Wolf's Desire

by Anne Marsh

  He grunts, the sound noncommittal. “Being sheriff gives me Alpha rights in both worlds.”

  There’s no misunderstanding the look he gives me next. I think he’s about to remind me that he’s—temporarily—in charge of me, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. I’ve had bosses and I’ve had lovers, but I’ve never acknowledged anyone, male or female, as having ultimate authority over me. One of the reasons I fled the trailer park and my childhood so early was my dislike of being dominated—and I loathe submitting. I don’t do it well, so the idea of Cruz claiming Alpha rights over me should have me running for my car.

  “You’re sworn to uphold the laws of the state of Louisiana,” I remind him, unable to bring myself to say human laws. I don’t want any more reminders that he’s different from me and not entirely human.

  “Oui.” His hand presses just a little harder against my back.

  “And you’re also Alpha of your pack. You don’t ever have a conflict of interest?”

  “I know where the line is, boo.” He sounds one hundred percent certain.

  But I have to wonder if he really does know or if he even realizes that it’s a choice he’s made to play by the rules of my world. A choice he could take back at any point because, at the end of the day, Cruz is a shape-shifter and a wolf.

  And not one hundred percent human.

  CRUZ

  Gianna thinks I’m nice.

  That I actually play by a set of rules I could share with her.

  She’s so fucking wrong. She has zero idea how savage my world—and its rules—are. If she accepts me, I can keep her safe. If she thinks the Breauxs are uncivilized, wait until she gets to know my pack. Jace showed her a hint of his true colors earlier, but he was still minding his manners.

  “Come on.” This is my one chance to prove to her to that I can be the man she needs in her life. A stand-by-you, got-your-back kind of man. So I’m not taking her quick and hard, not our first time alone. Five minutes to reach my place. Five minutes more to show her around. Then… then I can finally carry her off to my bed and finish what we started all those nights ago in Luc’s bed.

  I’ve got my own place out back because sometimes a guy needs his space. Up in the main house, I’m the pack Alpha and I value their trust in me. It’s just that it can be nice to let go a little, to remember that I’m Cruz Jones in addition to being the Alpha. That probably makes me an ungrateful bastard, but I’m not going to bullshit myself.

  I heft her suitcase and start walking. From the weight of the thing, she’s packed everything but the kitchen sink. The sooner I get her inside, the sooner we can pick up where we’d left off. If she’s in the mood. She hesitates, but then she falls in behind me.

  The guesthouse is a smaller version of the main house, but with white walls, a wraparound porch, and plenty of windows. I like my light, and I’ve spent years refinishing and rebuilding. Gianna’s house in Baton Rouge, on the other hand, is more palace than bayou fishing shack, all white columns and fancy furniture. She’s worked hard to get where she is in her career, and she clearly likes nice things. She’s also partial to pink and gold, which is only one of many ways we differ, but I can compromise on interior decorating. She can redo my place in cherubs and shiny shit if that’s what makes her happy. Somehow, though, I don’t think she’s the kind of woman who hangs up on things.

  She marches along beside me, hips swinging beneath that sassy sundress. Her sandals make her legs go on for miles and miles, and her face is pink, although I’m not sure if that’s due to arousal or anger. Christ. She’s gorgeous. All I have to do is look at her and my heart does flip-flops in my chest, which is all wrong for an Alpha. I’m big and tough, but she turns me into a goddamned marshmallow.

  I come to a halt at the foot of the porch without coming to any conclusion about my marshmallow issues. “Home sweet home.”

  She tips her head back and eyeballs the place while I pretend as if her opinion doesn’t matter to me. Much. “I like it.”

  I really need to ignore the warmth filling me. If she hates the place, it’s not as if I can knock it down and start over. It doesn’t matter that I’ve put plenty of weekend time into refinishing and working over the woodwork and floors. Much, the unwelcome voice in my head taunts. Oui. That voice is a pussy, and it basks in Gianna’s approval.

  “Come on in.” I take the steps two at a time and palm the door open. I don’t bother locking up. This far out of town, we’ve never had problems. Plus, I’m the sheriff and a wolf. I smell trouble long before it ever comes knocking.

