Wolfe Wanting

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Wolfe Wanting Page 10

by Joan Hohl


  “You were shopping,” Royce said over a low, appreciative grumble from his empty stomach.

  Evidently hearing the noise, Megan laughed and moved closer to the counter, and the cutting board she had placed there in readiness. “If you'll tell me what you want on your sandwich, I'll make it for you.”

  “Ham, cheese, lettuce, tomato and mayo on a roll,” Royce recited. “Pickles, olives, chips and potato salad on the side.” He raised one eyebrow. “What's to drink?”

  “Decaffeinated coffee, tea, soda, beer, fruit juice, milk or water,” Megan said, spreading butter on a kaiser roll. “The coffee's fresh, in the pot, and the other drinks are in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  “Are you going to join me in this repast?” he drawled, ambling to the refrigerator.

  “Yes.” Megan shot a quick grin at him. “I didn't eat much for dinner, either. I, er, wanted to get back to work.”

  “You have been busy,” he murmured, returning her grin as he pulled the salad containers and the pickle and olive jars from the appliance. “Make any headway?”

  “Yes.” Megan's voice held a deep vein of satisfaction. “As a matter of fact, I finished the project, so this midnight snack is something of a celebration for me.”

  “Hey, that's great. Congratulations,” Royce said, verbally applauding her. “So, what's on the agenda?” he asked, while continuing to gather together food, plates and glasses, then carry them to the table. “Another project?”

  “Nope, nothing,” Megan answered, turning away from the counter to frown at the table. “Do you want to bring those plates over here? The sandwiches are ready.”

  “Oh...sure,” Royce said agreeably, ambling back to her side with the plates. “Looks good,” he told her, his mouth watering at the sight of the food. “You build a mean-looking sandwich, lady.”

  “Thank you kindly, sir,” Megan said solemnly. Then she went on, impishly. “So, let's not stand here admiring them, let's demolish them.”

  And that was exactly what they did. And while they did, the conversation was reduced to a minimum.

  “Actually, I do have one thing on my agenda,” Megan said casually as they worked together clearing away afterward.

  Alerted by the almost too casual note in her tone, Royce slanted a probing look at her. “Yeah, what's that?”

  “I stopped by the dealership on Commerce Avenue on my way home from the supermarket,” she said, slowly.

  “And?” He arched his brows.

  Megan fidgeted with the dishcloth. “I, er, saw one model that I kinda liked.”

  “But?” he nudged.

  Her fingers twisted the cloth. “But, um, I'd really appreciate another opinion. A man's opinion.”

  Royce grinned. “Mine?”

  “If you wouldn't mind?” she asked, hopefully.

  “Honey, I wouldn't mind at all,” he assured her, feeling inordinately please by her request. “When would you like to go, tomorrow morning?”

  “It already is tomorrow morning,” she pointed out, appearing both relieved and as pleased as he felt.

  “So it is,” Royce conceded, glancing at the clock. “And time for me to get out of here and let you get to bed.” Tamping down an impulse to take her into his arms and suggest they get to bed together, he moved to the kitchen doorway.

  “I am sleepy,” Megan admitted, trailing along the hallway behind him. “I didn't get much sleep last night.”

  Tell me about it, Royce thought, recalling his own discomfort the night before, both in the recliner and in his mind and body. Come to that, he reflected, turning to her when he reached the front door, the way she looked in that silky caftan was making him pretty damned uncomfortable right now.

  “Ah, let's see,” he said, shooting a look at his watch. “It's going on two. Suppose I pick you up around eleven-thirty? We can take a look at the car, then have lunch.”

  “Is your mind always on food?” she asked teasingly, her eyes bright with inner amusement.

  Not hardly, Royce answered in silent longing, while aloud he replied, “No, not always.” Unable to resist a sudden urge, he raised his hand to slowly brush his fingertips across her cheek to the corner of her mouth, his touch a light caress against the faint bruises marring the perfection of her creamy skin. Anger, hot and biting, for the man who had inflicted those bruises twisted inside Royce.

