Cowboy Wolf Trouble

by Kait Ballenger

  He cradled her palm in his but hesitated.

  “I’m not afraid,” she said. “And you shouldn’t be either.”

  At her words, Wes slowly eased the blade over her skin. She winced at the slight pain, and immediately, concern filled his eyes.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered. The wound stung, but the cut wasn’t deep. He’d been careful with her. All traces of the minor wound would be gone in a day or two.

  With both their sacrifices made, Wes stepped back, staking Maverick’s blade in the ground between them again. He met her gaze, his golden wolf eyes catching in the moonlight as he extended his hand toward her. Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh, the searing heat in his eyes seemed to say. “I bind you to the Grey Wolves by my blood and my life, Naomi Evans.”

  Naomi clasped his injured hand with her own. As their palms made contact, a jolt of electric heat shot through her limbs. She felt the pulse and sensation of honest-to-goodness magic tingling on her skin. The soft autumn wind of the night air seemed to still.

  She lifted her gaze to meet Wes’s. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see there. Maybe the heat that had been there moments before. Or relief, maybe even elation that following this, she would no longer be his problem. But when his eyes found hers, what she saw there tore any relief she felt in two and sent her blood running cold. Because for the first time since she’d met him, what she saw in Wes’s wide, alarmed eyes was fear.

  Chapter 11

  A mixture of dread and longing consumed Wes as he stared down at his and Naomi’s palms clutched together and felt the surge of power that passed between them in a way it never should have. The feeling shot through him as if he were being charged with a live wire, awakening every nerve, every sense, and then the scent of her hit him full force. The sweet smell of bitterroot flower that lingered on her skin heightened, twice as powerful as it had been only moments before, and twice as tantalizing.

  His eyes widened. No, it wasn’t possible. He shook his head. His mind was playing tricks on him. As he stared down at their clutched hands, the painful feeling of longing and need in his chest grew. Deep down, a part of him wanted exactly this, wanted her. But he couldn’t allow himself this. His grief twisted and snarled like the beast inside him in an attempt to torture him. No. This wasn’t real, and if it was, he refused to accept the reality. He would hurt her like the monster he truly was.

  And that thought terrified him.

  Wes snatched his hand away from hers. Her eyes widened, and he knew she’d felt what had passed between them as well. Tearing his gaze away, he looked toward Maverick. If the packmaster suspected anything, he didn’t show it.

  “The Grey Wolf Pack welcomes your fealty, Naomi Evans,” Maverick said.

  Cheers burst forth from his packmembers. Maverick stepped away from them, crossing the field back toward Wolf Pack Run with his guards carrying the Wild Eight prisoners in tow.

  Wes couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that Maverick knew exactly what he’d done. But how could he? She was human. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  The mood in the pack became celebratory at the drop of a hat. Pack mentality at its finest. Wes should have been celebrating alongside them. He should have been glad that he was wrong, that she wasn’t a liar, a Wild Eight associate, that his instincts had been right all along and now she was under the pack’s protection. And while the doubts had niggled at him, it took hearing her strong, sure voice pronouncing her innocence and swearing her allegiance for all the suspicions to dissipate. He should’ve been glad, but the dread in his gut froze him in place.

  Stunned and unmoving, Naomi stood across from him. Her eyes fell to her palm and then to him. She opened her mouth to speak. No. He wasn’t having that conversation. Not now. Not ever.

  He brushed past her, headed up the mountainside after Maverick. Within seconds, Naomi was trailing behind him.

  “Will she be protected by the pack?” Wes asked Maverick.

  “She’ll have the Grey Wolves’ full protection.”

  No. He knew what this meant.

  “Does that mean I can go home?” Naomi chimed in. “Will I be protected there?”

  Maverick faced Naomi. “You can either stay among us or return home with the pack’s protection. No vampires or Wild Eight have prowled your lands since we’ve been patrolling. It’s your decision.”

