Werewolf in Las Vegas: Wild About You

by Thompson, Vicki Lewis

  When he pressed his mouth to her soft skin, she gasped out his name. He loved hearing her say it, loved having her acknowledge who was caressing her and making her pant and beg for more.

  “Please, Luke…please!”

  “Yes. God, yes.” With a groan of ecstasy, he sank deep and thanked whatever twist of fate had brought him Giselle Landry in his hour of need.

  She rose to meet him and gave him as good as she got. This wasn’t going to be long and languorous. She urged him to be wild, and he didn’t need much urging. He’d been sweeping emotions under the rug for months, and now they came pouring out.

  They rocked that king-sized bed. As they did, he took a moment to celebrate the wonders of making love to a woman without wearing a condom. Being a responsible man in an enlightened age, he’d never done that before. And he’d had no idea. No. Idea.

  They were so in tune with each other that they even came at the same time. He’d tried to orchestrate that with other women and had failed to do so. But with Giselle, it happened naturally, as if that was the way things were meant to be.

  They lay in the semidarkness holding each other, and he wondered if that would be it. This might have been a gimme on her part because she’d felt sorry for him. If so, he’d take it and be glad. She’d started them in this new direction, and he’d take his cues from her.

  She rubbed his back and arched against him. “That was terrific.”

  “Yes, and you deserve the credit. I would never have—”

  “I know. I was dead set against this, but…you’re worth it, Luke.”

  That comment sounded slightly ominous, but he chuckled, as if she’d cracked a joke. “I hope you’re not about to get in trouble. Will someone come after us?”

  “No. It’s a personal thing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “As mellow as I feel right now, I’m not sure I could worry about anything.”

  * * *

  Well, she’d done it, and the world had not come to an end. Giselle had expected to feel guilty afterward, but, like Luke, she was too mellow to work up a decent case of guilt. If she wanted to drum up excuses for herself, she could always blame Luke’s obvious grief.

  But that wouldn’t be fair. She’d been edging toward this ever since she’d met him. Something about him—his quick grin, his blue eyes, his devotion to his sister, his willingness to take a joke—had told her that Luke Dalton was her Waterloo.

  Ha. That was funny, in view of the water-related pranks going on. Bryce would get a kick out of that if she ever told him, which she wouldn’t. She’d done this thing, had sex with a human male, but that didn’t mean she’d take any more steps down that dangerous path.

  Well, she needed to modify that statement. Luke would be her one-and-only adventure in human sexuality. But as long as she’d gone this far, she couldn’t see wasting the chance to explore the issue for as long as they had time to do that. Maybe she could consider it research. How could she counsel female Weres to avoid sex with humans if she had no knowledge of the temptations involved?

  With those thoughts in mind, she lifted her head and murmured in Luke’s ear, “Can we do that again?”

  He lifted his head and gazed down at her. “Oh, thank God. I thought maybe you felt sorry for me, and you’d think one time was enough to express your sympathy.”

  She started to laugh and couldn’t seem to stop. “Sorry.” She tried to catch her breath. “But that’s hysterical. FYI, that’s not normally how I express my sympathy for someone’s loss. Ordinarily I send a card.”

  He snorted. Then he laughed. Before long they had to break apart because they were both laughing so hard they needed extra room to roll around.

  Finally, gasping, they lay on their backs on his bed.

  “The answer to your question,” he said, “is yes, we most definitely can do this again. But I’m warning you, once we turn on the lights, you’ll see that this is a very white bedroom.”

  “So?”

  “No, I mean everything is white. The walls, the curtains, the sheets, the comforter—everything.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was the easiest way to match everything.”

  “Oh.” She was silent for a minute. “You have a ton of money, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “So why didn’t you hire an interior decorator to fix up your bedroom so it wasn’t all white?”

  He sighed. “You’re not the first person to ask me that, but you’re the first person I’ll answer honestly.”

  “Oh, good. I love secrets.”

  “Was that sarcasm?”

  “No! I do really like them! Please tell me, Luke. I promise I won’t laugh.”

  “Oh, that’s reassuring. You’re expecting you might want to laugh, aren’t you?”

  “Sort of.”

  “All right. I didn’t hire an interior decorator because this is my bedroom, the most intimate place in the house, and I figured that the person who chose the color scheme should be me.”

  “A decorator would let you choose.”

  “Yeah, but they’d be putting in their two cents’ worth. I wanted it to be all my idea.”

  “So it could reflect your personality?”

  He wasn’t sure he should answer that. “In a way.”

  “So your personality is plain vanilla?”

  “I knew I shouldn’t tell you.”

  She rolled to face him. “Yes, you should, because I won’t breathe a word of that to anyone. Trust me. I know how to keep a secret.”

  He reached over and touched her cheek. “I’ll bet you do. I’ll bet you plan to keep what happened here a secret.”

  “I do, and I’d appreciate it if you would, too.”

  “I will, Giselle. But that answers another question I had running around in my brain. Looks like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  “It’s for the best, Luke.”

  “And you swear that you don’t have some guy waiting for you back in ’Frisco? You can tell me if you do. I won’t judge.”

