“Carly!” Tanya cried.
Carly was so startled that she uttered a little scream. Then both women laughed.
“Good heavens, what are you doing up?” Tanya demanded.
“I heard wolves.”
“Well, really, this is Transylvania, remember? Close the window—you’re supposed to be looking out for bats, not wolves. No, on second thought, I suppose a woman should always look out for wolves!”
They both smiled. Carly crept back into bed and finally drifted off.
She started to dream again. There was a wolf in her dream. A big, beautiful silver-gray timber wolf that ran fleet-footed and in silence through the mist. She could see his eyes and knew he was coming to her. The mist blurred, obscuring the wolf, and then he was no longer a wolf; he was a man.
Sleek, tall, naked, powerful and still fleet, he came for her. She knew that she should run, but she could not. She opened her arms, welcoming him.
She awoke, quivering. It was morning. Tanya still slept.
Carly rose and scrubbed her face with cold water, which helped a little.
It was very early, barely dawn. The one bathroom that served the three third-floor bedrooms would be empty. Carly was sure. She gathered her things and went inside to take a long, hot bath. She lay back in the water, trying to think. Something nagged at her, some feeling that things were still not right. Yet what could it be? She had met Geoffrey Taylor, and they liked each other very well, and she now had an important and exciting job for the spring.
She was in deadly danger of having an affair, she reminded herself. But she wouldn’t think about that.
A man had been killed, she reminded herself.
But that just couldn’t have anything to do with them. She so very badly wanted the magic to be real.
She toweled herself dry quickly—it was chilly in the bathroom. She dressed in a soft sweater and jeans, brushed her hair and applied a light makeup, then left the bathroom. She returned to their room, glancing at her watch, and sat down at the foot of the bed. Her dreaming had awakened her very early.
She wanted Jon Vadim, badly, she admitted. She shouldn’t, but she did. And that was why she dreamed of wolves.
She should leave, go to Paris and look for her sister. Jasmine was still missing, and here she was, traveling around with Jon Vadim and company, without a care.
She would go to the inspector when they got back, she promised herself.
She wandered back to their third-story window and looked down. The woods were very thick, shadowed and a murky green, but there were also clear areas. She spied Jon just inside one of the clearings. His cheeks were clean-shaven, and his hair was damp, as if he, too, had just showered. He wore blue jeans and a navy sweater that brought out his coloring and breadth of his shoulders. He cupped his hands to light a cigarette, and then stared out at the day, exhaling slowly. He looked up then, as if he knew that Carly was there.
“Come down!” he quietly called to her.
She hesitated, reminding herself of Freud’s theories about dreams. She should leave; she should run. He was a fascinating man, as beautiful, lithe and powerful as the running wolf, but he was still a wolf—and dangerous.
She smiled down at him, turned and left the room, with Tanya still sleeping. She ran down the quaint wooden staircase to the public rooms, then out the door and around the building and into the woods.
She spoke his name softly. She was surrounded by the trees, and the mist was still on the ground. As she moved along the trail that she was certain would lead her to him, the forest grew greener and darker.
“Jon!” she called.
Hearing a rustling sound, she remembered the signs on the road. She should beware of bears. And wolves. The dogs were bred with wolves here; wolf pelts lined the walls of the inn.
There was a sudden thrashing sound. “Jon!” she called out, panicking, and whirled.
He was running toward her, swift and beautiful and graceful.
“Carly, are you all right?”
She didn’t say anything. She hurried to him and flung herself into his arms. He held her face, looked into her eyes and kissed her, and then put his arms around her again and captured her lips in a long, leisurely kiss. He held her tight while he tasted her. He brought her hips against his and gave her a hint of the hunger that he held in restraint. She slid against him at last, breathless, aware that her pulse was pounding, aware that her whole body ached with wanting. She knew she was playing games if she thought that she could deny this.
Holding her to him with his palm at the small of her back, he ran his knuckles over her cheek. “Little girls should always beware of the wolves in the forest, you know,” he said lightly. “Unless they are willing to brave the wolf.”
“Maybe,” Carly murmured. She could feel the heat of him throbbing against her. She wanted to lie beside him in the mist on the forest floor. She wanted her dream to come to life, wanted to touch his naked flesh.
“Be very careful,” he warned her, smoothing back a stray strand of her golden hair. “The wolf grows hungry.”
“Does he?” Carly demanded, smiling lazily and arching against him.
He slipped his hand beneath her sweater and skimmed her flesh until he wrapped his fingers around her breast, teasing the flesh where it met the lace of her bra. He melded his lips with hers again. He found the snap of her bra and released it, then moved his palm over her nipple in a slow, sultry rotation that brought a whimper from her lips and a shaft of searing heat from her breast to the apex of her thighs. He pulled her even closer to him, and she felt the hardness of his arousal against his jeans. The heat of his kiss intensified. Entwined, she and Jon Vadim seemed to melt downward, to merge with the earth. On their knees, they fell into a soft pile of autumn leaves, gold and crimson, brilliant and beautiful. Continuing to kiss her, he laid her back and pushed up her sweater. She opened her eyes and saw the sky and the leaves and smelled the rich and redolent scent of the earth. He stroked her belly, and then she felt the liquid warmth of his kiss there. He unsnapped her jeans and massaged her flesh, stroking lower and lower with his hand as he moved his mouth over hers.
