Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers)

by Rhoades, Jacqueline

  "I-I'd rather you didn't refer to it in those words, but yes, Mr. McCall, I-I suppose that's true."

  McCall stared at her a moment more and then started to laugh, but stopped as other laughter, magnified by the silence of the night, carried down the street from where two happy customers where saying good night to a couple of the flowers in Daisy's Bouquet.

  Rachel clutched her dark shawl between her breasts. If they came this way, and there was no reason to think they wouldn't, her long, white, billowy nightgown would stand out like a beacon in the night.

  The sheriff grabbed the hand that was still raised from her knock on the door and pulled her inside. He had to pull twice to get her to move. Her feet were rooted to their spot outside his door, so the second tug was a bit more forceful than the first. She stumbled as her feet became unglued and she fell into him, so he wrapped a steadying arm around her and used the other to close the door. She stepped back and he went with her, sealing her body against the door with his.

  Her hand had released the shawl, leaving it hanging over her bent elbows since she'd placed her hands on his shoulders for balance when she stumbled. He slid his hand from behind her and placed it against the door, a mirror twin to the one by her other shoulder. Her body went rigid as she pulled in her breath.

  He leaned into her, his nose nuzzling the hair over her ear.

  "You're not wearing shoes," he whispered.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You scolded me for my bare feet in your kitchen, yet here you are in a public office in the middle of the night, and those cute little toes are as naked as the day you were born." He took a half step back and looked down the length of her long white gown.

  Made of heavy cotton, it had long sleeves with tight cuffs and was buttoned up to her neck. There was nothing the least revealing about it and yet, conscious of how little she wore beneath the voluminous folds, Rachel blushed. She curled her toes in an effort to hide them.

  McCall chuckled, “You’re a cute little thing, Miss Kincaid, and tempting.” He touched his forehead to hers. “But you can’t do this. I can’t give you what you want, what you deserve. I can’t give you something lasting.”

  No one else would call her a cute little thing. She was tall and sturdily built. ‘A fine figure of a woman’ was the best she could get. His calling her that made it seem special and might have made her smile shyly. It was the rest of what he said that made her look up into his eyes. Her snarling inner wolf gave her courage.

  “I am tired of people telling me what I can and cannot do; how I must or must not act. I know what I want and believe you return the sentiment,” she said because his eyes told her this was true. “I am a spinster by choice. I expect nothing lasting nor do I wish it,” she lied, “but for what little time we have, I want this. I want the memory of it.” This moment of joy.

  Rachel tilted her head and brushed her lips against his and knew she’d done it right when she felt his sharp intake of breath and returned the kiss. She closed her eyes and the room, with its two iron barred cells and the beat up wooden desk in the corner, disappeared. All that was left was the magic of the kiss.

  McCall groaned softly and, unsatisfied with the depth of the kiss, pulled her to him, pressing his body into hers and slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her as he had in the front hall of the hotel. She felt his tongue question her lips, asking permission to enter and when she opened, just a little, he took full advantage of the breach.

  With her hesitant assent, McCall took control of the kiss, and Rachel was greatly relieved, because she had no idea what to do next. As before, his tongue danced with hers, circling, withdrawing and plunging again, exploring her mouth in a way that made her want to explore his, too. Encouraged by another soft groan, she entered into the contest, for a contest it was, each demanding more from the other.

  Warmth rose through her body, a fever of desire that thrilled her and frightened her. She was a candle put to the flame, melting into him and reforming into someone else, someone who needed to hang on because her whole body was softening under the onslaught of his tongue.

  “Please don’t tell me no,” she whispered when he left her mouth to kiss her neck.

  With one last little kiss to her neck, McCall cupped the sides of her head with his hands and forced her to look into his eyes again. “I’ll ask you one more time. Are you sure?”

  “More sure of it than anything I’ve ever done,” she said and meant it.