  “I don’t.” She held his hand against her cheek. “You don’t know me well enough yet if you’d even ask that.”

  “I’m sure I don’t. And once you leave, I probably still won’t. But whatever happens, I will be forever grateful that you’re here with me tonight.”

  “You’re welcome.” She caught his hand and placed a kiss in his palm. “So you never really grieved for your father?”

  “Stupid, isn’t it? We’re given so many opportunities. At the deathbed, at the viewing, at the funeral, at the graveside, after the funeral. But all those occasions were so public. I’m a macho guy. I’m not supposed to start bawling in front of all my friends and family.”

  “I’m honored that you trusted me enough, then.”

  “You didn’t give me much choice. I tried to escape, but you came after me. I’m so glad you did.”

  “So I could deliver my sympathy card.”

  “Exactly.”

  He tried to remember if he’d ever lain in the dark talking to a woman this way. He couldn’t remember a single instance. He’d heard people rave on about soul mates and had never believed in the idea. But he’d never met someone like Giselle, either, a woman he’d felt at home with from the beginning, despite some of the prickly comments she’d made to him. She was so easy to get along with that he was considering turning on the light and letting her see his white bedroom even though she’d already made fun of it.

  But lying in the dark and talking was fun, too. They had their own private world right now, where no one besides them knew that a special connection had taken place. He gave her hand a squeeze. “Tell me what you were like as a little girl.”

  “Bossy.”

  “I can believe that.”

  She kicked him, but her bare feet tickled more than hurt.

  “Tell me more.” He admitted to being fascinated by the subject of Giselle, maybe because she hadn’t given him much to go on. “Did you have pigtails? Did you pla
y with dolls?”

  “Yes on the pigtails, no on the dolls. I had a brother just two years older, and I thought he and his friends were so cool that I tagged after them. We built forts and ran races and staged elaborate battles.”

  “Sounds like fun. Cynthia was eight years younger, so we never really played together. She was like…a little doll.” As he said that, he realized how it sounded. “Don’t jump on that, Giselle. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “How can I help it? That statement illustrates the problem perfectly. You have to stop thinking of her as your doll-like little sister and think of her as an adult who is capable of taking care of herself.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “I know.” She reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I see that you are, and that’s fantastic.”

  He lay there quietly and let her comb her fingers through his hair again. He couldn’t believe how much he loved having her do that. “So you were a rough-and-tumble kind of kid who liked to build forts and stage battles, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you ever play in the mud?”

  “All the time. San Francisco is a moist climate. There’s always some mud around somewhere.”

  “So you like the concept, then?”

  She stopped combing his hair. “I did, when I was a kid. I can’t say I go out and roll around in it now that I’m an adult. Is there a point to this conversation?”

  “There is.” The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. “It’s time to turn on the lights and let you see what sort of all-white environment you’ve stumbled into.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do. Cover your eyes.” Reaching over her, he turned on the bedside table lamp nearest to him. One thing he hadn’t counted on with his all-white color scheme—white reflected light like crazy. There was a reason they used it in operating rooms. It made everything so much brighter.

  In a bedroom, though, where he wouldn’t be doing surgery, it could be a mistake. He was beginning to realize that, but as long as he had the white going on, he might as well find a way to exploit it.

  Giselle continued to hold her hand over her eyes. “Can I look now?”

  “You can, but try not to be blinded.”

  She uncovered her eyes slowly and gazed around the room. “You weren’t kidding, Luke. This is white.”

  “Technically, it’s called linen, but I won’t quibble. It’s very white. Too white. I realize that now. Everything has to go.”

  “No, it doesn’t! Keep the white comforter and put on different sheets. Leave those gorgeous pictures on the walls, but paint the walls a different color. White’s a perfectly fine choice in moderation.”

  “Maybe, but are we agreed that the white sheets are history?”

  “That would be the least expensive change to make.”

  “Then, before they go, I want to give those white sheets a walk on the wild side. And since you once used to love playing in the mud, I’m hoping you’ll play along.”

  “I hope you’re not planning to bring a vat of mud into the penthouse, Luke.”

  “No. Mud is for kids. Grown-ups play with chocolate mousse.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Giselle was semihorrified when Luke announced his plan. But sure enough, he mounted an expedition into the kitchen and retrieved the two pieces of cake from the refrigerator, where Mr. Thatcher had tucked them away.

  Once Luke had their cake, each on a serving plate, he announced his intention to eat the cake in bed. He suggested they’d have more fun if they used their bodies as serving platters.

  “No way!” She tried to take the plates away from him. “If you’re hungry for cake, we’ll eat it in the living room.”

  “Nope.” He held the plates over his head. “It’s my bed and my sheets. If I want to eat chocolate cake in here, I will.”

  “And you accused my brother of not acting his age! Seriously, even if you try to be careful, you’ll ruin these sheets.”

  “I have no intention of being careful.” He started toward the bedroom with the plates. “But I have every intention of licking chocolate off your—”

  “Luke, don’t do this. You’re about to make a huge mess.”

