Accidental Lover (Wolven Moon Book 3)

by Dany Rae Miller

  Stripping off my pajamas, I change into my old gym shorts, sports bra and a T-shirt. I dig my old running shoes from the bottom of my suitcase and lace them up. From my herb kit, I pull off several leaves of myrtle. My accidental lover was a wolf, no doubt with a keen sense of smell. I need to cover my tracks.

  Grabbing my iPod and keycard, I leave for the gym hoping to burn off some of this restless energy.

  Just outside my room, I sprinkle a bit of crushed myrtle.

  I must be out of my mind, because as I walk by that door, I actually consider knocking and asking him if we can do it again.

  C’mon, girl, seeing him again right now is not a good idea.

  In the morning, I’m going to have to face the stranger. We didn’t use a condom. I need to ask about his sexual history, and I have to get tested when I get back to Boulder.

  But for now, it’s best to move on.

  “Keepers of scent, goddess of grace, let me pass without a trace.” Crushing the myrtle in my fingers and sprinkling them behind me, I hurry past the door for the main bank of elevators at the center of the floor.

  I press the button to call the elevator.

  Once inside, I sprinkle a bit more myrtle before pressing the button for the top floor and take a break in self recrimination.

  The door dings open and I stare at one of the most spectacular fitness centers I’ve ever seen, one of the most spectacular views I’ve ever seen. The high ceiling features giant log beams and floor to ceiling windows on all sides, framing the San Juan range of the Rocky Mountains.

  Avalon means apple and bowls of signature red ones are offered in every common area, free for guests. I’ve already had two since I arrived. One of those bowls sits on the counter of a juice bar just to the right of the elevator.

  The lights are off in the bar. It’s closed for the night. Even though I’m not especially hungry, I’m drawn to the apples. I take one to eat while I give myself a tour.

  Walking down that right wing, I peek into each space. There’s a full basketball court, a generous weight room and a spinning room.

  On the left side of the central exercise area, are a number of smaller aerobic and yoga studios, men’s and women’s locker rooms with showers, a lap pool, two jacuzzis and a half-dozen saunas.

  Every surface, from floors to walls, is seriously high end, and the look is the typical Colorado lodge style, albeit kicked up several decadent notches.

  The exercise equipment looks to be top of the line, all state-of-the-art. Every single space, even the locker rooms, has spectacular views of the mountains that ring Telluride and the box canyon the town is nestled in.

  The best part, though, isn’t all the opulence. It’s that the luxurious gym is completely deserted right now. Tonight, it’s my private gym.

  “Fantastic!” I say out loud.

  I select the treadmill with the best view of the moonlit vista. Finding my 80s playlist on my iPod, I tap the treadmill controls to turn it on. I need to run, give my mind a break against the guilty hussy feelings.

  I walk at first to loosen up my tense muscles and slowly increase the speed until I’m at a full on run, sprinting as fast as I can. Once the sweat gushes from my pores and my breathing ragged, I back off to a slower, steady jog. Then, I put in my earbuds.

  The empty gym means I can sing as loud as I want to the music I love. The Boss is up first and I rock out with Springsteen. Love the drum up front. “Born in the USA! I was Boooorn in the USAAAA!”

  chapter three

  WASHING VIRGINAL BLOOD from my cock, I wonder who mi pequeña is. I kick myself for not being able to place those eyes and that tight little body. I haven’t met her before. No way could I forget that peachy scent.

  She could be a brand new employee. Or she could be part of my cousin’s wedding party.

  The Avalon has been taken over for a solid week by the Santana family, the groom’s family, as well as friends and guests of the bride and groom.

  It doesn’t matter who she is.

  She’s mine.

  I attached to her. As soon as I’m cleaned up, I’ve got to go find her.

  After showering and dressing, I take the bloody sheets and mattress cover to the maids’ closet in the suite, sending them down the dirty linen chute. Grabbing a clean set of bedding, I come back and make the bed.

  I have had my fair share of sexual fantasies, but a virgin crawling into my bed and demanding to be fucked had never been part of the line up –– until now. Remembering her responsive body bucking frantically at my touch, under my mouth, the taste of her, I swell until my cock is at full attention.