Hungrily.
He filled himself with her breasts, suckling one, then the other, first gentle in his touch, then slightly savage. Carly threaded her fingers through his hair, gasping, rocking on their bed of leaves. She wanted him, here, now, naked beside her. She had dreamed for so long. She didn’t care that they were in the forest; it seemed the perfect place. The scent of the earth was as sweet and natural as the longing that drew her to him, and it knew nothing of time or place or manner or society or mores. She had been waiting, and she could deny herself no longer. The time was now.
He slipped her sweater over her shoulders, and her bra fell free. As he pressed her back into the leaves, her hair fell loose. Tense, unsmiling, he tangled his fingers in the golden mass, spreading the tendrils further. Carly watched him, but his gaze was on her bare breasts now. He ran his forefinger over the shadowed valley between them. Lightly he placed his palms on her nipples, and she closed her eyes, quivering. When she opened her eyes she saw the dappled sun beginning to appear through the shadowed orange and gold of the leaves and branches that formed the roof of their secret bower. He cupped her breasts and teased the nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. The sensation was excruciating as it rippled through her, causing a scalding heat to sweep through her veins and pulse around her heart and in the very core of her loins. She surged up to meet him, but he pushed her back into the leaves. He stared into her eyes, then pulled off his sweater and came down on top of her. The feeling of his naked chest brushing against her breasts was rough and so evocative that Carly was impelled to wind her arms around his neck, trailing her fingers over his nape, kissing the flesh of his shoulder. He held her and kissed her throat, then buried his face against her shoulder, finding the pulse in the hollow of her breasts. Carly cried out, not knowing what she said, only that she begged him. “Please...”
“Now, Carly, is the time to run. Maybe you have met a wolf in the forest. And maybe you should go. But now is the time to do it.” He spoke harshly, but she didn’t believe the ragged edge in his voice. He had to want her. She knew he felt the aching, too. He couldn’t deny what she could reach out and touch if she dared.
He stared at her—hard. She shook her head, not knowing what to say. She felt exposed again as she lay there, half naked, on a bed of leaves. If he turned from her, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
She touched his face, resting her palm against his cheek. When he took her hand and kissed her palm, moving the tip of his tongue against it, she could scarcely breathe. She trembled on the brink. It had been so long, and she was so desperate, yet unsure of her ability to please.
It seemed as if he watched her forever. Dimly she became aware that the ragged sound of the wind was the sound of his breathing. His face was haggard with tension and desire.
Then suddenly he uttered an oath and fell upon her again, pinning her arms to the ground, taking her lips in a savage kiss. Down, down, into the bed of leaves they sank. His lips seared her mouth, face and throat, then he pulled away and stood. He kicked off his shoes and stripped away his socks and jeans and briefs. Carly lay still, mesmerized as she watched him with damp and swollen lips and an aching that burned the length of her body.
Naked, he was even more beautiful. He was the wolf, the wolf of her dreams become man, lithe and silent and sleek. He was completely tanned and muscled, and when he came down beside her again, she was trembling. Now he stripped away her sneakers and her socks, too, then peeled off her jeans, kissing her belly as he did so. Finally they were both naked in the forest, on the bed of crimson and golden leaves.
Kissing her, he stretched out alongside her. Then he caught her fingers in his and drew her arms high above her head. Balancing his weight upon one knee he moved with a supple rhythm as he kissed her lips and the pulse at her throat. She felt the hardness of him against her, and caught her breath. She felt the coldness of the air and the leaves beneath her, scratching at her flesh. She felt the heat of the sun and the blazing fire of his body as he rubbed against her. He freed her hands, then sat astride her, sweeping his own hands over her breasts, her midriff and her hips. Carly reached out and pulled him back to her. She gloried in the urgency of his kiss, and matched it. He caught her hair and smoothed it back, his features still tense.
“I have never been so...hungry,” he told her. He searched out her eyes.
She could find her voice but not the words, and so she arched against him in response. He shifted smoothly and caught her knees, parted her thighs and wedged his body between them, still watching her. With a ragged sigh he ran his hands down her back and caught her buttocks, kneading them, lifting them.
He entered her very slowly, never losing eye contact with her. He sank into her as if fitting himself into a silken glove, slowly, slowly, filling her until she thought that she could take no more. But she was wrong, for her body accommodated him, and she was filled, as well, by the swift, fiery excitement and fever of it all. He withdrew and she was desolate; he advanced again, more fiercely, and she cried out. He withdrew once more, and then he filled her and filled her. At his urging she locked her limbs around his back, and the sweet teasing was over. He moved like a storm then, sweeping her away. The sensations overwhelmed her, freed her from herself. He took her with tenderness, but his hunger was savage and cast them rolling into the leaves. Colors tumbled around them, red, gold and crimson, and all in splendor. The colors wrapped themselves around her heart and warmed it just as the rhythm and fever of his thrust filled and warmed and caressed her body. She was aware of the scent of the leaves and the scent of the man, and then she was aware of nothing at all except for the release she strove so desperately to reach. When it burst upon her, it was liquid heat spilling from their loins. It was a spill of the colors of autumn, radiant and rich, red and gold and glowing.
