by Michele Hauf
At some point she’d fallen asleep, and now she blinked and yawned as her body slowly woke and she realized she still sat in Ridge’s arms, surrounded by his safety and the quiet rumble of his snores.
The oven clock blinked to five-fifteen. She’d slept through the night. Which was probably for the best. Turning on Ridge’s lap, she nuzzled her cheek against his neck. He smelled like man, dried blood and sweat. His contented breathing matched Swell Cat’s.
She wagered Richard Addison had never been content his entire life. Growing up in the pack and having to fight for every scrap he could get his hands on. And he probably never put up a front of false contentedness as she had done over the years. Changing her life by pushing people away? When had that been such a good idea?
She needed help. She needed people. She…needed.
“Time is it?” he asked softly. His legs shifted beneath hers, shuffling her body closer against his warm, snuggly chest.
“A little after five. We slept. I want to take a shower, but I can’t risk it.”
“If the phone rings I’ll call you out. I promise.”
She met his golden-brown eyes, dashed along one eyebrow with a smear of blood. No menace in his gaze, not a trace of cruelty. What he wore outside his soul, on the surface skin, was a means of protection for his truly kind heart. A necessary protection.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Richard Addison.” She traced the prickly stubble darkening his jaw. “Why can’t I accept that?”
“I’ve never been anyone’s best thing, sweetie. I think you’re still swimming in dreamsleep.”
“I’m completely awake. I…” She kissed him. She was doing what came naturally, like breathing. His mouth moved against hers in a lazy reply. “I need you to be my best thing, Ridge.”
“I would only disappoint. As I’ve shown you so clearly by letting Miles and his henchwolves get away.”
“We’ll get Ryan back. And you’ve shown me you are the warrior I guessed you to be. I am the one who wants to deserve you.”
Again, she kissed him, and moved to straddle his hips with her knees. How easy it was to fall into his quiet strength, to surrender. To release control.
He winced as her hand skimmed the bullet wound on his shoulder. It was healed over and scarred, crusted with blood. “You can take the first shower,” she told him. “You need it. I’ll feed Swell Cat and get the photo of the binding spell while I wait.”
“You could join me.”
“Then who will listen for the phone to ring?”
“Right. Got it. Dragging up my aching bones and walking to the shower. What I wouldn’t give for some clean clothes,” he muttered as he strode down the hallway. “I might have some in the back of the truck. Usually I carry along a couple changes of clothing because we wolves, well, you know.”
“I’ll run out and check.”
He winked and disappeared down the hallway.
There was indeed a duffel packed with clothing in the bed of the pickup truck. The whole thing was cold so she tossed his jeans and plaid shirt into the dryer to warm them while he showered.
The phone rang and Abigail dashed toward the kitchen, leaped over Swell Cat and performed a sliding landing across the linoleum floor to snatch the receiver.
“Hello!”
A woman spoke, and Abigail almost screamed at her and hung up, but she recognized Ravin Crosse’s voice and slumped against the refrigerator and listened.
“Sorry to call so early, Abigail, but I’m still on European time. Just got back in town a few hours ago. I wanted to give you a heads-up. There are stirrings that the newest principal for the Northern pack has been butting heads with other packs. They’re all growling for his dismissal and some complaints have been lodged with the Council.”
Ravin, a fellow witch who had walked this earth since the Middle Ages, served on the Council alongside her vampire husband, Nikolaus Drake. She was one tough witch, known to cruise a street chopper through the streets of Minneapolis, and she and Abigail often rubbed each other the wrong way for their strong personalities.
“And why do I need to know about that?” Abigail said, wincing at the snide tone she couldn’t stop. “Why doesn’t Severo look into it?”
Ridge had told her they’d run into Severo inside the Ely compound. If the elder wolf had been the one to complain, she’d serve him some bad magic.
“I don’t know where that werewolf is right now, and yours was the first name to come up when we needed someone to investigate. You do normally handle these sorts of inquiries. Unless…”
“Ravin, spit out whatever you’re trying to say. I’m in no mood to beat about the bush.”
“Reports link you to Ridge Addison. That you were along with him when he tried to stop the blood sport at the River pack’s compound.”
“And you have a problem with what, exactly? That Ridge was trying to stop the violence against vampires? Really, Ravin, I don’t understand you. Aren’t you married to a vampire?”
“You’re avoiding the question. Were you with him? And why?”
“Did you find any clothes?”
At the sound of Ridge’s voice, Abigail turned to see him enter the kitchen, his hips draped in a towel. She signaled him to check the dryer.
“Is that them?” he asked. She shooed him out of the room.
“I guess that answers my question,” Ravin said. “You’re with him, and I can make one guess at why.”
“Oh, really? What reason is that?” Again, she shooed the wondering werewolf away because she couldn’t manage the distraction of his muscles displayed in nothing but a towel while Ravin chattered in her ear.
“The guy’s hot,” Ravin said. “Have you counted the ridges on his abdomen? Because I know I have, and there’s a hell of a lot more there than a six-pack.”
If the situation weren’t so dire, Abigail could almost break down into girlfriend chatter over her boyfriend’s sexy attributes.
