by Beverly Rae
“Look, it’s a simple enough question—”
I was interrupted by another streetlamp blowing a bulb. The sharp pop made me jump. “What is it with these cheap-ass lights? Or did Meiers Corners forget to pay its electric bill, too?”
Julian’s fingers tightened on my elbow. “Don’t blame the city.” The hunter face was back in spades. His eyes were bright violet and he was working his jaw like he tasted something nasty. “Apparently some people don’t know a warning when they hear it.”
Four figures swirled out of the dark. Three long coats and a suit.
Julian inclined his head toward them. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice dark and thorny.
If I thought by his calm nod he was being all friendly, that dangerous tone would have clued me otherwise. That, and the fact that he was grinding my elbow into powder with his tight grip.
“Emerson.” The lead suit greeted him cautiously.
“Did you deliver my message to your bosses already?” Julian was the epitome of cool. He could have been at a Victorian tea party, asking “one lump or two”.
The suit shrugged. “We phoned it in.”
“It doesn’t have the same impact if they didn’t see my…little gift.”
“We took a picture.” One of the leathercoats held up a cell phone.
At least Julian wasn’t so digitally challenged that he didn’t recognize a camera phone. “Ah. And their response?”
The suit shrugged again. “You die.”
“So you waited until I was alone.”
“Hey,” I objected.
“Yes.” The suit smiled. And his canines were really long.
I leaned closer to Julian. “Four of them, two of us,” I said under my breath. “We’ll have a better chance with a plan. You take the toothy Lupin, I’ll take the left coat.” But as I started to move, something tugged my head forward, and the lights went out.
I was suddenly blind. Couldn’t see a damn thing.
Fighting down panic, I realized something covered my head. Something clingy and soft. At least I hadn’t had a stroke. Struggling with the thing, I realized it was some sort of cloth. A sack? A hood?
Growling and snarling slashed the air around me. It sounded like a pack of ravenous dogs. I had to do something. But how could I fight without my sight?
A couple quick little snicks were followed by a deeper ka-click.
And I realized I could fight—with my ears! I swung both fists. Hit nothing.
In front of me came a sound uncomfortably like meat tearing. I flailed at it, again swiping air.
And then came that terrible, awful sound I hoped never to hear again. Wet plopping. Blood, spattering onto the pavement.
Inside my restraint, I gasped for breath. I had to see! I reached for my face but a roar startled me into falling on my ass. The voice was Julian—if Julian had eaten a lion. What the hell was going on? Frantically, I tore at the cloth over my face. It wouldn’t come off.
My fingers hit some lumps in the stuff. Gathers, like a tie in a channel of cloth.
It was my hoodie! My own freaking hoodie. I traced down until I found the laces. They were knotted tight.
Blindly I picked at the knot. Around me were sounds of a fierce fight. Four against one. I could only imagine the beating poor paper-pushing Julian was taking. If only I could help! The knot loosened but refused to come free. In impotent fury I jerked at the hood, as if I could rip it open. The cloth remained stubbornly whole.
The sound of fighting died away. What was going on now? Was Julian down? Was he…no, he couldn’t be dead. Julian Emerson, Super Suitguy, was too damn arrogant to be dead.
But it was so silent. What else was I to think? And what would happen to me if Julian was…down?
Hands came around my waist. I went ballistic, hitting and scratching with no finesse at all. Strong fingers grabbed my wrists, restraining me. Arms wrapped around me like steel bands. Lifted me. Caught me tight to an immense chest. My legs curled automatically around a lean waist.
My fight died. Strong fingers, steely arms, concrete wall chest. I recognized these body parts. And the oh-so-lean waist. Panic flamed into instant desire. I tightened my legs, snuggling my crotch up good and close.
Well, hello. Someone was very glad to see me.
“Nixie.” Julian’s voice. But not his usual cultured drawl. No, this voice was tight and strained. The kind of voice you got when all your blood drained from your vocal cords to your baseball-bat-sized cock. Ooh, he really did carry foot-long things in his clothes. I rubbed my hips against Mr. Big Gavel. That drew more blood down. “Nixie,” he said again, even more strained. I found I liked Julian’s voice all stiff and growly.
“Stop that. I’m trying to untie your hood.”
Damn. Aroused, but in control of himself. How disappointing.
In my dark cave, I blinked. Disappointing? No way. I was not disappointed that Julian Emerson, stodgy old hoag, was not interested in me. Well, feeling his big nightstick flex, maybe he was interested. But not enough to be out of control about it. And that was a good thing, right?
