The Wolf Prince

by Karen Kelley

“No! I do lots of things. I go to charity functions and … and …” Her shoulders dropped.

  Again, he felt sorry he’d caused her to feel bad. “There is something you want to do, though,” he guessed.

  She glanced across the seat. Her gaze returned to the road. “I want work as a P.I.,” she said as if telling him a big secret. “I have all the training. I took some college courses, but then I took classes outside of college so I could get licensed.”

  “What’s a P.I.?”

  “A private investigator. I want to find things or people who are lost. I’m good at hunting.”

  He closed his eyes against the blinding pain that shot through his head. He could see himself hunting, going after game in the night. Hunting, watching, attacking. But it felt more as if he were in another body. The humming grew more intense. He grabbed his head, groaning.

  “Surlock, what’s wrong?” The car slowed, crunched across gravel, then stopped.

  The pain was easing, but he kept his eyes closed, his hands holding his head. “I saw something. Hunting. But not me. I was someone else. Then the humming in my head. It’s confusing.”

  She pulled his head against her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” he managed to tell her.

  “Shh, don’t talk. Just keep your eyes closed and try to relax.”

  He took a deep breath, and caught the exotic aroma of the scent she wore. The pain stopped, but was replaced with a different kind of hurt. She absently kissed the top of his head, smoothed her fingers across his forehead. He tilted his head until he could see her face. She hesitated, then lowered her lips to his in a gentle kiss.

  At least, he was pretty sure she meant it to be gentle, but as soon as her tongue stroked his, she awakened something inside him. Something he couldn’t control. Or maybe he just didn’t want to control it. He cupped the back of her head, bringing her closer. The humming quieted.

  He slid his hand under her top, under her bra, and grazed his thumb over her nipple. She moaned, surrendering to his touch, pressing closer.

  The blast from a car horn broke them apart. Someone called out for them to “get a room,” which was ridiculous. He was quite happy where he was.

  “I’m sorry,” she stuttered as she straightened her clothes.

  “Why?” Surlock groaned in frustration.

  Her face was infused with a rosy tint. “Because I didn’t mean for my comforting to go quite that far.”

  “I liked it.” He reached toward her, but she quickly pulled away so he let his hand drop to the seat.

  “That’s the problem. So did I, and I know nothing about you.” She started the car, then backed out into the road. She continued toward her family’s estate.

  “Sometimes you can know everything there is to know about a person and not know them at all,” he told her.

  She pulled up to the iron gates and pushed a button inside the car. The gates swung open and she drove to the house.

  “I still don’t know anything about you. How can I pretend to be your boyfriend?”

  “I’ll make a list.”

  “I don’t want a list. That won’t work. We’ll need to spend time together if we are to convince anyone. And we’ll have to convince the staff first.”

  She cast a wary look in his direction before returning her gaze to the road. “You’re right.”

  “And I want to know more about this P.I. business. My mind is lost. Maybe you can help me find it.”

  And maybe she could explain the incredible pull he felt toward her. It was almost as though there was some kind of connection between them. He had a feeling Darcy might be part of the reason why he was here.

  CHAPTER 5

  Adrenaline rushed through Darcy as she stepped outside. She needed to figure out what her first step would be to discover who Surlock was, and why he’d been running around the woods naked.

  Deep in thought, she wandered aimlessly down the path that wound through the garden at the side of the house. Still, she couldn’t stop the flutter of excitement that swept through her. Her skills would be put to the test. Someone had offered her a job.

  She chewed her bottom lip. Of course, she had been the one who caused Surlock’s amnesia, so it was only right that she should be the one who helped restore it. And she would. She would discover Surlock’s identity, solve the mystery and soothe her guilty conscience.

  Darcy truly did love her mother, but having a real job was like a dream come true. Maybe this was fate. She was achieving her goal, grabbing the brass ring as it went by. She hugged her middle, barely able to keep a shout of joy from escaping past her lips. She could do this. She only had to piece everything together. Like one big puzzle.

  Doubt suddenly reared its ugly head, and her excitement plummeted. But what if she couldn’t do this? All this time she’d told herself she wanted to be a P.I., but what if finding out who Surlock was or where he came from proved to be too difficult? What if she was only fooling herself, using her mother as an excuse so that Darcy wouldn’t have to face the fact she might be a failure.

  “You look deep in thought,” Surlock said as he came up beside her. He glanced around. “It’s nice out here.” He leaned forward and brought one of the delicate pink flowers to his nose. “It smells nice. What is it?”

  “I’m not sure about that particular flower. Ralph takes care of the garden, so you would have to ask him. I know some of the names, but mostly I just enjoy their smell and how pretty they are.” She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Most men would never admit they liked flowers.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  Again with the whys. She shrugged. “Too feminine, I guess.”

  “But you enjoy this place.” He waved his arm in front of him.

  “I find solace out here.” She strolled farther down the pea gravel path. He walked beside her. “Dad had the fountain put in because Mother loves the water. They have a beach house on the coast, too.” She was rambling, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. How could she tell Surlock that she might not discover anything about him?