  I hope that Jesse, whoever the fuck he is, dropped dead before she found him.

  “That’s an insane thought,” I say aloud.

  She’s mine.

  Bed freshly made, it’s time to go hunt for Peaches.

  Outside in the corridor, the only thing I smell is myrtle. Son of witch, she hid her scent! I go left toward the elevator all the way to the end of the hall. Nothing. Then, I go right toward the single rooms around the corner. Nothing, either.

  I turn to go back.

  I sniff deep and stop. Blood. The slight smell of vaginal blood mingles with the myrtle.

  Inhaling deeply again, I smell her — the peachy scent is slight, but it’s there.

  No way can she totally hide that from me.

  I turn the corner, sniff, again.

  Passing room 303, the aroma fades. Back tracking, I slow in front of 302 and then in front of 301. Her scent is strongest at 302. The temptation to use the master keycard in my wallet is powerful. My beast, especially, votes yes to barging into her room and having her, again.

  I raise my hand to knock on the door, but stop myself.

  The shock on her face, the fact that she ran away and used myrtle to cover her trail means pressuring her could scare her more. The smart thing to do is leave her be for tonight.

  My wolf whines his disappointment.

  Just for tonight.

  Sleep just isn’t going to happen. Back in my room, I throw on some sweatpants, sling a towel over my shoulder and head to the gym to lift some weights.

  The elevator car arrives. She hit it, too. Jesus. I suddenly hate the smell of myrtle.

  When the doors open upstairs, I’m poised to turn right, as I always do, to the weight room. A vision stops me in my tracks.

  There’s my girl, running on a treadmill, singing Madonna at what sounds like the top of her lungs.

  “Like a virgin, touched for the very first tiiiime.” Earbud cords bounce with head bobs to every beat.

  I laugh out loud at the irony of the song, and hang back in the dark juice bar, mesmerized by her sheer joy in the music.

  Did I put that groove in your step, peaches?

  After awhile, she turns off the treadmill, dries her face and neck with a towel. With a graceful walk, she goes to the water fountain in the aerobic room closest to her. She slurps what seems like a gallon of water, making me laugh again.

  Earbuds still in, she licks the water from her lips and belts out that girls just wanna have fun.

  Not waiting any longer, I make a beeline for her. I lean in the doorway, watching her dance — tits bouncing, ass shaking. She’s wild and graceful at the same time. The song finishes, and she finally takes a breath.

  “Excellent rendition,” I say, clapping.

  Mi ninfa spins, her blue eyes wide in shock, again. The second she recognizes me as her accidental lover, those incredible eyes get even bigger.

  She pulls her earbuds out, looks around for an escape. I’m standing in it. I’m not about to let her get away a second time.

  “Was I too loud?” She asks softly.

  “Not at all.” I chuckle. “This entire floor is completely sound proof. Has to be otherwise my guests below will complain. I’m glad you’re using it.”

  And giving me the sexiest show ever.

  “Your guests?”

  I nod once, step forward and hold out my r
ight hand. “Victor Santana, part owner and General Manager of The Avalon.”

  She blanches and steps back, whether due to me getting closer or to recognition of my name is unclear. She looks at my hand like it’s attached to a serial killer.

  Damn it. I’m moving too fast and scaring her.

  Regardless, I keep my hand out — hoping. When she finally puts hers in it, I feel like I won a billion dollar lottery.

  Breathing shallow and fast, she swallows rapidly. I’m confident that her breathlessness isn’t solely from dancing. I hold her hand long enough to let her know what I want –– her, again, now.

  “May I?” I point to the iPod strapped to her slender arm. My need to touch her is ridiculous.

  Again, she takes her time deciding, but eventually consents with a nod.

  I run a finger under the armband, caressing her incredibly soft skin. She jumps as though my finger were a branding iron.

  Releasing the Velcro, she hands me the device. I scan the 80s playlist while walking to the front of the room.