She glanced down the hallway. Ridge, still in a towel, stood in the doorway to the laundry room, staring at her, one foot hooked at the wall. Boyfriend?
More like husband, her conscience snickered with an admonishing giggle.
“We’re not involved,” she said hastily, yet directed her did-you-get-that? stare toward the werewolf. “He’s…helping me with something, and we got sidetracked. He’s adamant about stopping the blood sport, and why should the Council point a finger at him for trying to do some good?”
“We’re not pointing fingers, we’re investigating the complaints. It helps to hear your perspective on it. That is a professional opinion, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I hadn’t imagined Addison would be doing anything wrong. But we’re going to need to chill the wolf out for a while, so the steam brewing in the River pack can settle.”
“You want me to tell him to stop? I won’t do that. We should be thankful someone is taking matters into his own hands and not sitting back and watching like we do.”
“You and I have very different opinions of what the Council does and doesn’t do.”
“I’ve been on the Council a lot longer than you, Ravin. They’re not innocent by any standards.”
And to get into that would open up a can of worms Abigail had not the patience to sort through.
“Listen, I have to get off the phone. I’m waiting for an important call. We can go at it next Council meeting.”
“Which is in two days.”
“Seriously? I didn’t get the memo. I don’t know if I can make it.”
“You’d better, Rowan, or we’ll become suspicious of your involvement with the wolf.”
The phone clicked off, leaving Abigail furious enough to want to throw the receiver across the room, but instead she slammed it in the carriage and turned into the werewolf’s arms.
He was right there. Again. Always when she needed him, he was there. But she didn’t question his weird sense for her emotions, and let him lead her down th
e hall toward the bathroom.
“I guess that was Council business,” he said as he lifted her shirt and pulled it over her head. He bent to plant a kiss atop each breast, delivering a scintillating shiver with each. “Shower, and you’ll feel better. I’ll keep one hand on the phone until you get out.”
She nodded. “You’re a good man, Ridge.”
“And you are an amazing mother who will see her son very soon.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, and she ducked into the bathroom and closed the door before the first teardrop fell.
* * *
“Didn’t ring,” Ridge offered as Abigail stepped into the bedroom, a fluffy pink towel wrapped around her torso. He sat on the bed, head resting against the elaborate gold filigree headboard. He’d put on his jeans, but the plaid shirt lay at the bottom of the bed. He wasn’t ready to get completely dressed. “Hot water feels great, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I took a cold shower to wake up.” She slid next to him, tilting her head onto his shoulder. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“You,” he said and pulled her to sit on his lap. She offered no protest when he kissed her, and tugged open the towel to slide his hands over her breasts. “You taste good.”
“Cherry toothpaste. You taste the same.” She glanced out the open bedroom door.
“If it rings we will hear,” he said, and nuzzled his nose against her neck where her skin was still wet. He licked the water droplets and she squirmed against him in a welcoming motion. “I was thinking about what you said about me being your best thing.”
“And?”
“I want to be that best thing for you. If you’ll let me.”
“That would mean a lot to me. But can it wait until my son is safe?”
He nodded. Right. He was getting ahead of himself. Rushing toward the light when he’d never been able to get too close to it before without the door getting slammed in his face and leaving him in the shadows. Who was being obsessive now?
“Just touch me,” she whispered at his ear. “Touch me like a wolf who wants his mate.”
“Abigail, you don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m not giving you permission to wolf out.”
“I know that, and I won’t. I promise.” But it would take all his effort not to. “But…I can get a little rough. I like it…frenzied. Powerful. Hard.”
“I’m a big girl, Ridge. I want to feel your strength.” She sat up straight, straddling his legs and lifting her breasts before his appreciative gaze. A tease of tongue slipped over her bottom lip. “I want you to claim me.”
His hands clasped about her waist and lifted her to the side as if she were a doll. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Oh please.” She trailed her fingers down his chest and toward the dark hairs above his waistline. “I think you’re afraid to go one-on-one with the baddest witch in the Midwest.”
“Not at all.”
She cupped her breasts and stroked her fingers over her nipples, tilting back her head with a moan. A pinch to both ruched the flesh up tightly. Ridge’s mouth dropped open. His cock instantly hardened.
“Abigail. You’re teasing.”
“Would you prefer I had my mind on other things? Dire things?”
No, he wanted her mind occupied, not thinking about her son. And with his hard-on growing, who was he to argue her amorous mood?
He moved over the top of her, coaxing her to lie back on the bed. She unzipped his jeans and pressed his hard-on against her thigh. Boldness flashed in her eyes. His skin hungered for her touch.
She slid her foot along his jeans, inching the pant legs down his thighs, and he bent to her breasts and suckled at them, softly at first, and then he tugged wantonly and clasped firm fingers about them. The nipple grew hard and tight. Delicious moans filled the room. Her pleasure hummed in his heart. He loved making her squirm like this.
He managed to kick off his jeans and he knelt over her, his cock thrust out above her mons, which displayed dark hair. So that really was her natural color. She clasped his shaft and Ridge forgot about the color of her hair. His pectoral muscles tightened, as did his abs. His entire body wanted, needed to be fulfilled.