  He pressed his lips to her forehead and took her hand in his, leading her to the small room in the back of the jail.

  “It’s not much,” he told her, “but it will have to do.”

  Not much was right. Small as her bedroom was, it was spacious compared to his. A double bed took up most of the room. The rest of the furnishings consisted of several cardboard boxes lined up against the wall and one more beside the bed, turned upside down to serve as a stand for an alarm clock and a small battery powered camp lamp. He left the hotel for this?

  McCall chuckled at her look, and the next thing she knew, she was twirled under his arm and seated on his knee, the mattress bouncing beneath their combined weight.

  “Don’t look so worried. The sheets are clean. And see? The springs don’t squeak. Lowly as it is, it beats hell out of living in a tent.”

  She rather liked her new seat, with her body balanced on her toes between his long legs. The arm supporting her back felt quite comfortable, too. “You’ve lived in a tent?”

  He chuckled again. “I told you, my folks are survivalists. We camped, a lot, though for most of it, a tent would have been a luxury. Wouldn’t want to get too soft, you know? And I’ve had jobs where living in a tent was preferable to living with the pack.”

  Rachel thought it a strange thing to say. Why wouldn’t he want to live with the pack? She was going to ask, but he was working the tiny pearl buttons at her neck, popping them through the button holes one by one.

  “I love unwrapping presents. All tied up with buttons and bows.” He chuckled at her worried frown and pushed the cloth aside to reveal the indentation at the base of her throat. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” He kissed the spot just revealed and then blew on the damp spot he’d left behind.

  His breath on her neck made her shiver, and not in a bad way. “Oh, I do,… oh, goodness,… I like it very much,” she finished as another button popped and he followed the opening downward with his lips.

  Button after button popped, each followed with a series of kisses and nibbles back up to her chin. Her head fell back to further enjoy the tiny pulses of sensation that were rippling through her body. Her hands, no longer content to stay demurely folded in her lap, began to explore his chest, running her fingers through the fine hairs and along his collar bone. Eyes closed, memorizing the line of muscle and bone along his neck and shoulder, she vaguely wondered if all men were constructed so marvelously well, when the hand at her buttons suddenly moved downward to her belly.

  The heat of it startled her as did the warm and wonderful pleasure it sent coursing through her body. McCall bent his head and kissed her again. This time, he didn’t need to ask. She opened to him immediately and this time, it was she who whimpered with pleasure when the hand at her belly slid up her body to cup her breast.

  As his tongue played with hers, his hand played with her breast, kneading it through the heavy cotton of her gown and running his thumb over her tightened nipple. The heat of desire gave her courage and her hands began to move more confidently over his body, and when his lips left hers, she boldly took over the kissing, attacking his neck and chest with her lips. Scent and taste came together as her tongue moved over his body. He was salty earth and fragrant grasses. He was wind and sun. He was freedom. She was lost in the flavor of him and heard his words, but didn’t quite understand when he stood her on her feet between his legs and whispered.

  “I’ve run out of buttons and bows.”

  His hands flowed over her hips and down to the hem of h
er gown where they began to retrace their route upward again, only this time, they were beneath the gown, the rough skin of his palms slowly travelling over the unexplored territory of her calves and knees, lifting the nightgown higher and higher.

  This was something she’d worried about; her ultimate exposure. She’d never been naked in front of another person, except for her mother, and only when she was a pup. Her worry was for nought.

  Again, her wolf came to her rescue. Preening, the she-wolf reminded her of what she was. Strong. Beautiful. Wolver.

  Rachel’s body thrilled to the pressure of his head against her belly as McCall bent to his task and she longed for the feel of his flesh against hers. She was ready to raise her hands over her head to be rid of the billowing cloth that stood in his way, but he stopped at her knees where he fingered the lace edging of her drawers.

  “Bloomers?” he chuckled. It sounded deeper and huskier than his laughter before and he cleared his throat as if it bothered him.

