a woman, she knew it. And Charlotte was starting to know it too. Her heart was beating fast, making a pulse throb wildly at the base of her throat. He longed to sink his teeth into it and mark the slender white column so that everyone would know she belonged to him.
He closed the small distance separating them in a stride or two, noticing that her femininity became more pronounced next to his much larger body. She stiffene
d, but she didn’t retreat. She simply drew herself straighter and met his eyes calmly when he paused in front of her. He kept their gazes locked as he leaned towards her, and she tensed. Stifling a smile, he reached around her and closed the door Mr Latimer had left slightly ajar. She startled at the sound it made when it hit home.
Nervous, are we?
“There. Now we can be more comfortable,” he said, watching, fascinated, how she struggled to appear cold and unaffected by him. He wanted to prop his hands against the door, close her between them, and pin her down with his body simply to see her flush again.
But some civilised part in him made him gesture towards the table instead. “Shall we?”
For further measure, he walked to the table and held a chair for her. After only a brief hesitation, she walked to him, her hips swinging enticingly, and sat down. He got a good whiff of her scent again and she was still human. It didn’t matter to his body.
He took a seat at the end of the table, diagonally to her, setting the chair sideways so that he could face her. He rested his forearm on the desk and stretched his legs before him. Long as they were, they reached all the way to her chair, right up to her legs. He wanted to lean his legs against hers, but resisted. “I’m Raphael Green, but please call me Rafe.”
She frowned. “I’m afraid that is not very professional.” Her velvety voice had the same effect on his body as earlier, adding to his arousal. This promised to be a very painful conversation for him. “You’ll just have to deal with being called Mr Green.”
Her refusal delighted him, even though he didn’t generally hold to such formalities. “May I at least call you by your given name?”
She gave him a stern look. “No.”
He grinned, he couldn’t help it, and to his satisfaction her mouth quirked into a brief smile too. He had known her stiffness was only surface deep. He liked her name, but he needed to give her a name only the two of them would use anyway, so he nodded.
The Wolf's Call (Two-Natured London) Page 2
