by Unknown
Wolves’ eyes were usually brown…or in a few exceptions blue. Never had she heard of a green-eyed 158
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wolf. But, then again, anything was possible.
“Except what?” he pressed.
“Nothing.”
For a moment, he looked as if he might argue.
Instead, he caught her by surprise, reaching out to feather his fingers through the hair at her temple. “I don’t like the looks of that bump. You might have a concussion. I better take you in to see Jarvis.”
“Don’t be ridiculous…I’m fine.” She batted his hand away again, then spun on her heel and marched down the hallway to the parlor.
He dogged her footsteps. “I’d still feel better if he took a look at that.”
“The clinic wouldn’t be open at this time of night, and I’m not going to a hospital.” Glaring over her shoulder at him, she stalked to the space heater, shivering a little as the welcome waves of heat caressed her chilled skin.
Undaunted, he extracted a cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “You won’t have to go anywhere. He’ll come here.”
“No,” she gasped, leaping toward him, grabbing his wrist. His skin was a furnace beneath her icy fingers. Again, she battled the urge to shiver and curl herself around him. “Oh, no you don’t. You just put that away. I’m not hurt…it’s just a little bump.
Thank you very much for your help, Cam, but you don’t need to come back tomorrow. I am fully capable of fixing the faucet on my own. Now, I don’t want to detain you any longer. You must have all sorts of official police business to attend to.” She all but shoved him toward the door. A loud pop overhead jerked her to a halt, and the parlor went dark. Pale golden light filtered in through the hall doorway, but her eyes took a moment to adjust to the alteration in lighting.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what next?” Sighing loudly, he pushed past her and stepped 159
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back inside the parlor. “I’ll fix this before I go. Where are your spare light bulbs?”
Cursing beneath her breath, she stomped back down the hall to retrieve a light bulb from the pantry off the kitchen. Light bulb in hand, she hurried back, a small, three-step ladder tucked beneath her arm. He held his hand out to her, but she elbowed past him. Scowling, she stood directly beneath the fixture.
“I can change a damned light bulb myself,” she snapped, slamming the ladder open and thumping it onto the hardwood floor.
JJ clambered up to the second step and stretched, but her fingers were several inches shy of her target. Mumbling beneath her breath, she climbed up on the final step, went up on tiptoes.
“I bet you used to cheer for Yosemite Sam when you were a kid, right?” His wry remark rubbed her the wrong way.
“Better him than Elmer Fudd…” She whipped her head around to glare him into silence, but the precariousness of her balance didn’t allow room for the movement. Her eyes widened, and she had time for one sharp gasp before she tumbled from the ladder.
Straight into his waiting arms.
Cam grinned at her, cradling her against his chest. His eyes twinkled with mischief. He was smug, and so damned sexy she couldn’t catch her breath. In the blink of an eye, his gaze turned sultry, and his heady stare locked on her lips. Suddenly she didn’t care that she couldn’t breathe anymore. The arm cradling her back was unforgiving, turning her, pressing her closer to his heat while the arm beneath her knees slipped free, sliding around her waist. Trapping her.
She already had one arm hooked around his neck. She lifted the other to lay her hand flat against 160
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his chest in warning. His heart hammered an aroused cadence against her palm. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. She couldn’t see anything but him.
She didn’t want to see anything but him. Not anymore.
Not ever again.
His stare branded her for a moment that seemed an eternity before he dipped his head, his lips swooping down to seize hers. His tongue swept past her lips, plunging and ravaging until her head swam. His large hands splayed against her body, searing her with their heat, filling her with the need to feel them running over her naked skin. He pressed her close, and closer still, until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. The thick bulge pushing insistently against her hip was unmistakable. Deep in the core of her, desire pooled, thick and molten.
As if sensing her acceptance, he tilted his head, changing the angle of the kiss, deepening it, slanting his mouth over hers. In reply to her unspoken need, his hands began to roam, one to cup and massage the side of her breast, the other to slide lower, until he grasped and squeezed her bottom. She moaned, deep in the back of her throat, opening for him like a greedy flower soaking up rays of sunshine.
She’d been kissed before. She’d been with a man, before. But never had anyone ever held her, or kissed her with such systematic ferocity. His kiss was like a drug, went straight to her head and incinerated her inhibitions.
Until something vibrated against her belly.
Jerking back, startled, she broke the kiss and struggled to put space between them. He swore softly, anchoring her against him with one arm as he reached between them to tilt the pager attached to his belt.
Closing his eyes, he dragged in a deep breath 161
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through flared nostrils. When his eyes snapped open, they seemed…sharper, the green more brilliant, if that were possible. The lines of his face were harsh with his desire, his frown unambiguous.
He wasn’t happy the pager had interrupted.
His stormy gaze lowered to her lips, locked. His voice was harsh. “I have to go.” Was he trying to convince her…or himself? But still he stood. Holding her. Staring at her lips.
The pager vibrated again, just as his head began to lower toward hers once more. “I have to go,” he repeated, softly this time.
Definitely to himself.