Except I was burning up. That thick rod pulsing against my crotch, the smell of fighting male, the feel of his hard body under me… I was wet enough to grease a Cadillac. So when my hoodie came loose, I took one look at his beautiful, dark-bronze mouth and kissed him good.
He tasted like war. Like fast rides with a powerful motorcycle between my thighs. Like getting drunk on expensive champagne. I ran my tongue over his lips and drank.
Julian’s hands, in the process of putting me down, stopped. Came back around me. Crushed me to him.
His mouth opened against mine. With a raw groan, he kissed me back.
OMG. Julian hadn’t spent all his time studying law in law school. His tongue slid between my lips, stroking my skin like wet silk. He tasted me as a man savors the last pressing of summer grapes. Suckled my lower lip like it was sweet, heavy, and ripe.
And as Julian kissed, his hands, those square competent hands, were oh so busy. One slid up and under my shirt. The other stole down the back of my pants.
That wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Tonight I was wearing ruffled spandex over jeans cut to my ass over a French thong. But Julian wove his fingers over and under, smooth as a wet dream. Stroked my buttocks. Found that really sweet spot right at the base of my spine. Brushed the downy hairs until my bottom was wide awake and clamoring for more.
My brain filled with images. Me lying on my back, six-feet plus of male over me, all lean muscle and hot satin skin. Blue eyes clouded with desire as he did the passion pushups. Julian would be tender and attentive. Conscientious. Sober. Staid. Deadly dull.
We would have vaginal sex in the missionary position.
Would he even take off his tie?
Lust turned off like a light. I pulled away.
Julian didn’t put me down immediately. He lifted his head, looked at me. Intently, as if he could read why I’d cooled in my eyes. It was weird. His hand was still down the back of my pants. I was still breathing heavily. I could feel my lips, still wet and buzzing. But Ms. Malebox no longer wanted any deliveries.
I expected Julian to be angry. I expected him to accuse me of being a cock tease or worse. After all, I had started it. And pulsing against my crotch was an erection as big and swollen as a Usinger sausage. It had to be painful.
But Julian only continued to stare into my eyes. Deeply, as if he could read my thoughts.
And maybe he could, because slowly he bent his head. He pressed warm lips to my neck. As if he had all the time in the world, his tongue came out and tasted me.
Not a little lick or tickle. No, a full, curling hot swipe. Intimate. Wet. Sinfully erotic. And just a little bit kinky.
That hot lick was not staid at all. My motor revved back up, going directly into third gear. I clutched Julian’s shoulders. Hard muscle met my fingers. I closed my eyes and enjoyed.
The tongue grew bolder, tracing the line of my throbbing pulse. It sl
icked over my skin, steamy and questing. Hot male battle-scent spiced the air. Julian’s fingers threaded into my hair, pulled my head aside to give him greater access to my neck. His mouth opened over my skin. Fiery breath lanced me.
Oh, please, I thought. Give me the sharp edge of sex. Bite me.
Talk about getting your signals crossed…
Wolf Signs
© 2009 Vivian Arend
Granite Lake Wolves, book 1
Robyn Maxwell doesn’t care that her brother has to cancel out on their backcountry ski trip. She can do it alone. The fact she’s deaf doesn’t make her survival skills any weaker. The chance to get away from it all and relax in the Yukon wilderness is just what she’s been craving.
Meeting wilderness guide Keil at the cabin starts cravings of another kind. Keil’s one hot hunk of ripped, tasty male. Now she has to deal with raging hormones as well as strange questions about wolves and mates and challenges to the death.
Keil was trying for a nice reflective retreat before challenging for the Alpha position of his Alaskan pack. He wasn’t planning on meeting the woman destined to be his mate, or finding out she’s not aware she has the genes of a wolf.
Between dealing with his accident-prone younger brother, a deaf mate with an attitude and an impending duel to the death, his week—and his bed—is suddenly full.
Far from the relaxing getaway any of them had in mind…
Warning: Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “talking with your hands”. Includes dangerous use of sarcasm and hot nookie in a remote wilderness sauna.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Wolf Signs:
Robyn shifted uncomfortably on the bench in the annex outside the sauna. Keil had gone back into the cabin with TJ and left her with the directions to relax and wait for him while he grabbed a few things. She added a couple extra logs into the stove, topped up the snow in the buckets and sat to wait.