  “Your father must earn a lot of money.”

  Startled, she looked at him, but didn’t see the usual calculating gleam. That was another thing about her boyfriends: Most of them liked the idea that her parents were wealthy. Did Surlock fit into that category?

  She continued to study him for a moment, then dismissed that idea. Surlock had stated it more as a fact, rather than anything else. She breathed a sigh of relief, then wondered why she should care. Okay, so maybe she was attracted to him just a little—or a lot.

  “Dad has his own business,” she told him. “That, and my parents inherited from their parents. They’ve also made wise investments over the years.”

  “But you’re not happy?”

  She stopped at a bench and sat on the flowered cushion. Surlock chose a chair angled slightly toward the bench. Wisteria grew thick over the arbor, creating a shady canopy. In the spring, large, grapelike clusters of flowers would hang from the branches.

  “I have everything I could ever want,” she finally told him. And she did. Her parents had always given her anything she desired.

  “That’s not what I asked. Sometimes material possessions can only give short-term gratification.”

  She studied him. “Maybe you’re a monk.”

  “A monk?”

  “Yes, a priest. They don’t put much stock in worldly goods, but rather in life.” She brushed strands of loose hair behind her ear and shifted to a more comfortable position on the cushions.

  He nodded. “Then maybe that is who I am.”

  “They’re also celibate.” When he didn’t seem to recognize the word, she explained, “They have taken a vow of chastity. No sex.”

  Good Lord, could she have knocked a monk out cold? Maybe he’d been on a pilgrimage, giving up all worldly possessions, including his clothes. She was pretty sure lusting after a priest would get her a ticket to hell.

  Surlock’s eyes w
idened. “Why would they do something so crazy as to give up mating?”

  “Because of their religious beliefs,” she explained. Okay, he probably wasn’t a monk. Thank God.

  “I’m not a monk.” He squared his shoulders and sat straighter.

  “No, I didn’t really think you were.” Not the way he kissed. But who was he? “Let me see your hands.”

  He stuck them out and she took one. It was warm. His heat quickly transferred to her body. He had strong hands. Darcy could almost feel them caressing her, stroking.

  She cleared her throat and her thoughts. She was here to help him, not pounce on his body. It was a sexy body, though.

  She ran her hands over his, trying to act like a professional. They were a little rough in places, but the nails were manicured, smooth. His other hand was the same.

  “You weren’t raised by wolves,” she murmured.

  “Why would you think that?”

  When she looked up, she forgot what he had asked. For a moment, she lost herself in his warm whiskey eyes. The gold flecks sparkled in the sunlight. Very unusual. She mentally shook her head.

  What had he asked? Oh, yes, why she would think he was raised by wolves. “Because you were with a wolf. At least, there was one in the area when you stepped out from behind the tree. You also look sort of rugged.” In a very sexy way. “You didn’t have any clothes on, either, and you ate with your hands, and you growl at people.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Because you were eating with your hands.” His frown darkened. “I don’t growl at people.”

  “The doctor? The tailor?”

  “I don’t like being probed, nor did I like the way the tailor measured. Maybe I did growl a few times,” he conceded.

  She chuckled. “You can see how I might come to that conclusion,” she said. “All the facts pointed in that direction.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “You play the piano beautifully. If you had been raised by wolves, you wouldn’t have learned how to play. Besides, your nails are manicured, and it looks like a professional did them.” She let go of his hands and leaned back against the bench.

  “But I still don’t have a clue to who I am.”

  “You remember nothing?” When he hesitated, she knew he wasn’t telling her something. She leaned forward, willing him to meet her gaze, and he did, eventually. “How can I discover who you are or where you come from, if you don’t tell me everything?”

  “It’s not that I have anything solid. It’s more like a feeling.”

  “What?” Still, he didn’t say anything. “It won’t go any further than me.”

  He clasped his hands. “I think there’s someone I’m supposed to protect.”

  “And?”

  “I’m supposed to keep my identity a secret. But I can’t continue from day to day not knowing who I am.”

  She sat forward again. “Wow, that sounds very James Bond.”

  His eyes widened. “You have already discovered my identity? Is that who I am? This James Bond?”

  “I’m sorry,” she quickly told him. “James Bond is a fictional spy, but there are people like him—secret agents. Maybe that’s what you are.”

  She studied him for a moment. It actually did make sense. He had the build, the muscles. That was probably why he remembered that he would need to keep his identity a secret. She was pretty sure secret agents had that drilled into them. And, he’d said he needed to protect someone. Definitely secret-agent stuff.

  A thrill of excitement swept through her. Her very own sexy secret agent living in the guest house. She wondered if he had all of James Bond’s bedroom moves.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  Heat flooded her face. She really had to stop fantasizing. But it was such a good fantasy. She regretfully brought her attention back to the present. “I think we might have just discovered what you do for a living.”

  “But I still don’t know what a secret agent is.”