  Wes wanted to tell her not to be angry with him. That he did want her. That his insistence on pushing her away had nothing to do with her. But he couldn’t bring himself to form the words. She would choose to leave, and now as he’d only just discovered…

  Without hesitation, Naomi nodded. “Yes, I want to go home. I need to get back to my ranch.”

  Wes’s heart sank. He should have been happy. It was for her own good that she stayed away from him, but for her safety, he wanted her to stay. “So she’s free to go?”

  Maverick nodded. “Should she wish, yes.”

  Wes nodded toward Naomi, urging her to give him and the packmaster privacy. She must have sensed the urgency in his eyes because surprisingly, she listened, or maybe she was still stunned by the events of the evening. Hell, he was still stunned.

  “You have to let me help stop the Wild Eight and the vampires. It’s the only way to ensure her safety.” Wes wasn’t the kind of man to beg, and this was as close as he’d come to it. He’d wanted to stop the Wild Eight to protect his own life, but it was more than that now.

  The packmaster didn’t even stop to consider his proposal. “You should have thought of that before you brought her into this.”

  Black Jack trotted up beside them, seizing the moment to nip aggressively at Maverick’s hand. Maverick pulled his hand back and grumbled at the horse. Black Jack might have been more of an ass than most donkeys, but he certainly had good timing.

  Wes pressed further. “You know this isn’t a long-term solution, and so do I. We can’t keep troops on her land forever. When we need those men for battle, then what? How will we protect her? At the very least, let me head up the security of her ranch. I don’t trust anyone else to do it. Not even Colt. I got her into this mess. Let me finish it.”

  Maverick growled. “No. I forbade you from involving yourself with anything concerning the Wild Eight, and my decision is final.”

  Maverick turned to leave, but Wes caught him by the shoulder.

  “You did this on purpose,” Wes snarled. “Forcing us together, making me care for her, and now ripping her away from me.”

  A hint of surprise flashed across Maverick’s gaze. “I forced you to waste time protecting her no more than you wasted my time cleaning up your messes. As for caring for her, as you’ve proved with your actions time and time before, I have little control over you. Any feelings for her are your own. You know pack law forbids human-werewolf relations. Take her home and make your goodbyes worth it, because I expect you to return to Wolf Pack Run by tomorrow morn. And when you do, I forbid any further contact.” He raked his gaze over Wes. “Consider it punishment for your disobedience.”

  * * *

  The spell that the mountain air cast over them disappeared as soon as they left the clearing. After Austin had doctored Naomi’s injuries, leaving her with several stitches in one arm, they’d returned to their horses and continued on their course without so much as a word between them. Wes’s mind raced. The thought that he’d never smell her scent again haunted him, but somehow, it was unimportant now. A deeper hurt ailed him.

  Ornery and stubborn as she was, he liked this woman.

  Wes could only remember liking one other woman, one other innocent human, a woman he’d also had no business consorting with. Sure, he’d bedded plenty, and he felt amiable feelings toward the females at Wolf Pack Run for the kindnesses they’d shown him, but this was different. The more Naomi opened to him, the more he wanted to know about her. And that was more dangerous than any of th
e ways her scent called to his most primal urges.

  As they reached the bottom of the mountainside, he saw her ranch off in the distance. A small, two-story house painted blue with white trim and white picket fences nestled into the mountain’s lowlands, a wide spread of land stretching out before it. He allowed her to take the lead, and she led them to a gate in the fence. He followed her onto the ranch property.

  Turn around now, his better judgment screamed at him. He’d fulfilled his duty in getting her home safely. He didn’t need to ride beside her right up to her back door. He wasn’t any kind of a gentleman, which was exactly why he needed to beat feet. He wasn’t the kind of man to get tied up with a good girl like her. The last thing she needed was his dark, emotional baggage. Oh yeah, and then there was the whole matter of Maverick’s decree…

  When they reached the back of her house, they both dismounted, and she passed him Star’s reins. He made quick work of tying the reins to Black Jack’s saddle. Anything for the distraction.