  I click on Footloose and plug the gizmo into the dock. I switch on the sound system, press play. The opening drum riffs blare all around us.

  Head tilted, her eyes scan the room for the speakers hidden in the walls and ceiling before coming back to rest on me. She smiles in delight.

  Whoa. I thought she was beautiful before. When she smiles, she’s dazzling –– lights up the room like the finest crystal chandelier. Takes my breath away.

  I bob my head. “I love this song,” I say, reaching over to turn it up.

  I slide my feet side to side. Still smiling, her hips start rocking to the beat. While she stares at me, I gyrate my pelvis Elvis style. She laughs. The wonderful sound fills me with a joy I never knew existed.

  I fling my arms in the air, dance like a fool. The wilder I get, the bigger my dream girl smiles. I sing along about working too hard and punching cards.

  Within seconds, she’s singing with me. By the chorus, she’s dancing crazy right beside me. Both of us bounce around like mad, singing loud, laughing our asses off.

  When Kenny Loggins finishes, though, my girl turns shy again, her bottom lip nervously caught between her teeth. She looks especially uncomfortable when a vintage slow song pumps through the speakers next.

  “Dance with me?” I hold out my hand, wanting her in my arms more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

  This time, she looks at my hand like it’s a tempting treat she shouldn’t accept. That’s a step up from thinking it’s a deadly weapon.

  C’mon, peaches. Let me hold you.

  “I’m kind of sweaty,” she says.

  “That’s okay. So am I.” I swallow my own nervousness. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  Until you want me to, that is.

  Slowly, she takes my hand. Once I’ve got her, she lets me pull her in close and we sway to Hello, an old Lionel Richie song.

  “You never told me your name, mi pequeña,” I say.

  “Cherie,” she says softly.

  Of course it is.

  “Spelled with a S-H?”

  “No.” She spells it for me.

  Ah, the French version. It means darling and that she is. I hold Cherie closer, nuzzle her ear. Damn. Even, sweating, she smells like sweet peaches and cream.

  At the back of my neck, her fingers nervously swirl strands of my hair. I can barely breath, I’m so turned on. I shift my head slightly, kiss behind her ear, running my tongue lower to her throat and shoulder.

  “I’m not sure this is appropriate,” she rasps. Her body language says otherwise. Hard nipples press into my bare chest and her throat arches for my kisses.

  I pull back to look into those wicked eyes. What I see almost makes me come in my pants. Her eyes sparkle with want. Lips parted, her breathing is shallow and rapid. She’s as aroused as I am.

  “Why?” I graze her nose with mine. “I’m a single consenting adult.” I pull back even more. “What about you? Is that Jesse guy your boyfriend?”

  She shakes her head no.

  Good.

  “How old are, sweetness?” I hold my breath for a number higher than seventeen.

  “I’ll be twenty-one in four days.”

  Thank god.

  Regretfully, she removes her fingers from my hair to look at her watch. “Make that three days.”

  “So, you’re old enough and I’m old enough. You’re single, and I’m single. I don’t see a problem. Besides, what’s so inappropriate about dancing?”

  She smiles shyly, looks at my mouth. “I wasn’t talking about the dancing per se.”

  I nibble her ear lobe garnering a cock-hardening whimper from her.

  “What’s inappropriate, Cherie? This?” I slide my hand down to cup that perfect ass, gently pull her hips closer. The catch in her breath says she feels the erection she’s causing.

  “This?” My heart beating a mile a minute, I lightly bite her lower lip and then suck it.

  “Or this?” I whisper to her lips before I cover them with mine.

  I want the kiss to be slow and sensual, but she’s so soft, tastes so good. Dancing forgotten, I cradle her head with a my hand, bracing it for my assault on her mouth.

  My tongue delves, explores, conveys my desire. She answers back, tentatively darting her little tongue in and out of my mouth. I groan, grind my bulge into her. I fondle a breast and circle the hard pebble with my thumb. Her gurgles tickle my mouth.

  Catching her breath, she backs off.

  “I’m hot,” she says, breathy.

  “Yes, you are.” I lavish her throat with little kisses and licks. I slip a hand under the leg of her shorts, caress a creamy bare ass cheek.