  He kept the rage from coloring his voice by exerting all the control he possessed. “My mind is often on other things, Megan,” he murmured.

  “Wh-what kinds of things?”

  The anger merged with desire. Royce felt a pang in his chest, a constriction in his throat. Megan's eyes were wide, luminous...vulnerable. He wanted, so very badly, to take her in his arms, cradle her, protect her, make love to her.

  But he couldn't allow himself the pleasure that holding her, loving her, would give him. Because the pure light of trust also shone out of her eyes.

  Megan trusted him; Royce would rather die than betray that trust.

  “Maybe I'll tell you, someday,” he replied, smothering a sigh as he drew his index finger over the sweet curve of her lower lip. “But not today.”

  “I...I don't understand,” she said in a soft, plaintive little murmur.

  “I know.” Royce smiled, and let his hand fall away from her tempting mouth. “Hell, I'm not certain that I do.” Shrugging, he turned to open the door. “I'll see you at eleven-thirty,” he said, stepping into the cold night air. “Good night, Megan. Lock up tight. Sleep well.”

  * * *

  Sleep well.

  Fat chance.

  Megan shifted position, again. Over an hour had passed since Royce had left her with those parting words, an hour in which she had continued to thrill to his tantalizing touch, while puzzling over his enigmatic remark.

  My mind is often on other things...

  What had he meant? What other things? Personal? Professional? Megan wondered. More important, did those unmentioned other things involve her in any way?

  Excitement, uncertainty, confusion, were a mixed bag inside Megan's stomach.

  She hoped, and feared to hope. She yearned, and was afraid of the yearning. She needed, and...

  And what?

  Megan shifted position yet again, made uncomfortable and restless by her own thoughts.

  But there were thoughts, emotions, desires and, yes, fears that had to be confronted and examined. Otherwise, Megan knew, there was a danger of closing herself off from any normal contact and association with members of the opposite sex.

  Sex.

  The word loomed in Megan's mind.

  Intuition told her that the other things on Royce's mind were all directly related to that one word—intuition, and physical and emotional reactions.

  Her lips burned with the imprint of Royce's caress.

  Royce had touched her, in a sensuous, intimate manner, and she had not cringed, had not felt revulsion, had not been filled with stifling panic, as she had feared she would be upon ever again being touched by any man.

  Quite the contrary. To Megan's utter surprise, she had responded to his caress, going all soft and quivery inside, breathless from the wonder of it all.

  Physical attraction?

  Sex?

  In spades, she acknowledged. But it was more than mere sexual attraction—much, much more.

  Megan wasn't as yet quite ready to delve into the depths of just what that much, much more entailed, but the shadow of it was there, hovering at the edges of her consciousness, haunting her as effectively as some persistent ghost.

  The analogy brought a frown to Megan's brow. The day of reckoning would come, the day when she would have to face the truth of her feelings, emotions, fears and hopes.

  But this wasn't that day. It was too soon, Megan told herself, absently raising her hand to smother a yawn. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day, she mused, curling onto her side as her eyelids drifted shut.

  Maybe.

  * * *

  The ringing phone woke Royc
e at 8:14.

  Groaning, he stretched out his arm, groping for the instrument set on the nightstand by the bed.

  “'lo,” he mumbled into the receiver around a wide, noisy yawn.

  “Did I wake you?” The deep voice held a definite note of amusement.

  “Naw,” Royce replied, his lips twitching into a rueful smile. “I always sound like I have a mouth full of cotton in the morning.” Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he shimmied up the bed to prop his shoulders against the headboard. “What's up, big bro?”

  “Let's not go into that,” Cameron drawled, eliciting a chuckle from his younger brother. “I was wondering if you had talked to Mother.”

  “Not in nearly a week,” Royce said, a spark of alarm stealing the chuckle, and much of the moisture, from his throat. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. Don't go into a tailspin, Royce,” Cameron hastened to assure him. “Mother's fine.”