Nevertheless, his supple lips skimmed along hers as his hand slipped around her nape, fingers lacing into her hair, cupping her skull with an unexpected gentleness. He tilted her head back, and she was powerless to resist the inescapable heat, the unexpected tenderness in his gaze. Then his eyes closed as he claimed her mouth once more. Her own eyelids sagged closed, until touch and taste and smell became the ruling senses. Until her world revolved around Cam. This kiss was as lavish and thorough, as sweet, as the last had been consuming and greedy.
The cell phone in his pocket rang now, and he broke the kiss with a reluctant groan. He waited until she dragged her eyelids open once more, and offered her a lopsided smile, dropping a soft kiss to the tip of her nose before releasing her.
Staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she wobbled backwards on legs that would no longer function properly. The back of her knees bumped into something solid, and she dropped like dead weight to the loveseat. Grinning ear to ear, he filched the light bulb from her numb fingers, bound up the steps, and swapped the old bulb for the new.
Hopping from the ladder, he dropped the old light 162
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bulb onto the table at her side. Grinning, he bent down and stole one last fleeting kiss.
“I’ll see you in the morning, honey.” No words had ever sounded so portentous…or more ominous to her. In a flash he was gone, and yet she continued to sit, exactly where he’d left her, fingering her lips.
Bemused.
****
Duty called. Damn it all to hell.
Cam stopped on the porch, resting his palm against the splintered paint on her front door. His body was on fire for her. His heart raged inside his chest. Another few minutes, and he’d have claimed her…just as he had in his dreams every night since the morning he’d seen her in the diner.
The pager vibrated on his hip again, as did his cell. Before he changed his mind and said the hell with duty, Cam leaped down the front steps and sprinted across the lawn toward his truck. There was no doubt in his mind now
. No doubt whatsoever.
She was his female. She just didn’t know it yet.
But now he did.
And it changed everything.
He’d learned something else tonight. Imprinting was real. And, now that he’d experienced it firsthand, he’d determined imprinting wasn’t a strong enough word.
Branding might be a more appropriate term.
JJ Frost had seared herself upon his soul.
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Chapter 13
The next morning, as the sun spilled its gentle rays over Sutter Hollow, burning away the mountain mists, Cam angled his truck down 123 Shady Lane, thumping his thumbs against the steering wheel in time to Matt Nathanson’s “Come On, Get Higher. ” After his shift, he’d stopped off at home long enough to grab a quick shower, then he’d beat feet to get her faucet and get back here before she got a wild hair to take off and go somewhere for the day. Now that he’d made up his mind she belonged to him, he wasn’t going to give her the chance to run or hide.
Every time he got close to her, she turned skittish as a colt. He’d seen the surprise, the stunned disbelief in her eyes after they’d kissed. The memory of her response sent euphoria coursing through his veins. She’d felt it too.
Cam hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her all night. He’d finally faced the facts, and not even the latest in a long string of vandalisms had dampened his mood. He’d found his mate. And, just as important, she was not indifferent to him. He’d hang around until she got used to him. He’d make himself indispensable to her. He’d woo her. He’d seduce her if need be, and she’d fall in love with him.
She had to.
Cam couldn’t live as Ed had…imprinted on a woman who didn’t return his feelings. He refused to even consider that horrifying possibility.
Once she’d fallen in love with him, once he was sure she could handle his secret, then he’d tell her about the pack. He’d tell her everything.
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Once he was sure she wouldn’t leave him because of that secret.
At least that was the plan.
One corner of his mouth hitched up in a self-satisfied grin. JJ’s new faucet lay in a white plastic bag on the seat beside him. Cam eased the truck up her drive, drew the key from the ignition, and gathered up the bag before hopping out of his truck.
Reaching into the back of his truck bed, he snagged the handle of a small red toolbox and lifted the dented metal case out. He whistled the closing bars of the song he’d been listening to on the radio as he took the steps two at a time, swinging the toolbox at his side. The aged boards creaked beneath his feet, giving a little with every application of weight.
Stepping to the side of the doorway, he bounced a little on a particularly splintered board and grimaced. He’d have to replace that board before his female hurt herself on it. He considered the rest of the porch and sighed, shrugging. Screw the board.
He’d replace the whole damned thing. No sense taking chances.
Stepping back to the door, he jabbed a finger at the antiquated doorbell, hissed as a jolt of faulty electricity shot from his fingertip to his shoulder. He added replacing the doorbell to his list and rapped his knuckles on the door before stepping back to wait.
And wait.
Flicking a glance to his wristwatch, he frowned at the door. It wasn’t quite eight yet, but he’d assumed by now she’d be out of bed. Her vehicle was still here. Had she gone for a walk? No, she was probably working on something. The nasty bump on her head flashed through his mind.
What if she’d hurt herself again?
What if she’d cut herself and was laying there, bleeding? What if she’d electrocuted herself, this 165
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place had to be a nightmare of outdated wiring.
What if…
Without stopping to think, he rattled the doorknob, pounding his fist on the aged wood, shouting, “JJ! JJ, are you in there? JJ, can you hear me? JJ!”