  Naturally, since I’m eager to get her inside, she hesitates, planting her feet in her come-fuck-me sandals on my bottom step. Damn it. I want her to hurry up and get inside. Followed by getting naked. Is that too much to ask?

  “This isn’t like a vampire book, right?” she asks.

  Sometimes, I have no idea what goes through her head. All I know is that whatever it is, if it worries her, I fix it. That’s my number one mission in life, followed by my number two mission, the aforementioned getting-naked objective.

  “You goin’ to explain that one to me?” I’ve met vampires. Hell, they hunt the Breaux brothers on a regular basis. The one thing I agree on with Luc Breaux—besides the fact that Gianna is a fucking dream—is that the only good vampire is a dead vampire. I’m not sure what Gianna knows about the monsters though, and I’m not planning on being the one to cue her in if she’s still happily ignorant.

  “I can’t come in unless you invite me. Or vice-versa. Or—” She huffs. “Never mind.”

  I grin at her and set her suitcase inside the door. “Come on up here, and I’ll show you just how welcome you are.”

  A naughty grin plays across her pretty mouth. “Two double entendres in one sentence. Nicely done.”

  She pops up the steps and joins me by the door. Her dress brushes my knee, her hip bumping mine. Oui. This closeness thing works so much better for me.

  “One week. Seven nights.” I don’t know if that’s the lawyer in her, wanting the terms set down all nice and tidy, or if it’s Gianna herself, but relationships never stay black-and-white.

  “I’m lookin’ forward to it. I give excellent witness protection.” I wink and pat her on the butt.

  Shaking her head, she steps inside. “I just think we need to be clear.”

  “I’ve got a furniture problem,” I tell her, because I want to see her grin again, want to make her laugh and have fun.

  “Explain,” she demands. Her eyes dance with amusement and heat. God, I love her eyes.

  “I’ve got one bed,” I admit.

  “And one couch, one table, and one… chair?” She finishes because, yeah, she’s noticed I’m a little light in the furnishings department and not because I’m into minimalist, post-modern décor.

  Her smile gets wider. Bring it on. “I’ve got two chairs,” I point out, as if we’re really going to have a casual conversation now about my decorating choices.

  She makes a face. “And there goes my excuse to sit on your lap.”

  “Baby, you don’ need excuses.” Whatever she wants, it’s hers.

  I’ve got three bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. Twelve hundred feet all to myself. Looking at it now, imagining how it appears to Gianna, I realize I should have paid more attention to furniture because I apparently possess about eleven hundred feet of empty space. I make a mental note to get on the furnishings bandwagon. Maybe pick up some stemware crap, if Gianna’s still talking to me by the week’s end. At least I don’t have the my-bedroom-or-yours issue. My place may have three bedrooms, but I own exactly one bed. She’ll be sleeping with me unless she opts for the loveseat in the living room.

  She wanders around, and I kind of like that too, the way she touches things, trails her fingers over the surfaces. My place will carry her scent for weeks, months even, and that’s so fucking perfect I can’t bite back my grin.

  “We’re clear,” I tell her because honestly, I don’t th
ink it’s possible to be clearer. She’s giving me these next seven days and no more. Message received. I fight the urge to growl, my wolf urging me to crowd her. Take her. Fuck. I need to be more than my wolf. I’ll be the best lover, the best man she’s ever held, and then she’ll keep me.

  She gives me a look.

  “Seven nights. Got it.” I tell myself her words don’t sting. They’re just a challenge, and I’ve always loved a good challenge.

  “And then—” She turns away from me, making it impossible to see her face. Needing to fix that, I stop hovering on my own goddamn porch, follow her in and close the door. I debate flipping the lock, just to send a message of my own, but really… what’s she going to take away from my chest beating? Boo, you’re alone with the big bad wolf, and now he’s goin’ to eat you up?

  Because, oui, I have a whole lot of interest in that particular portion of events. What happens after our seven nights are up? And what if it isn’t what I want? What if I lose?

