Her Wicked Wolf. Kendra Castle Leigh
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the news? This is nothing like the hurricanes I expect you’ve seen. When the storm moves out, we could be snowed in for days.” And I’d hate to see you caught up in anything that might happen, he silently added. Surely Brienne had safer places to go, places she wouldn’t be alone without heat or light. Places where she wouldn’t be compelled to ask to share an unfriendly werewolf’s fireplace.
One look in those intelligent green eyes and he knew that was exactly what she expected to do. That, and perhaps more. There was no ignoring the desire he saw simmering just beneath the surface...though the gods knew he’d been trying for months now. This would be so much easier if everything in him didn’t want to respond to her need by revealing his own. Alistair swallowed hard.
“Please call me Brie,” she said. “And thanks for the advice, but I’m sure I’ll manage. You’re staying put too, right? If things get sticky, I’m sure we can figure something out.”
It was spoken innocently enough, but Alistair found himself suddenly inundated with visions of how it might be if he drizzled honey all over her body and licked it off. Sticky, indeed. He fought back a shudder, glad he was wearing a coat that covered the hard, throbbing evidence of his thoughts about her. It was time to end this before he did something foolish. Fortunately, they’d arrived at the garage. Alistair opened the side door for her, and she stepped inside. He followed, but she startled him by stopping short and turning to look at him, a determined look on her face.
He only narrowly avoided crashing into her. As it was, they were less than an inch from being pressed up against each other—and Brienne stood her ground. Pride had him standing his own. Surely he could manage to be so close just this once without tucking his tail between his legs and running.
He’d always been supremely self-controlled. And yet with Brienne, and her alone, things had gotten infinitely more difficult all at once.
She tipped her head back to look up at him in the dim light, the steam from her breath mingling with his. Alistair could feel her warmth, enticing him to get even closer.
She knows I want her, damn it. She must. I should have stayed away.
“Is there something wrong, Miss Fox?” he asked softly, and then, when her brows drew together, remembered what she had just instructed him to call her. “Brie?”
The intimacy of being asked to use her nickname affected him more than he’d expected. Much like the woman herself.
“No,” she said, still frowning a little, as though he were a puzzle she was attempting to work out. “I just...I wondered...if you might want to get dinner sometime.”
“Did you,” he murmured, enchanted as much by the way her eyes went soft and hazy as he was by the innocence of the question itself. Before Alistair could think better of it, he’d lifted his hand, tracing the contour of her cheek with the back of his knuckles. She sighed, turning into his touch as he marveled at how very soft her skin was. Alistair’s breath caught in his throat. It was just a simple touch. But from the way it affected him, she might as well have pressed her entire body against his.
He brushed his fingertips along the path he’d just traced, then across the temptation of her lips, which parted at his touch. Alistair gave a strangled moan when her tongue darted out to flick over his finger before she sucked it into her mouth, hot, wet, impossibly sweet. Her eyes slipped shut on a soft, breathy sound of pleasure. He hadn’t expected it, and the light suction on his sensitive fingertip nearly buckled his legs beneath him. The rush of desire carried with it visions of her using that mouth on him in ways he’d only dreamed of.
Licking. Sucking. Biting. Every instinct roared to life, sending heat racing over his skin. The scent of her, each delicate pull of her lips around his oversensitive flesh, was suddenly overwhelming. The ancient beast that slumbered within him was awakened all at once, and when he groaned again, it sounded like the guttural growl of a wolf. A snippet of a rhyme from his youth drifted through his mind, just an ominous whisper.
The mating bond, when true and real, is soft as velvet, strong as steel.
Alistair didn’t know how he found the strength to pull away from her. As it was, it was a clumsy, frightened stumble, but there was nothing to be done for it. He could barely breathe. All he could do was feel, one sensation crashing into another until every inch of his body vibrated with need. All for her.
Even in the shadows, he could see Brie’s furious blush, bright pink on peaches and cream. She didn’t understand. And he didn’t have time to explain.
“I...I’m sorry,” she stammered, sounding as shaken as he felt.
“No, that’s...I have to go,” Alistair said, hoping his rough voice sounded more human than he thought it did. He fumbled his way into his car, hitting the garage door opener with such force he was worried he’d broken it. A claw, long and black and only halfway retracted, punctured his visor as he pulled his hand away. He backed out too quickly, unable to get his breathing under control...or his arousal, which coursed through his blood like wildfire. His final glance at the garage before he sped off showed Brie bracing herself against the side of her car, head down.
Alistair tried to regret touching her. How could he not have realized what she was, when he’d barely been able to get her out of his head all this time? But some part of him had known. It was why Brie kept trying to engage him, why he’d stayed here much longer than any other place he’d hidden in the past five years. He needed to stay safe, stay alone. But as he left Brie standing there, all he could think of was the release he knew he would find buried deep within her, tangled in her arms. Because no need on earth was stronger than that of a wolf for his mate.
THREE
By the time Brie got home, the snow was falling.
By dinnertime, the wind was howling, and the homes across the street had vanished behind an impenetrable curtain of white.
Brie huddled in her overstuffed armchair by the window, watching it come down. She had her knees tucked into her chest, comfortable in baggy jeans, a thick cable-knit sweater, and slipper socks. A cup of hot cider cooled on the end table beside her.
She was brooding. And mentally kicking herself, repeatedly and very, very hard.
Alistair’s car had been back when she’d gotten home. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was ever going to see him again without running in the other direction. Asking him out had been a brief instant of bravery, or maybe just insanity. That would have been embarrassing on its own, but she would have managed to get over it after his inevitable rejection. Things had gotten weird fast, though. He’d seemed so sweet and concerned and actually kind of...shy, almost. So she’d decided to take the plunge and get it over with, carpe diem and all that. In the garage, though, with him so close to her, her body had overridden her brain in a way she hadn’t realized was possible. Had she really sucked on his finger? Really?
Brie closed her eyes and made a soft, strangled sound. Yes. Yes she had.
Maybe she needed therapy. Or medication. Or more of a life. She’d been pretty happy with her life, though, until discovering that she was turning into some kind of nympho stalker.
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