  Royce let his breath out on a sigh of relief, before launching an attack. “Well, dammit, Cam, if everything's fine, why did you wake me up to ask me if I had talked to her? You had me close to a cold sweat.”

  “You always were the overconcerned one,” Cameron said dryly. “Must get your mother-hen personality from the mother hen.”

  “You're a laugh a minute, you know that?” Royce retorted. “Now, if nothing's wrong at home, would you mind telling me the purpose for this inane call?”

  “I am never inane, little brother.” Cameron's voice contained both steel and utter conviction.

  The damn thing was, his brother's statement was as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar, Royce silently conceded. The bottom line was that if Cameron said something was so, then it was so.

  “I know, I know,” Royce admitted. “But cut me a break, will ya? I'm not quite with it.”

  “Tell me about it,” Cam taunted.

  Royce sighed. “Look, Ca-me-ron,” he said, in tones of rigidly imposed patience. “I worked the late shift. I didn't get to bed until 2:30. I want to get back to sleep. Did you call me for a real reason, or just to see if I was still here?”

  Cameron laughed.

  Royce decided it would be very easy to actively dislike his older brother...if he didn't practically worship the very ground Cam set his size twelves upon.

  “Okay, here's the scoop.” Cameron's voice was now brisk, if still overlaid with amusement. “Jake's in love.”

  “I'll alert the media,” Royce retorted, yawning loudly into the mouthpiece. “But I already knew. For crying out loud, Cam, Mother told me about Jake way back last fall, and has been giving me periodic updates ever since.”

  “I'm talking seriously in love, Royce.”

  “Well, hell, I figured that,” Royce said. “Didn't I just say Mom's been keeping me posted?”

  “I mean, marriage serious,” Cameron said. “Did you know that?”

  “Marriage?” Royce sat bolt upright.

  “Appears so.”

  “When?” Royce stared in bemusement at the opposite wall, seeing an image of his youngest brother with his inner eye. Jake, the baby, was getting married?

  “Late spring.” Cameron's soft laughter conveyed amusement and indulgence. “Seems we're going to have a June wedding.”

  “I'll be damned,” Royce murmured.

  “Likely, but that's beside the point,” Cameron drawled. “Mother will probably be calling with the news any minute now. Act surprised, will you? She's waited a long time for a wedding in the family, and I don't want to ruin her fun. I do hate to steal her thunder.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Royce agreed vaguely, distracted by the image of young Jake traipsing down the proverbial aisle. “I'll give her an award-winning performance.”

  “Thanks.” Cameron was quiet a moment, and then he asked, “So, what do you think about it?”

  Royce frowned. What did he think about it? “I don't know. I haven't decided yet.” He shrugged, then laughed. “Do you think Jake gives a damn what I think...or what you and Eric think, come to that?”

  “No, and rightly so,” Cameron said, laughing with him.

  “Right,” Royce concurred. “I've been curious about Sarah ever since Mom told me about her. Now I can't wait to meet her.”

  “Well, you won't have to wait too long. You'll be meeting her at the gathering of the Wolfe pack in June.” Cameron's voice turned brisk. “I've got to go, I've got another call. You can go back to sleep now, Royce. Talk to you later.”

  “Yeah, later, bro.”

  Marriage.

  The word stood, bold as brass, in the forefront of Royce's mind, barring a return to slumber. There was a lot of tossing, a lot of heaving his long frame from one position to another position, but no escape into sleep.

  “Damn.”

  Cursing beneath his breath, Royce finally gave up the battle and crawled out from under the tangled covers on his king-size bed.

  Marriage. And Jake. The youngest of the four Wolfe progeny; the first to take the plunge into matrimony.

  Who would have thunk it?

  Shaking his head in bemusement, Royce left the bedroom, heading for what he hoped would be a reviving shower.

  Marriage.

  The word seemed to get stuck in a mental groove, revolving and repeating inside Royce's head while he wallowed in a long, leisurely, stinging-hot shower.