  “No, I mean I’m sweaty.” She pulls away wanting out of my arms. “From running on the treadmill.”

  Keeping one of her hands, I kiss her lips quickly and smile. “I can fix that.”

  I take her hand and lead her through the women’s locker room to the showers — to a shower with a bench. My cock turns to steel just thinking about taking Cherie on it – her straddling me as I sit, her bent over it and me pumping her from behind.

  “Will you let me wash you?” I ask.

  Her cheeks flush and she licks her lips.

  Is that a yes?

  I caress the moistness she left on her lips with my thumb. “I promise I won’t hurt you again.”

  With a puzzled expression, she tilts her head.

  “Downstairs? I’m so sorry, Cherie.”

  She shakes her head. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No,” she assures me.

  “You’re okay, then?” I glance down between her legs so she gets my meaning.

  “Physically, yes, I’m fine.” She glances away. “Just mortified,” she whispers.

  “You should be.” I tease as I turn on the water. “Honey, you need to prepare a wolf before you blow his mind like that. Slipping him some heart meds is the least you could do.”

  She blushes sweetly, but laughs.

  “So, about showering with me.” I reach for the bottom of her T-shirt, run my fingers under the hem. “You can say no. I won’t be mad.”

  I want her all in, or not at all.

  “Yes.” Her hands over mine, together we pull the shirt up and over her head.

  Kissing her deep, I massage her breasts squashed into the tight sport bra.

  Sliding fingers under the waistband of her shorts, I look into her eyes again, making sure she’s okay with what I’m doing. Then, I slide the shorts down her creamy thighs revealing the tiniest white thong.

  “So sexy,” I whisper, lightly biting and licking her hip. I gently turn her so I can do the same to each ass cheek. Sweet thing pushes her ass to me ever so slightly. Wanting to reward that kind of behavior, I kiss and caress it more.

  “Will you take off your bra, peaches?”

  She does it for me.

  I slip the scrap of cloth down her thighs, her hands on
the wall as she lifts each leg for me. My beast takes in her aroma — and rattles his cage for control. I throw the panty aside with the T-shirt.

  I stand up to really take her in. Holy hell. I blow out a soft whistle. There ought to be a law against a woman this hot.

  Cheeks pink, she’s a little shy, but not at all embarrassed about her body. Eyes glazed with heat, she just lets me look at her.

  How did you possibly stay a virgin as long as you did? Were the boys around you fucking blind?

  I take a step and her mouth. My tongue shoves it’s way in making damn sure she knows what she does to me. The feral beast in me wants to pin her to the wall, sink his fangs into her throat and fuck her brains out.

  Gasping, she pulls away, and proceeds to shyly slide my sweats down and off. This time it’s her turn to stare. It’s obvious that she hasn’t seen a naked man up close. Her eyes widen a little and stay on my rock hard cock for an indecent amount of time. When I twitch it for her, she grins and bites her bottom lip.

  Any more of this and I’m going to come right where I stand.

  “C’mon, my ogling witch.”

  She lets me pull her under the warm water and stand behind her. The body wash dispenser is mounted on the wall in front of her. I kiss her shoulder as I fill my palm with the liquid.

  “Lift your ponytail, Cherie.” She does. I soap her back and shoulders, then slide my hands to her hips and down her thighs and legs. I massage in slow circles, paying special attention to her sexy ass. Her butt muscles clench when I slip a soapy finger between her cheeks.

  With the handheld shower, I rinse her back and turn the wand up to squirt water between her legs.

  “Victor.”

  I love that the first time she says my name, it’s in that breathy tone of voice.

  I chuckle. “You don’t like that?”

  She smiles, so I do it, again. She squirms and laughs. Fuck. How can innocence be so carnal?

  I hang up the wand and fill my hands with more body wash. I pull her back against my chest to soap her belly. Moving onto her arms, I have her clasp her hands around the back of my neck. The position thrusts her tits out, perfect for fondling.

  “So beautiful,” I whisper, washing her super soft underarms.