It was damn uncomfortable to be sitting there knowing any moment a werewolf was going to walk in the door and have sex with her.
Arghhhh. Even the thought made her twitch. What the hell was she doing? This was crazy. It was beyond crazy.
The door opened and Robyn jumped. Sexual heat flowed off Keil’s body and reached to caress her skin.
Okay. She remembered why she was going to do this. Every inch of her was on fire and she was being drawn toward the tall, hard male as if she had ropes that twined about her limbs, trapping her. Keil dropped a blanket on the bench beside her. He glanced at her before lifting her chin with his hand.
“Hey, it’s okay. Let’s take this slowly.”
Robyn dropped her eyes, blushing furiously. “I’m scared.”
“Scared of me?”
“Kind of.”
His gentle hand traced over her ear and nestled in the hair at the back of her neck. “I don’t want to scare you, little bird. I want to love you.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, I know what to do but I’ve never…”
Keil waggled his eyebrows and his eyes brightened. “I know you’ve never. I’m glad you’ve never. It’s good that you’ve never. Now I don’t have to go track down your old lovers to kill them.”
“Possessive much?”
“You have no idea. Yet.” Keil leaned closer to brush his lips over hers. “Wait until you are fully wolf. I bet you’re going to be just as possessive about me. Wolves mate for life, and we don’t like to share.”
Robyn shifted again on the hard bench. How could she want this much and still feel afraid to take the next step. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to build up her courage.
A gentle touch pulled her to her feet. “You’re thinking too hard. Let’s go slow. You must be sweaty from our ski and digging up TJ. Let me help wash you up.”
Keil’s hands drifted over her shoulders, pulling her up against his body for a brief caress as he reached behind her body to grasp the bottom of her long-sleeved T-shirt. With a slow fluid motion, he lifted it off her, then dropped it on the bench behind them.
As his eyes traced over her torso, Robyn fought the urge to cover her chest with her hands. Ugh. She had to decide to be seduced in a mountain cabin wearing her plainest and sturdiest underwear. Luckily Keil’s face didn’t seem to express any displeasure with what he saw.
And neither could Robyn complain. Keil removed his own shirt with one swift yank and stood inches away from her, his rock-solid abs tempting her fingers.
“Damn. Just…damn. Is what they mean by washboard abs? Can I do some laundry?”
Keil smiled and reached for her. Removing the tight sports bra didn’t go as smoothly. In the middle of pulling it off, Keil’s hand got stuck in the twist of the Y back and Robyn froze with her arms pulled over head, bra wrapping her tight with Keil’s forearm. The heat rose in her face.
“Hell of a thing to happen, but don’t worry. This gives us some very interesting possibilities.” Keil lowered his head to press a kiss on her neck, fluttering soft kisses down over the tops of her exposed breasts, sending chills shooting through her even as he supported and stretched her arms above them.
His touch was gentle but the restrained power was there, under the surface. His tongue stroked over her skin toward her cleavage then his teeth nibbled back up the line of heat he’d created all the way to her lips. His hand was loose from her bra and she lowered her arms slowly, his hot gaze never leaving her body.
“Take off the rest and I’ll get the shower ready.” He spun around quickly, leaving Robyn wondering what she’d done wrong.
“Keil?”
His strong arms poured the heated water into the holding tank over the top of the shower. “I need to cool off a bit. You’re very beautiful and because you’re my mate, I really, really want you. I’m trying to keep things slow here.”
After prepping the water, he placed her into the shower, turning her body until she was wet from head to toe. With a flick of the wrist, he stopped the water and picked up the washcloth and soap. Starting at the back of her neck, he rubbed small circles over her skin, covering her shoulder blades, slipping over her spine until his hands cupped both cheeks of her ass.
Robyn dropped her forehead against the side of the shower stall and closed her mind to everything but the wonderful sensations racing over her skin at his touch. The heat from the sauna warmed the side room they were in to the point that she was comfortable even as droplets continued to cling to her skin. His mouth fastened on her neck, lapping at stray pebbles of water pooled there. Her womb clenched, releasing moisture as every stroke of his tongue sent thrills through her body to increase the desire mounting deep inside.
His touch dropped lower as Keil squatted behind her, his hands caressing down one leg. The small circular motions were driving her crazy as he teased, moving closer to the core of her heat and retreating without satisfying.
“Turn around, beautiful.”
Keil’s voice in her mind was deep and dark. It sounded like rich chocolate and Robyn was so into chocolate.
His voice made the tingles race.
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