  “You don’t have to worry about the Wild Eight and the vampires. Like Maverick said, we’ll monitor your lands.”

  Her response wasn’t what he anticipated. “Thank you for saving me.”

  He froze. She said it to his back, but still the words stunned him.

  “You could have killed me right here in the pasture to save yourself, but you chose to risk your life for mine instead.”

  Slowly, he turned toward her. “It was selfish.”

  She opened her mouth as if she was going to protest but quickly closed it. The action drew his attention to her lips. The bottom one was plumper than the top. He wanted to suck it into his mouth, feel it between his teeth as he kissed her slowly and tenderly as he had that first night, see their actions through until this time, it wouldn’t be his hand that caused her to reach climax. His cock immediately responded to the thought. He tipped his hat toward her with a curt nod. “I’m no kind of hero.” As he started to walk away from her, he gripped Black Jack’s reins until his knuckles turned white. One boot in front of the other. He was several steps farther away now. He could do this. He could walk away. He’d lived through far worse.

  “Wes.” Naomi’s soft voice called to him.

  Just keep walking. He urged his feet forward, but it suddenly felt as if his boots were glued to the ground. He couldn’t do it. He looked over his shoulder toward her.

  He never should have glanced back.

  She stood on her back porch, arms crossed over her chest as if she was trying to hold herself together and keep from crying. Her long, dark hair fell over her shoulders, brushing the tops of her breasts, and those warm brown eyes were staring right at him.

  “I…” She struggled over her words.

  The scent of bitterroot flower carried to him on the breeze. For a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip. The soft, pink flesh caught in her teeth before she released it, leaving it redder, plumper than it’d been only a moment before. “I’m glad I met you,” she said.

  A deep growl rumbled in Wes’s chest, and he dropped Black Jack’s reins. “Damn it, woman.” He crossed the distance and was on her within seconds, his mouth claiming hers. Their tongues clashed together in a desperate dance, and he drank in the taste of her. She tasted just as sweet as she smelled. Of wildflower honey and clover and everything warm, earthy, delicious.

  He sucked that sweet lower lip into his mouth and gently tugged it between his teeth. She let out a low moan that nearly undid him. He was fisting handfuls of her silky smooth hair, drawing her closer and closer to him. His cock pushed against the fly of his jeans, rubbing against the soft curve of her belly. His hand snaked down to her ass, intending to hike her up into his arms. It didn’t matter that they were flush against each other. It would never be close enough. Not until he was inside her. He’d take her on the ground right here if he had to.

  Her open-air porch would do.

  They were all hands, removing each other’s clothing in a fit of tugging and pulling as they stumbled onto the porch. The callused edges of Wes’s fingers brushed against the smooth skin of her stomach as he tugged her blouse over her head. When she finally lay bare before him, his breath caught. Man, she was gorgeous. With her dark skin bathed in pale morning light and the dark strands of her hair cascading over her shoulders, she was sin incarnate, and damn if he wasn’t a devout sinner.

  * * *

  Wes claimed Naomi with a kiss so full of passion, it was staggering. His tongue expertly parted the seam of her mouth, making entry as his lips laid siege to hers. His kiss was a taking, a claiming that delivered on the dark promise in his eyes. His was the kind of kiss that drove a woman ragged with need. The sweet burn of bourbon coated her tongue. The instant their mouths had collided, an amazing electric shock had pulsed through Naomi, awakening parts of her she’d never known existed, never known she should miss but now did.

  Heat flooded her center, and she was ready for him, for whatever he offered, no matter what the consequences. His kiss was part threat, part promise. Whether for pain or pleasure, she wasn’t entirely sure, nor did she care. She wanted every part of him. Her head clouded with the nearness of him, with the thick, masculine scent of him so much that she couldn’t think straight. He smelled like the seasonal twig brooms she bought to place around her house every October. Cinnamon, clove, and warm spices, all things delicious and sexy.

  Their tongues mingled, mixing in an erotic dance before he drew back, his teeth grazing and tugging at the sensitive skin of her lips.