  Christ.

  I don’t lose. I can’t lose. Not when it’s Gianna at stake.

  “What happens next is up to you.” I mean it too, although of course I’m hoping we’re on the same page.

  “Part of me feels as if I’m cheating on him,” she says quietly. Too quietly. God. Damn. It. I’m losing to Luc Breaux all over again, and the man isn’t even here.

  “But part of me is also just happy to be here,” she admits, and my heart does that marshmallow thing again.

  “You don’ have to stay here.” Not that I want to watch her turn right around and leave me for Luc. I got a taste of that after our one night together, and I’m still sticking pieces of the heart I didn’t know I had back together. “We can find you a witness-protection program somewhere else.”

  Her eyes meet mine. “I came here because I want to. Because I need to. The witness-protection thing is a bonus.”

  That works for me. I wrap my fingers around her hips and tug. She comes easily, inhaling softly when her butt hits my front. For just a moment, I drink it all in. I’m holding Gianna. She’s right here in my place, willing to explore this thing we’ve got between us.

  “We can do whatever you wan’. A little talkin’. Some drinkin’. I could even be talked into dancin’.”

  To prove my point, I twirl her around in my arms. Her happy laughter bubbles up around us, her skirt swishing a cheerful little rhythm of its own. Off-balance from the sudden spin, she leans into me, her breasts brushing against my chest. See? Having her here is fucking perfect.

  “You’re crazy,” she announces, but it sure doesn’t sound as if she means it to me.

  “Crazy for you?” I suggest in my best Louisiana drawl, and she laughs outright.

  “Someone’s been listening to his country music.” She twines her arms around my neck. “I’ll bet you like to lead too.”

  I like her happy.

  “I aim to show you,” I agree and sweep her into an impromptu dance. Jig. Some kind of awkward hip bump followed by a dip and a sway. My wolf’s a graceful creature, built for speed and hunting. Me? Not so much. But she hums a few notes and bumps along with me. Not that I have any idea what her song is supposed to be. It could be a Christmas carol, Lady Gaga, or some weird combination of the two. It’s definitely off-key. Gianna’s bright, beautiful—and tone deaf. I grin again and two-step her around my living room.

  She laughs up at me between bar one and bar two. “You’re not singing.”

  Not a chance in hell. “You’re loud enough for two.”

  Her thighs brush mine when I bend her backward. The move does amazing things for her breasts. The little top of her sundress stretches and strains, threatening a complete wardrobe failure.

  “You don’t mind?”

  Land mine. “About?” I pull her up and maneuver around the coffee table.

  “My not knowing what happens next?”

  “Not everything has to be planned. We’ve got seven days to figure it out. If that’s not enough time, then you take more time. You stay here as long as you like.”

  She hesitates. “I’m not moving in with you permanently.”

  Ouch. I add that decision to the list of things I need to change her mind about. Unfortunately I’ve got a really long list.

  “I wouldn’t mind.” See? Opening salvo.

  “I’ve got a house. A job. And—” She cuts herself off.

  “And Luc. Oui. I’m hearin’ you jus’ fine, boo.”

  No more talking. I cup her face with my hands, and she freezes. Not with fear but with sweet anticipation. Yeah. I’m feeling me some of that too. We might not be on the same page about Luc Breaux, but about kissing we agree completely. I cover her mouth with mine. It isn’t a smooth, thought-out kiss. I’ve had my mouth on her sweet pussy, and this is just as good. She softens beneath me, letting me in.

  “I’m always listenin’ when you talk,” I whisper roughly, lifting my mouth off hers for the briefest of moments before I go right back to kissing her. Harder, deeper, not worrying about the mechanics because I need to be closer, and she sure as hell seems to feel the same way because she kisses me back, all greedy need and no finesse.