But the day was cold. As Carly fell back to the bed of the earth, she became aware of the leaves beneath her, of the leaves tangled in her hair. She felt his hand on her abdomen, his dark head, damp against her chest. Idly he moved his fingers. He nuzzled her breast. She was alarmed at the rebirth of feeling that touched her instantly.
“We’re in a bed of leaves, and you smell like roses,” he murmured.
Carly stared up at the leaves overhead that blocked out the sun. “It was the soap,” she replied.
He laughed, then rose above her, staring at her with blunt and keen appreciation. Having made love like a nymph in the leaves, Carly flushed. She rose on her elbows and looked for her sweater, but he pushed her back, falling beside her.
“Don’t,” he told her. “I want to hold on to this memory—your hair tangled in the leaves, your body so glorious against them, your eyes as turquoise as a tropical sea.” He grinned. “You look great in leaves.”
She flushed again. She wanted both to reach past him for her clothing and to run her fingers through the dark hair on his chest. Her second desire won out. She touched his chest, feeling the springy hair. “You don’t look bad, in foliage, either, Count Vadim,” she murmured, then hesitated before she said, “We should go back.”
“Why?”
“Someone could—someone could come upon us here.”
“In the woods?” he teased her. “Don’t you know only wolves prowl the forest?”
“Hungry wolves,” she said solemnly. Then she smiled, fascinated by the golden tenderness in his eyes. She had wanted him so badly and had finally had him, and the reality had exceeded every nuance of imagination. Or maybe she had never dared go quite so far in imagination. “Bears roam these woods, too,” she said, remembering the signs.
“They wouldn’t dare roam where this wolf has staked a claim,” he told her with complete confidence.
She touched his face, her lips curled into a smile. “Are you a wolf?” she whispered.
“I am whatever you want me to be.” His lips brushed hers, and he smiled. He was so striking, she reflected, with his damp dark hair falling over his forehead, his lip curled so ruefully. His body glistened with perspiration despite the coolness of the morning air. “I’m your lover now,” he reminded her.
She wished she didn’t color so easily. He found it amusing, she knew. “Yes,” she said.
He chuckled softly. “I live in a castle and we’re making love on the ground,” he mused, then tensed. Moving over her again, he pushed back her hair, picking out the leaves, and kissed her lips, then her throat. “My God, you do smell like roses,” he marveled. Carly felt him against her thighs, felt him hardening again. She made a little sound and wound her arms around him.
Their eyes met, and she felt somewhat dazed. She didn’t believe their first passion could be relived, but her eagerness for this new encounter was as great as it had ever been. And the passion that tensed his features was every bit as strong.
Smiling at her, touching her, he whispered, “I warned you. You met a very hungry wolf in the woods, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl,” she returned.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, and his fingers danced over her curves, fondling her breasts. “No, you’re not at all.”
“I want—”
“What?” he demanded heatedly.
“I want...to touch you, too. I...I’ve dreamed of touching you.”
“Then dream no more, my love,” he told her with a husky note in his voice. He caught her hand and placed it against his chest, “Touch me and feel that this is real, that I am real.”
Carly found greater courage—or greater imagination or maybe even a greater hunger—for she found it was easy to give free rein to her fascination, to explore him with abandon, with her fingers, with her lips. She bit at hi
s shoulders, then bathed them with her tongue. She clung to him, arching upward. He murmured passionately at her touch. He finally pressed her back down, and she quivered and trembled, swept away once more, wondering if he did indeed mean to devour her, for his kiss consumed her. His touch was audacious now; his hands wandered everywhere. He stroked her thighs and thrust into her, and with a moan she curled against him, for he caught her tiny pebble of femininity and set her aflame again. She went to her knees, kissing him, catching his lower lip with her teeth, and raked her fingers down his back, no longer thinking of what she did when she grazed her nails over his hard-muscled buttocks.
And she didn’t think, either, when she took him in her hands, stroking him. She grew bold, feeling as if the ancient magic of the forest invaded her soul, for she had never experienced a sensation so sweet, so all-absorbing, so commanding. He whispered to her, urging her on. His words grew rough and breathing came shallow and then he wrenched her into his arms and under him and seemed to burst within her. He fixed his mouth upon her breast as the storm of his ardor swept over them, and she cried out again and again as each wave crested, then exploded once again in the myriad colors of fall.
But this time when it was over he was silent. He drew her to him and stroked her hair, staring up at the sky. They lay that way until Carly shivered.
“You’re cold,” he said. He rose and found their clothing in the pile of leaves. He returned, smiling at Carly, and began to pick the leaves from her hair again. “I’m afraid I’ll never really make you presentable,” he said.
He dressed with confidence and economy of motion. Carly wasn’t sure that she donned her clothing as gracefully. She longed for another bath. She tried to smooth back her hair and found more twigs. Jon pulled one off her sweater, smiling.
Tying her sneakers, she said uneasily, “I hope people are still sleeping. Everyone will...”
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