  His were a cowboy’s hands. Rough and overworked. She’d taken extra care over the years with nearly every lotion on the market to ensure hers hadn’t done the same, but on him, the signs of his hard labor made her hot with need and profound respect for the life he’d lived.

  Her nipples hardened into taut peaks, and an aroused growl rumbled in his chest.

  Breaking their kiss, Wes knelt before her, the early-morning sun glinting off the golden undertones of his hair. His chest was bare again, allowing her to admire the glorious sight of him in the early-morning light. He was still wearing his Stetson hat and his jeans as he gazed down at her, his eyes full of hunger at the sight of her naked. As if he recognized what she was thinking, he tossed the hat aside before he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, removing his flask and unscrewing the top.

  He wanted a drink? Now?

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t respond. She gasped as he carefully drizzled a small line of the whiskey over each of her breasts and down the length of her chest to her navel. The liquid that still burned hot in her throat left a cool trail in its wake, causing her back to writhe in anticipation as the liquid made its way down the line of her body.

  “We both like the taste of whiskey, and I’m a man of my word,” Wes whispered in a hungry promise. “When we were in the Grey Wolf stables, I warned you if you got any closer, I’d devour you.” He bent over her, dipping his head just above the tip of one of her nipples. “I intend to keep that promise.”

  His mouth was on her, his tongue swirling and sucking her hardened nipple. The heat of his mouth mixed with the cool trail the liquor had left behind in a tantalizing swirl of fire and ice. She arched her back and cried out as he gently tugged the sensitive skin with his teeth. He made good on his promise—licking, sucking, teasing her flesh with his tongue and teeth, paying equal attention to both breasts before trailing down to her navel, ending only when the bristled hair of his beard brushed against the tender flesh of her thighs.

  He nudged her legs open, spreading her wide for his pleasure. The growl that tore through him was pure wolf, and his eyes were just as animal. “You’re glistening for me.” He trailed a single finger over her wet folds before he suddenly dipped his finger inside.

  A small gasp escaped her throat. With painstakingly slow movements, he pressed that single rough finger deep inside her, curling in a sli
ght upward motion until he found a spot that made her moan and buck beneath him. It was a sweet, twisted torture, and that sexy smirk curled across his lips in response.

  He eased two fingers inside her to that tantalizing spot deep within as the callused pad of his thumb grazed over her clit. Without warning, she shattered, falling apart in his hands. Her sudden orgasm rolled through her, making the tight walls of her pussy clench as a gush of wetness poured over his fingers. White heat filled her, and she let out a lengthy moan.

  But she wanted—no, needed—more.

  “Don’t torture me,” she panted. “I want you inside me. Now.” She tried to sound demanding, full of every bit of sexual prowess a strong woman like herself could wield, but with her breath near gone from her cries, it sounded instead like a desperate plea. He hadn’t even been inside her, and already he’d ruined her, reduced her to little more than a quivering mess of desire.

  With rough hands, he hooked her legs over his shoulders, dropping his head until his mouth hovered over her wet slit. “Oh, Miss Kitty.” He chuckled darkly, using that nickname he knew she hated to rile her with frustration while his tone stirred something deep between her legs. It was a dark sound that promised every bit of the destruction he’d spoken of in the stables. His delicious torture was hardly finished. “We’re just getting started,” he purred.

  * * *

  Wes ran his tongue up the length of her cleft, quickly locating that sweet bud between her legs. Man, she tasted divine. The flavor of her hot pussy mixed with the remaining whiskey was every bit as delicious as her scent suggested. She cried out again as his tongue circled her most sensitive flesh, prodding and teasing until she was bucking beneath him.

  He gripped her ass cheeks, holding her still as his mouth ravaged her. He feasted on her in unrelenting, delectable torture, his mouth drawing her nearer, then releasing, nearer, then releasing until he felt the heat of her climax rising in her, his limbs tensing as each stroke of his tongue left her teetering on the precipice. Each moment of brief denial making her want all the more.