“I want you inside me right now,” she said. “This gorgeous, thick cock of yours. I need it, Ridge.”
“Then we’re doing it my way this time.”
“That’s the way I want it.”
He held himself up with one hand and with his other hand, lifted her under her waist and turned her over. He clasped her body tight up against his until she knelt on all fours.
He kissed the nape of her neck where it was hot and soft and smelled of coconuts. Sweet mercy, she smelled so good. And her lithe body arched up against his to fit perfectly. One of his hands found her folds and slid between them, testing her wetness and delivering a satisfied growl when he learned she was hot and moist.
“Spread your legs more,” he ordered with a tightness to his voice. Foreplay was going to be quick. He needed. Now. He clasped her hair and wrapped it about his hand. “Is this okay?”
She wiggled her hips and rubbed against his hard weapon. “Oh, yeah.”
His thickness nudged between her thighs and butted against her folds. He slicked over her wetness, up and down, wetting himself and tugging at her clitoris as he did so. He felt too swollen to get inside her, but in the expectation of it she let out a peal of delight.
Reaching down she guided the full head of him toward the goal. He grasped both her hips and allowed her to guide him inside. Together, they cried out at the pure delight in the hot connection. He filled her slowly, creeping deeper by measured caution. And then, he rammed her hard and quick. She had to grip the bed covering to not slide off onto the floor.
She moaned at his wicked claiming, his forceful thrusts marking her as his, sheathing him deeply, and then almost pulling out, but not quite.
And then he grabbed her hair again and twisted. He used it to hang on but not pull her about. He pistoned inside her, racing the insistent pull of climax. So hot. She hugged him tightly. Gave him all he wanted. Needed.
Ridge cried out and clasped a hand around her body and over her breasts as he pumped inside her forcefully until he answered the incredible call of orgasm.
“My goddess,” Abigail said on a gasp. “You’re so powerful. Ridge, I… Let’s do it again.”
He chuckled and fell down beside her, pulling her on top of him, and kissed her cheek, her eyelids, her nose, her mouth.
And then the phone rang.
Chapter 16
Abigail hung up the phone and turned to Ridge. He didn’t like the look on her face. This powerful witch had been beaten and pushed to the ground. That bastard Miles was going to pay for the harm he’d caused both Abigail and Ryan.
“He said…” Her hands shook. The silk robe she’d hastily pulled on fell from one shoulder. Behind her the chrome toaster on the counter sparked, and she jumped. It had reacted to her nervous magic.
“He wants you to go alone,” Ridge guessed.
She nodded, and then grabbed the photo from the counter. He slammed his palm over the paper before she could claim it. “You’re not going anywhere without me. He was able to get the better of you once before, he’ll do it again. Think, Abigail.”
“I know, I know. And I’m not at the top of my game right now, so I’m worried I’ll fail or my magic will freak out.” The lighted buttons on the oven flashed to red and the microwave began to beep. “But he said if he saw you he’d kill Ryan.”
“He’s not going to see me,” Ridge said. He lured her out of the kitchen to the relative safety of the living room, where her magic could affect only the outlets. “But you’ll know I’m there. If that bastard makes a wrong move, if he so much as looks at you crooked, I’ll be there to put an end to this stupid game of his.”
“Think only of Ryan,” she cautioned, grabbing his forearms and looking directly into his eyes. “Above all, his safety is most
important. I can handle myself.”
Ridge winced. Sounded like something Persia Masterson had once said to him after she’d taken a brutal beating from Amandus. You can’t protect me all the time. Protect yourself.
He hadn’t thought of her for years. The memory hurt his soul.
He wasn’t about to fail another woman.
He folded the photo and handed it to Abigail, then kissed the corner of her mouth, a bittersweet connection. “Let’s go.”
* * *
They found the meeting place using the GPS coordinates Miles had given her. The area was forested, with patches of open field here and there, and houses were spaced miles apart from one another.
Ridge stopped the truck a quarter mile from the destination and Abigail got out to walk. The midafternoon was gray, darkened by clouds. The chirp of a hawk disturbed her.
Her hands warmed inside her gloves and she tugged them off and shoved them in her pockets. Her magic was reacting to her nerves. She had to calm down before reaching Miles.
Confident Ridge would track her from the cover of the forest, she wandered down the gravel country road, her boots crunching packed snow as she held a stern countenance. If Ryan saw her coming, she wanted him to know his mother meant business.
Ryan was not visible when she arrived before Miles and his henchwolves. Her peripheral vision took in no place where they could be hiding the boy. A house was half a mile off near a wooded area. Shoving her hands in her pockets to remind herself that she had to maintain control, she approached Miles.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“Where is Ryan?”
“The binding spell first.”
She hated this loss of control. But she knew Miles was as determined as she, and he was the one who always reacted to the extreme when things didn’t go his way.
“What happened to us?” she asked, hoping to get into the man’s brain and subtly influence him to calm before he unleashed his fire. “Will you tell me?”
* * *
Miles cast a wink over his shoulder that Abigail could not see from where she stood. Every muscle strapping Ridge’s body tightened and instinct reacted. “That bastard isn’t going to let the boy go.”