  She moans something that might be an answer. The way she tangles her tongue with mine, taking my mouth as deeply as she can, is far more eloquent. Raising herself on tiptoe, she glues her body against me, hooking an ankle around mine to steady herself. I slow-dance us one step backward, two steps, and then, sweet baby Jesus, on the third step her back hits the wall and we’re still kissing, but now she’s moaning. That’s another happy noise I love. I hear that husky sound, and all I can think about is pulling her down to the floor, shoving up her dress, and putting myself inside her. The way her hands tug at me, she’d let me too, which makes it the best damn idea I’ve ever had.

  I scoop her up in my arms and take the stairs two at a time.

  GIANNA

  Live for the moment, I tell myself. I think too much sometimes. It’s a problem I’ve been working on. Here I am, being held in Cruz’s arm, his heart right beneath my cheek—and the man can still manage the stairs without having a heart attack when his boots hit the landing. How much more perfect can it get? Right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, so I rest my face against his chest and savor the feelings. Life will intrude soon enough. It always does.

  Oblivious to my never-ending internal monologue, Cruz shoulders open the door and moves swiftly toward the bed. I get a quick impression of white walls and plenty of light before my butt hits the mattress and he comes down over me.

  His face is fierce and intent, focused on me, and I’m… spread out beneath him on his bed. What happens next isn’t going to be sweet or slow. Hard and raw are two words that spring to mind. He’s going to take me, and he’ll make sure his possession of my body leaves its mark inside and out. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m okay with that.

  Cruz is a good man, but not the good guy I’d seen. That’s his outside face, the one he wears for the human world. He’s letting me see Cruz the wolf now—and I like it.

  I like him.

  God, I’m in so much trouble here.

  CRUZ

  I’ve got a bed and I’ve got Gianna spread beneath me, so there’s nothing nice or polite about what I do next. I devour her mouth with mine, eating her up with the rough press of my lips on hers, my tongue driving inside her mouth because I want to take every last inch of her and I’ll start here. She opens right up with a moan, clearly onboard with my plan.

  Christ.

  If I’m taking her, she’s clearly got plans of her own. She angles her head on the bed, seeking something. As if there’s a way for me to fuck her mouth deeper or harder or some such shit. And I give it to her. I thrust my tongue into her mouth, licking and tasting. Each sexy whimper reminds me that she’s right here with me. For me. Finally it’s just the two of us and I’ve got my chance.

  She needs to be naked. Now.

  I slide my hand over her back, finding her zipper and tugg
ing it down to bare the sweet expanse of skin she’d hidden beneath her dress. She’s not wearing a bra after all. That’s about the last conscious thought I have before my brain short circuits and my wolf takes over. I pull back just enough to shove the straps down her arms. She helps, working her hands free and pushing the dress and her panties down over her hips.

  Her breasts are as perfect as the rest of her, firm little mounds with brown nipples that I ache to tongue. She hasn’t lost interest in me. I haven’t lost her yet, and I’ve got six more nights to win her over to my side. I just have to make every minute count, except right now planning is an impossibility. All I can do is feel.

  Gianna’s fucking gorgeous.

  I pull back to look at her some, stretched out beneath me. I definitely don’t deserve her, and I absolutely don’t have the words to describe how beautiful she is.

  “Are we stopping?” She glares up at me, arching her back in invitation. “Because we’re having words if that’s really your plan.”

  I have a feeling she wouldn’t know how to shut the fuck up if her life depended on it, and that’s one more quality that goes in my Gianna rocks column. She might not be a shifter, but she’s got the heart of one, and I don’t just mean mine. Although she has that too, for better or worse. Her mouth is wet from my touch, her lower lip kiss swollen and pink. It’s the most beautiful fucking sight I’ve seen in a long time.

  “I’m admirin’ my view,” I say roughly, and then I lean down and nip that tempting lower lip of hers in a short, hard beesting of a kiss. I don’t break the skin—I don’t want to hurt her—but she needs to understand that I’m here and hell no, I’m not stopping.

  “Stop admiring and start touching,” she orders, pulling on my shirt. She’s got a point. We’re both overthinking things, making each kiss, each touch, into some kind of epic milestone. Why can’t it be enough right now to just feel? Her hands slip beneath my shirt, and the slow brush of her fingers over my bare skin is the punctuation on her order.