  The thought of her nakedness had not embarrassed her, but this talk of unmentionables did. Her wolf rolled and howled at the ridiculousness of it and seeing the truth in its reaction, Rachel started to chuckle, herself. It, too, was deeper than normal and even to her own untried ears, she sounded sensual, and dare she think it, sexy. She drew in her breath and said what she thought instead of what she should.

  “They’re drawers, not bloomers. Think of them as another present, Mr. McCall, tied up with a little pink bow.”

  “Aren’t you full of surprises,” he laughed, “But I have other gifts to play with first.”

  Much to her disappointment, his hands skimmed over her thighs and knees, lingered for a moment at the bow in question and moved on to raise the nightgown up and up and over her head.

  He stared at her body without touching and Rachel wasn’t sure if that was bad or good, until McCall swallowed hard, let out the breath he was holding and moistened his lips. She was pretty sure that was good, but didn’t know what, if anything, to do about it, so she stood quietly before him with her hands gripping his shoulders to keep her body from trembling and exposing her fear. What if she’d misinterpreted his reaction?

  Her wolf, having a greater understanding of man’s basic nature, thought this was wildly amusing, too. And once again, her wolf was right.

  McCall’s eyes travelled up the length of her body, lingering for an additional moment at her breasts before continuing on to her face.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely, “As beautiful as I imagined.”

  His hands went to her breasts, gently kneading and molding them with his fingers, bringing her already taut nipples to sharp peaks. Her body arched, pressing against his hands, wanting more of what they were offering. The heat flowing through her body began to coalesce, first in the pit of her stomach and then moving downward. She threw back her head with a sighing breath of pleasure as moistness pooled between her legs.

  “You like that,” McCall said with a satisfied laugh. “And how about this?”

  Fingers and thumbs lightly pinched and rolled her nipples.

  “Oh, yes,” she answered without thinking or shame, and placed her hands over his, urging him to do it again.

  “Ah, Miss Kincaid, we’re going to get along,” he laughed and then he was standing over her, kissing her again and her hands were roaming over his body in their own quest for knowledge.

  The more she kissed and explored, the warmer she grew, and the more of him she wanted. She liked the mountainous terrain of his shoulders, loved the tapering flatlands of his back to his waist and narrow hips. She adored the firm, round rise of his buttocks under her hands. She did not like the coarse cotton cord of the trousers that presented a frustrating obstacle in her trek of discovery. Her fingers worked inside the band, but she couldn’t make them budge from his hips. Rachel mewled her frustration into his mouth.

  Disengaging from the kiss, McCall laughed. “In a bit of a hurry, are we?”

  Rachel didn’t think it was funny. Her wolf was in a frenzy and she was not far behind. She wanted, wanted, wanted…

  “Take them off and take me,” she ordered, which made him laugh harder.

  He clucked his tongue. “Demanding and bitchy is not very ladylike, Miss Kincaid,” he teased, but began to unbutton his trousers just the same.

  Ladylike behavior was the last thing on Rachel Kincaid’s mind. He barely had the trousers to his knees when she pushed him back, bouncing him onto the bed. He was still kicking his boots off when she crawled up his body and straddled him. She was hot and burning inside and possessed with an overwhelming desire to put that fire out and McCall was the only one to do it. Her wolf was howling inside, urging her on with silent direction as to what she must do.

  Without hesitation she followed her wolf, releasing McCall’s throbbing erection from the confines of his own unmentionables which, briefly registering in her feverish mind, were made of black silk.

  McCall was laughing and making a half-hearted attempt to stop her assault. “Wait! Wait! You’re not ready,” he protested. “And you might want to remove… You can’t…”

  She didn’t let him finish. Her response was to repeat what she had told him earlier. “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do,” she growled.

  Grasping his erection firmly and feeling the pulsing heat of it, she knew, knew, knew that his fire would quench hers. She lifted herself up and plunged down, down, down. An approving sigh escaped her open mouth. Such a satisfying feeling, to be filled like this, but it wasn’t enough.