  “No, we are. Unless you’re not coming. Oh, but I think you will come. Many times. Chocolate is an aphrodisiac. Did you know that?” He continued walking toward his bedroom. “Not that I need an aphrodisiac with you around. I’m getting hard again. That’s good, though, because then you’ll have an easier time putting chocolate on it.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” But she followed him, despite her misgivings. She was also laughing, which wasn’t helpful. And when she pictured him smearing chocolate over her body and licking it off, her resolve slipped another notch.

  He stood in the bedroom on his white carpet, holding the plates and gazing at her. “You look good naked, but you’ll look even better in chocolate.”

  “I have an idea. Let’s keep the plan but move the venue into the bathroom. We can lie in your Jacuzzi tub without any water, do this chocolate body paint thing, and shower off afterward.”

  “Sounds sensible.”

  “Good. Then let’s do that.” She started toward the double doors into his large bathroom.

  “I don’t want to be sensible. The white sheets are history, anyway. Let’s mess them up.” There was a stubborn light in his blue eyes.

  She began to understand what was behind his insistence. Like her brother, he was expected to shoulder a huge amount of responsibility. Unlike her brother, he didn’t have the luxury of running away. His father had died, and he was the only one who could step in and take over.

  Perhaps ruining a set of high-thread-count sheets was exactly what Luke needed to blow off a little steam. As rebellions went, it wasn’t particularly destructive. And as he’d pointed out, he was going to get rid of the sheets anyway.

  She also liked thinking that she’d help create a once-in-a-lifetime experience for him. Chances were slim he’d ever buy white sheets again, let alone defy common sense by playing chocolate games on them. This night would be one for the record books. Although reason told her they had no future, her feelings for him were strong enough that she didn’t want him to forget her.

  “Okay, I’m in,” she said.

  “Excellent.” His grin was triumphant. “Then I can put these down without worrying that you’ll snatch them away.” He walked over and set the plates on a low dresser.

  “But can we at least take the white comforter off first?”

  “I dunno.” Arms folded, he surveyed the bed, which looked like a giant marshmallow. “I doubt that I’ll keep that, either, so why save it from its fate?”

  “Let’s say you decided to buy black satin sheets. A white comforter on top of that would be very sexy and sophisticated.”

  “Hm.”

  “Come on, Luke. Don’t ruin that beautiful goose-down comforter.”

  “How’d you know it was goose down?”

  “I can sm—” She caught herself. “Anybody could tell it is. It’s obvious.”

  “That’s not what you started to say.” He uncrossed his arms and walked over to her, his expression curious. “You started to say you could smell it. But it’s supposed to be supersanitized goose down. It shouldn’t smell any different from the polyester filling in other comforters.”

  Well, damn. This was what she got for jumping into an intimate relationship with a human. She couldn’t say the first thing that popped into her head the way she might with a werewolf lover. The werewolf lover wouldn’t have asked the question, though. He would have been able to smell the difference, too.

  “You’ve already told me you have better-than-average hearing,” Luke said. “Do you have a better-than-average nose, too?”

  “Apparently.” She had to see this through. “But I tend to freak people out if they know that, so I try not to let on.”

  Luke smiled. “But you let down your guard with m
e.” He reached for her and drew her into his arms. “I’m flattered. But now I wonder if I should shower before we take this evening any further.”

  “No!” Whoops, that was a little too emphatic. “I mean, please don’t. I like the way you smell.” She more than liked it. She was drawn to it in a way that shocked her.

  Technically, she shouldn’t be so turned on by a human’s scent, but something about Luke’s natural aroma hit all her olfactory pleasure centers. And when he was aroused, like now, her response was off the charts. She had to stifle the urge to bury her nose in the curve of his neck and inhale.

  “Are you sure?” He looked at her as if he thought she might be making that up. “Most women I know like the scrubbed version of me, complete with aftershave.”

  “I like this version.” Giving in to her primitive needs, she stood on tiptoe and sniffed the hollow of his throat. “Mmm.” Then she licked him there.

  He chuckled. “I believe you, and you’re turning me on with that routine. If you don’t watch out, we’ll be doing it doggie style next.”

  No, they wouldn’t, she thought with some sadness. That position was reserved for the werewolf tradition of binding, when a male and a female mated for life. She would never experience that with Luke.

  Stepping back, he surveyed her from head to toe. “You’re wonderful,” he said softly. “And you are going to look so good covered in chocolate.”

  That propelled her into action. “Not until I take off that comforter!” She hurried over to the bed.

  “I don’t give a damn about the comforter.” He grabbed her from behind, wrapped his arms around her midriff, and hauled her against him. “Leave it.” His mouth found the curve of her neck, and he nipped her there.

  She quivered with lust. Without realizing it, he was behaving in a very wolflike manner by grabbing her from behind and nipping at her throat. He couldn’t know that was the very thing that would drive her wild, and yet somehow he’d instinctively done it.

  “You smell good, too. And you taste good.” He nuzzled her shoulder as he cupped her breast with one hand and slipped the other unerringly through the triangle of red curls to his ultimate destination. His voice roughened. “And you feel good. Especially here.”