  She jumped up and grabbed his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you. My dad is a big Bond fan. He has a media room full of his movies. If that’s what you are, maybe it’ll jog your memory.”

  Her father’s addiction to Bond had probably sparked Darcy’s dream of becoming a private investigator. She’d watched every Bond movie at least twice with her father. They’d bonded over Bond.

  She was really losing it.

  They went into the house and upstairs. When they walked inside the media room, she realized she still held his hand. She quickly dropped it, and went to the DVD player. Holding his hand had felt nice, though. Too nice. The relationship had to stay platonic, professional. Her gaze landed on him and lingered for a moment. At least platonic until she knew his background.

  The media room could seat up to twenty people in chocolate-suede covered, oversized recliners. The screen filled one entire wall. There was even a popcorn machine at the back and a small bar where you could get a soda or alcoholic beverage. Not that she had been allowed alcohol until she turned twenty-one, and by then she discovered she preferred soda.

  But her favorite part of the media room was the lights. When they were dimmed, the ceiling automatically began to twinkle with thousands of fiber optic lights. The atmosphere created a feeling of being outside under the stars.

  She motioned Surlock toward one of the chairs and went to the library cabinets. Her organized father had every movie alphabetized and arranged by genre. She quickly found the Bond movie she wanted and grabbed the remote. Her father had hundreds of movies. Collecting them had gone way beyond the hobby stage and become an obsession.

  Darcy inserted the DVD, then took the chair next to Surlock’s. With just the push of a few buttons, the lights dimmed, and the movie started.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Surlock really got into the movie. Halfway through, she realized one thing: All guys were alike. It wasn’t hard to tell that he enjoyed action flicks.

  But she’d forgotten about the sexual tension, the love scenes. She shifted in her seat as James Bond became Surlock and she became the female lead. It was Surlock touching her, flirting with his eyes, seducing her.

  Darcy was glad when the movie finally ended. She jumped to her feet and turned the lights on, rather than using the remote. She needed to put some distance between them.

  “What did you think?” she managed to ask with only a small catch in her voice.

  He shifted in his seat until he met her gaze. “Yes, I think I might be a secret agent.”

  “You’ve remembered something?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. But being a secret agent feels right.”

  Which didn’t really tell her a lot since most guys would like to play the part of James Bond in real life. She was no closer than she had been before they watched the movie. The only thing it had created was more sexual frustration, and confusion about who Surlock might be.

  So, how to find out for sure? She thought about it for a moment before coming up with an idea. “We can fingerprint you.”

  “What will that do?”

  “If you work for the government, your prints might be on file. You could work in intelligence of some kind and not necessarily be a secret agent. There are a lot of possibilities.”

  A slow sexy grin curved his lips upward. Her toes curled in response. Damn, the man was devilishly handsome.

  “I don’t know, I kind of like the idea of women falling all over themselves to mate with me.”

  Her mouth went dry and swallowing was suddenly not an option. The way he looked at her, she had a feeling he wanted to mate with her right here, right now.

  What he’d just said finally sank in. “That’s not the first time you’ve referred to sex as mating. I’ve never heard anyone call it mating. That might be a clue to where you’re from.”

  “Mating is not correct?”

  “It is, but most people refer to it as sex or making love. Mating is usually associated with animals. That’s why I think you
’re probably not from around here.”

  He still looked at her as if he was more interested in making love than finding out who he was. She understood the feeling perfectly. There was a strange current that seemed to pass between them. It was hard to explain. It was almost as if she’d known him all her life, but that wasn’t possible.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he said, reaching over and brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

  His fingertips grazed her cheek. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. She knew he was going to kiss her. One kiss wouldn’t hurt.

  Darcy leaned forward, welcoming his touch, needing his touch. Instead of pulling her closer, his hand slipped to her arm. He ran his fingers lightly up and down in an absentminded caress. It was all she could do to stop herself from jumping his bones.

  “You feel it, too,” he said.

  “Feel what?”

  “The attraction.”

  Her cheeks grew warm. “You’re a nice-looking man—of course I feel attracted to you.” That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one.

  “No, more than that. I’ve never felt anything such as this. I want you so much, my need has become a deep ache inside me. Do you feel this?”

  As if an electrical current passed between them. Yes, but she’d been afraid to say anything to him. She finally nodded, unable to speak.

  “I think if I can’t touch you, I will explode.” He moved his hand to the shoulder ties on her shirt. He didn’t hurry as he untied first one, then the other.

  Darcy knew that he was giving her time to protest, to stop him, but she couldn’t. Instead, she reached for the remote and dimmed the lights. She refused to remind herself she’d only been going to let him kiss her, nothing more. She’d think about the consequences later.

  She started the movie playing again to drown out the noise she knew they would make. When she faced him again, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it to the floor.

  Her hands trembled when she unbuttoned the first button on his shirt. He didn’t try to stop her, either. Not that she had really thought he might. It was a good thing, too, because she wanted to touch him.