  McCall’s shout of surprise barely registered before she began to move. Up and down, up and down, harder and harder, faster and faster, the movement of his hips in tandem with hers. Hands using his shoulders for leverage, her hair fell forward in dishevelment across his chest. Her breasts bounced with the movement of her hips and one look at McCall’s face told her he was enjoying it, too. It wouldn’t have mattered. It was too late to stop. Years of pent up tension were crying out for release, but Rachel couldn’t find what she was looking for and snarled in frustration.

  And then McCall’s hand was there, between her legs, his finger dancing over the swollen little nub at her center and the fire inside her climbed higher and higher until it exploded from her like skyrockets on the Fourth of July. Her whole being shattered into a thousand spiraling stars and then, panting uncontrollably, she collapsed forward onto McCall’s chest where he held her in his arms. The fireworks burned away, leaving behind a most satiating feeling of contentment and warmth.

  When all the sparkling parts of her were gathered once more into her body, she realized McCall’s hips were still moving against her and she began to move her hips in rhythm to his body’s demands.

  “My turn, Red,” he whispered with only a hint of laughter in his voice.

  He rolled with her until she was on her back and, seating her legs around his hips he began to ride her as she had ridden him, seeking that same pleasure. She matched him, curling her body and rising to meet him, fascinated by the look on his face as he thrust into her.

  A shocked little “Oh!” escaped as her body’s heat began to rise again in response to his thrusts. McCall’s eyes opened at the sound and they watched each other as the fuse was relit between them. He reached his peak first. He threw back his head and opened his mouth as if to howl with the force of it, but the only howl she heard, came from inside him.

  Rachel distinctly heard his wolf’s howl and then her wolf joined in as Rachel’s body reached a second peak and she exploded again.

  McCall’s face was buried in the crook of her neck and his body covered hers. She liked the feel of his weight against her, chest to chest and belly to belly. She felt no shame or embarrassment at her nakedness or his. She would have been quite content to remain here with her arms around him forever and ever.

  His body began to shake and his lips sputtered laughter before planting a kiss on her neck. He shifted his weight to his forearms to look down at her.
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br />   “That’ll teach me to never judge a book by its cover.” He controlled his voice, but his eyes were still laughing. “You’re a helluva cowgirl.”

  “Is that a compliment, Mr. McCall?” she asked, because she really wasn’t sure.

  “Yippee-ki-yay.” His mouth joined his eyes and he roared, rolling onto his back and taking her with him. “I think we’re friendly enough to cut out the Mister and Miss, don’t you? I mean, how close do I have to be before you call me plain McCall?” he asked and then he frowned. “And what should that tell me about John Washington?”

  “I will continue to call you Mr. McCall and I will remain, Miss Kincaid,” she told him, firm in her conviction that this was the best road to take. Though in her mind and heart, she would always think of him as Challenger, not only because it was his name, but because in meeting him she had met the challenge within herself. She’d come to a crossroads and had chosen which way she should go.

  “Why?” he asked, lifting his head from the bed to look at her. He was clearly not in agreement with her decision.

  “You said it yourself. What we have here cannot last. When the time comes, I’d rather not have people eye me in speculation, nor do I wish it to trouble the Mate.”

  Though she was resigned to the inevitable conclusion of the affair, she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘your Mate’. Those words would take a long, long time before she could say them aloud without pain. Thinking of the new Mate made her think of the current.

  “What will happen to her?” she asked at the same time he repeated.

  “The Mate?”

  “Yes. What will happen to Lenora when all is said and done?”

  “Just how much do you know?” he asked quietly.

  “I told you before. I know what you and John Washington have planned and, after coming to realize what has been done to my pack, I see the need for change. If this be treason,” she quoted, “make the most of it.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “I’m also aware of the consequences should you fail.”