  The one-word refrain persisted as he made faces at himself in the bathroom mirror, contorting to find and scythe every tiny trace of morning stubble.

  He was picking up Megan for car-looking and lunch.

  After selecting, then discarding, several combinations of pants, shirt and sport jacket, and eventually settling on the fifth ensemble he put together, Royce wandered into the minuscule kitchen in his apartment to make a pot of coffee.

  But would lunchtime ever come?

  The clock on the stove read 10:17.

  Royce exhaled a deep sigh; almost an hour to kill before he could leave to pick up Megan.

  In the interim, Royce polished off two pots of coffee and a hearty number of slightly stale English muffins. Toasting eliminated the staleness. After eating, he filled in the remaining minutes cleaning up the kitchen, making his bed and rehanging his clothes in the bedroom, and tidying up the living room—which didn't take long, since it was only marginally larger than the minuscule kitchen, and a great deal smaller than the spacious bedroom.

  Which just went to prove that, in the case of space allocation, Royce had his priorities straight.

  When, at last, Royce strode from his apartment, he felt he now knew precisely the feelings of a felon being sprung from the slammer.

  Marriage.

  Though less bold, thus less demanding of his immediate attention, the word was there, comfortably ensconced at the back of his mind.

  All in relation to Jake...of course.

  * * *

  The day was fine, the breeze cool but scented with the promise of spring, hovering just around the corner.

  Megan was waiting for Royce on the front stoop, her face raised to the strengthening warmth of the sunlight. Smiling, she drew in a deep breath, trying to capture the elusive scent teasing her senses. Her smile curved into a frown at the discordant sound of a bad car muffler disturbing the late morning peace and tranquillity.

  The crunching noise had a familiar ring.

  Now, where...

  Megan's emerging thoughts took flight as a dark green car made a smooth, purring turn into her driveway.

  Royce.

  Thinking his name brought a flutter to her pulse, a soaring sense of joy skittering throughout her being. Her lips curved into a bright smile of pleasure at the sight of him.

  The effect on Royce was gratifying, to say the least.

  He looked stunned, bemused, bewitched. He also appeared incapable of movement. Bringing the car to a stop alongside her, he simply sat, staring into her smiling face.

  Laughter bubbled up Megan's throat and over her lips. The sound of her amusement dancing on the mild spring a
ir, she opened the passenger-side door and slid onto the seat next to him, her laughter taking on a teasing note.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Megan asked when he just sat there, staring at her.

  “No,” Royce said in somber seriousness. “Your smile stole my breath.”

  His bold admission rendered Megan as speechless as he had been. For an eternity of seconds, they merely sat there, staring into each other's eyes.

  The flutter in Megan's pulses accelerated into a thundering gallop that thrummed in every nerve ending. Her breath was shallow, her heartbeat deep.

  She suddenly ached...everywhere.

  The exquisite pain shattered her trancelike state.

  “Ah...” Megan paused, swallowed, cleared her throat. “I guess we'd better get going.”

  Royce released his visual lock on her with flattering reluctance. “Yeah.” His voice was strained, ragged; his fingers betrayed a fine tremor when he reached for the key in the ignition.

  The engine fired, and he slanted a glance at her. Then, drawing a deep breath, he set the car into motion.

  Megan sat, still and contemplative, throughout the drive to the car dealership. Not knowing quite what to think of the strange interlude they had shared, she tried not to think about it at all.

  But that didn't work, because she could still see his eyes, the bright blue darkened by emotion.

  It was all very thrilling...and rather scary. Scary enough to keep her quiet, thinking, while trying not to think.

  Apparently Royce was experiencing similar difficulties, for he remained as quiet as Megan.

  Shopping for a new car was decidedly anticlimactic. Royce approved the silver-gray sports car, and Megan made arrangements to buy it. It was all cut-and-dried.

  After becoming lost inside blue eyes intent on peering into her soul, Megan could hardly feel thrilled by the prospect of becoming the owner of what, in fact, was nothing more than a piece of metal with wheels.

 

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