Desert Wolf. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom
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followed him inside. Her watchful gaze burned a hole in the back of his shirt, and that was bringing up all sorts of wayward emotions that were never good for a werewolf to have in a closed space.
“Well, guess I’ll head out.” Grant brushed his hands on his jeans as if wiping away the idea of an imminent and untimely appearance of his claws. He was usually good at compartmentalizing his emotions.
“My thanks are piling up,” she said when he turned to face her. “Pretty soon I’ll be the one owing you a meal.”
Grant nodded. “No thanks are necessary. It’s an awkward situation we’re confronted with. I’ll be the first to agree.”
She remained in the doorway, blocking his exit. Maybe Paxton was afraid of what he might do if she came inside. Maybe she could read his mind about that bed.
“I’ll need a car,” she said.
“You can have the truck if you need to go somewhere.”
He fished in his pocket and tossed her the keys.
“I’m going to Desperado in the morning,” she reminded him.
“I’d advise against it, Paxton, unless I’m riding along.”
Palming the keys, she said, “How will you get home if I have these?”
“Friends.”
“Do you live nearby?”
“I live on the ranch near Desperado’s gates, as you quite possibly already knew.”
“In my old house?”
Grant noted how her voice had lowered. She’d likely be remembering the house she grew up in. My house, she had said. Did she think of it fondly?
He said, “It’s still there. A little worse for wear, but standing. I’ve made some necessary repairs.”
“After you sell, or I sell, will you go back to Texas?” she asked, which Grant thought was pretty cheeky for someone facing an opponent in a motel room located in a state she hadn’t set her stilettos in since she was six years old. Just how far would her confidence take her, though?
He didn’t glance again to the window. Didn’t need to note where the moon was. He was looking at Paxton with his wolf’s eyes, watching her unfasten the top button of her shirt because she was used to a more moderate climate.
Sensing his attention, she dropped her hands to her sides. “That was not an invitation.”
Ignoring the comment, Grant pointed to the floor-model air conditioner. “Press the button on the left and you’ll soon feel better.”
Paxton’s cheeks colored slightly. He noticed that, too. Now that dusk had come and gone, and darkness had arrived, moonlight flooded the motel’s balcony behind her as she tossed his keys back to him.
“See you tomorrow,” Grant said, with his hat in his hand like every good Texas boy under a roof. “Breakfast?”
She shook her head. Paxton’s hands were shaking, too. Why? Were her quakes a sign of pent-up anger? Maybe the moon was finally affecting her in some small way?
That was bound to happen sometime.
Moving to the window, Grant closed the curtains halfway to mute the moonlight. A random thought crossed his mind that moon children all over the world would be tuning in to that bright silver disc in the sky.
But this wasn’t the time for explaining anything about that to the woman across from him. She wouldn’t have believed him, anyway.
“I’m leaving. It’s safe to come inside now,” he announced, heading for the doorway she hadn’t yet entered.
They were face-to-face, very close for a few seconds before Paxton stepped back. Close enough for Grant to feel her warm breath on his chin and to observe the tight line of her full, lush lips. There was no eye contact between them this time, which was for the best. Any further connection with those haunted amber eyes of hers, and he might have...
Well, he might have forgotten about who she was and why she was here, and also about proper decorum with strangers.
“Breakfast?” he repeated to scatter the images of what he might have done in this room with Paxton Hall if she had been anyone else.
“I’ll meet you out there,” she said soberly. “At Desperado. I’ll find my way.”
Her black silk shirt had opened just enough below her collarbones for him to get a quick view of Paxton’s flawless ivory skin. It was rare to see pale people in the West, and the contrast between the black silk and the porcelain skin beneath it seemed to him a metaphor of sorts. All this time, she had assumed she was human. How could she have thought otherwise if things had never been explained to her? But the silk was only a top layer. Peel that back, and what lay beneath would reveal the real Paxton Hall.
Bathed in moonlight and the slanted glow from the motel’s neon sign, Paxton seemed vulnerable and alone. Her mother had died long ago. She’d never known her father. Grant hated to leave her, but he had to.
After one quick brush of his hair with his fingers, Grant set his hat on his head, feeling the need to offer Paxton something, even if what he was about to say might sound trite.
“You’re not alone. I want you to understand that,” he said.
Confusion crossed her features.
“I’ll take you there tomorrow,” he continued. “I’ll take you to Desperado first thing in the morning.”
Relief softened her expression. Happy with that, Grant added, “Whatever you might be thinking, I’m not the enemy.”
Another step brought him close to her. After a second quick glance toward the window, he lowered his voice. “No one here is out to hurt you. Please remember that.”
Daring to touch her, Grant placed a finger against her lips, fighting an overwhelming urge to replace those fingers with his mouth. But that kind of unanticipated incursion would have ended any future dealings they might have. He got that.
Her lips were soft against his fingertips, though. And she didn’t back away from his touch.
Damn those haunted eyes of yours.
Damn those lips.
He almost said those things out loud.
Hiding a shudder similar to the one he saw pass through her, Grant spoke again. “Good night. Sleep well.”
It took all of his willpower—every last ounce of it—to leave her there and keep walking.
In the back of his mind, he was sure she wanted to call him back.
* * *
Fighting the impulse to shout for him to return, Paxton watched Grant go, believing the sincerity in his voice when he’d said all those things about her not being alone. Instincts seldom led her astray and were telling her now that Grant Wade would have capitulated about the property if he had been able to. Something held him back, some part of the deal he’d made with her father that hadn’t been made public or available to her. Besides the mess she had found herself in, it seemed there were more secrets to uncover.
“Is it gold?” she mused. “The grand reopening of Desperado?”
If either of those things governed his deal with her dad, why hadn’t Grant just come out and mentioned it? They both stood to gain from public access to the old ghost town. Land value surrounding a viable business would make her property worth more. And if that were the case, maybe Grant would make enough money to eventually buy her out—if, in fact, he was short on funds at this point.
That had to be the sticking point here, right? Money? Otherwise, owning everything would be of benefit to him. Truthfully, she didn’t give a damn about his plans for the old place. Right now, she just wanted nothing more than to go home and forget