The snick of a rusty lock disengaging finally caught his attention. He withdrew his fist seconds before smacking it against her forehead. Good Lord, what had gotten into him? He’d never overreacted like that before.
Cam got a good look at her, and his breath deserted him in a startled, lust-filled whoosh.
JJ braced herself against the doorframe, glaring up at him through sleepy eyes. A hearty yawn ruined her glower. Her long golden tresses were a tousled mess, all but standing straight on end. Her skin was a soft, fresh-from-bed pink. His hungry gaze skimmed down over her spaghetti-strapped, faded tank and her threadbare boxers. Her nipples puckered against the thin material in the chilly morning air, teasing him, reminding him of how they’d looked last night beneath her wet t-shirt.
His hand itched to touch.
Her legs were long and slim, toned. Her dainty feet were bare but for the pink polish on her toenails. It was more than apparent she’d literally just rolled from bed…and he wanted nothing more than to roll her right back in.
“What?” She frowned, irritably grinding a palm against her eye. Her voice was husky, rippling through his system like aged whiskey, smoky and sensual…with enough bite to knock a man on his ass if he wasn’t careful. “What do you want?” Another yawn broke free.
Oh, he could answer that last question in so many ways…most of which would probably get him slapped, given how testy she looked just then. “Do 166
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you always wake up grumpy?”
“Usually,” she snapped.
He grinned down at her, lifting a suggestive brow. “Maybe you just don’t wake up to the right…incentive.”
“Doubtful,” she growled, shoving petulantly at her tangled hair.
She was more tempting than one of Maggie’s steaming caramel rolls, fresh from the oven, paired up with a supersized mug of black coffee strong enough to chew the end off a spoon. Waking up to her every morning would be more than enough incentive to put a smile on his face.
His grin stretched wide. “Wanna bet?” Before she could respond, he stepped closer and brushed his lips over hers. Leaping back, blinking in groggy surprise, she banged against the door, providing him with the opening he’d been waiting for. Slipping past her, he sauntered down the hall.
“You should close the door,” he advised over his shoulder. “You’re going to catch a chill standing there like that…then I will call Jarvis.” The door slammed behind him hard enough to rattle the pictures on the walls. He chuckled.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She staggered down the hallway after him, rebounding off the kitchen doorframe. Thrusting out a hand, she steadied herself against the peeling wallpaper, demanding, “I didn’t invite you in.”
“So call the cops.” Smirking at her over his shoulder, he set his toolbox on the floor, the bag on the counter.
She sputtered at that for a moment, muttered beneath her breath, and ground her palm against her eye. Then she tossed her hands in the air with a disgusted growl, and stumbled toward the coffeepot.
It took her two, blurry-eyed jabs before her finger connected with the right button, and then she 167
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yawned again—lustily—as she leaned a hip against the counter, crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered at the coffeemaker. He wanted to laugh.
He wanted to sweep her off her feet and swirl her around the room. He wanted to kiss her senseless, and carry her back to her bed. She was adorable when she was disgruntled.
“You really aren’t a morning person, are you?” Warm humor drenched his observation.
“What was your first clue, lawman?” Touchy, touchy.
“Here’s an idea,” he offered peaceably. “You take a mug of coffee on upstairs, take a nice hot shower and wake up a bit, then come on back down and we’ll start over. I’ll have this faucet changed out by then.” He gave her hair a long, considering stare, imagining it wet and lathered and clinging to her delectable curves. H
is palms began to burn, and he cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts to safer routes. “I’ll probably have your doorbell torn apart by then, too, and I’ll have a better idea what to pick up at Ginny’s later to fix it.” She glared at him for a long moment, as if trying to assemble the right words to tell him exactly what he could do with his suggestion. In the end, she grunted, poured herself an enormous cup of coffee, and proceeded to dump enough sugar and creamer into it to send a diabetic straight into a coma. Just as she had that first morning in the dinner.
Without another word to him, she picked up the mug and took a long sip, eyes closed in bliss. The look on her face in that moment did funny things to his insides. He’d like to put that look on her face.
A moment later, after heaving a resigned sigh, she staggered from the room, holding the steaming cup well away from her body in cautious hands without so much as a backward glance.
It was probably a good thing she didn’t turn 168
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around. He was doing enough glancing at her backward to get himself a black eye if she caught him at it. The song he’d been listening to on his way over surfaced as he watched her walk away, and he caught himself humming the melody. He scrubbed his fingers down the sandpaper edge of his jaw. The swing of her hips had him thinking about a hell of a lot more than faith and desire.
Well…mostly.
Grinning to himself, he poured a cup of coffee—
straight up black like he preferred, snickering to himself over her addiction to sugar—and took a long draw of the bitter brew before setting it aside as he reached for the new faucet. Before long, the ancient pipes nestled in the walls began to rattle and hum.
He gritted his teeth as torturous images began to swamp his mind to the point he could barely focus on the project at hand. He’d just had to suggest a shower, hadn’t he? She was up there right now, naked, with water and soap bubbles sliding over her luscious little body.
Lord, have mercy. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t on his knees, begging, by the time she came back downstairs.
Or worse…
****