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Taking her hand in his, Grant led her to his truck in what amounted to a race against time. Sooner or later they would come to their senses about this connection and be able to manage the passions accompanying it. He preferred that to be later, because what he intended to do to and with Paxton was going to take some time.
Paxton’s curious expression told him she wasn’t going to stop this madness, either. Not yet, anyway. Whatever was taking place between them was seriously spiraling out of control. Not just for him, but for both of them.
She climbed into the truck when he opened the door. Grant was already mulling over the added difficulty of getting her out of the jeans she now wore.
All women should wear skirts, he thought. Black silk, preferably.
His passenger sat silently as he drove, her focus glued to the windshield. She was all legs—long, slim legs encased in dark blue denim. Her shirt was tight enough to show off curves he wouldn’t have anticipated, given the leanness of her overall silhouette.
She didn’t know what do with her hands, so they fluttered in much the same way his insides were fluttering, as she tried to rest them in her lap.
Are you pondering what might happen when we reach the motel?
Why didn’t she look at him?
Grant’s body and mind were at war with each other over those rampant desires. Emotions usually reserved for after a shape-shift were hitting him hard. Each of his fingertips stung as if his claws were going to make an unexpected appearance...all because of his sudden need for the woman across from him.
Back off, Grant said to his inner wolf.
Keep cool.
Neither he nor Paxton said anything, because what was there to say when she was in the dark about so many things? Strangers had a certain level of anonymity where one-night stands were concerned, she might have been thinking. But they’d have to deal with each other tomorrow.
Will you pack up and go away if we hit that bed together, Paxton? Will shame taint our business dealings after a night in the sack?
She might give up, he supposed, and give in, if shame played a part in a day-after scenario.
He had vowed to stay away from her for so many reasons, and look how that had turned out. The last of his willpower was fleeing because of a woman he’d just met.
All right, he wanted to say to Paxton. You can have it all, and to hell with your dad.
Of course, there was no way he could let Desperado go. Not now. Not ever. As alpha, he had responsibilities that lay beyond Paxton Hall, responsibilities to his pack and any other werewolf looking for help and direction.
How could he tell Paxton how easy it was for him to read her, or how much he shared her discomfort over this whole ordeal?
Pulling into the motel’s parking lot, Grant figured he could change the outcome here. He could drop Paxton off and say good-night. He was close to promising himself to do exactly that, in spite of his urges. Maybe, though, he should walk her to the door. Make sure she got safely inside.
She was out of the truck before he could get around it and coming straight at him. Grant thought she might finally raise a hand and slap him for that kiss. But she didn’t.
Stopping a few feet away from him, she stared. Seconds later, as though pulled by forces beyond her control, her body impacted with his.
So much for vows...
She was in his arms and looking up at him. There was only one thing to do in reaction to that.
Their mouths joined in a kiss that was hungry, angry, deep, and a heady surprise in a growing list of surprises. Touching Paxton’s hot, damp tongue with his was a torment. She nipped at him like an animal with its desire unleashed, as though her wolf was already partially in control of her actions. As if the longings of man and woman, wolf and she-wolf, had joined up, making lust a priority that could not be ignored.
Her breath, in his mouth, was hot. Her skin felt hotter. Was he supposed to brush this off and leave? Put a stop to it?
Was there actually a way to do that?
They wouldn’t get anywhere in the parking lot. Pulling back to catch a breath, Grant again took Paxton’s hand and made for the stairs, still vowing not to let the strength of his insatiable ardor take the lead. He didn’t kick in the door to her room but waited for her to open it with the key she had taken from a pocket.
Then they were inside. Two consenting adults who weren’t quite human, although one of them hadn’t realized that yet.
Maybe he could do this. Possibly Paxton’s wolf wouldn’t respond to his wolf, and it would be all right to indulge in some mind-blowing sex. She’d go away tomorrow and the chains he feared would go with her.
Telling himself that was a lie, of course, and Grant knew it.
He unbuttoned his shirt quickly, studying Paxton for any sign that she was going to change her mind. When she removed her T-shirt, silky blond hair brushed the tops of her shoulders, sending him a drift of that fragrant, woodsy perfume.
She stood by the window in her jeans and a filmy lace bra that would be no barrier whatsoever to the deliciousness beneath it. He could have looked at her like this forever, staring, thankful, ravenous. His body pulsed with longing. His temperature spiked dramatically. His inner wolf, caught up in these new emotions, wanted to get in on the fun.
Without knowing how he got there, he had Paxton on the bed, on her back, and was leaning over her with his hands on the mattress. Her face was serious, sober. She was quiet.
Kissing her again, briefly, teasingly, he drew in her breath and played with her lower lip, backing off seconds later to look into her eyes. The corners of her lips quirked to show him she was on board. Her scent already saturated his face and his skin with she-wolf pheromones that were exotic and intoxicating.
Paxton was gloriously beautiful, and also so very small when pitted against the sheer force of his desire for her. Having her for himself had become necessary. Grant felt truly possessive as he got down to the business of removing her shoes. He then rested a hand on her zipper, testing his willpower by waiting out several harsh breaths, counting each tick of passing time through the strong pulses in his neck.
The zipper hummed a siren’s tune as it slid downward. There was still time for Paxton to stop this. Once her jeans came off, it would be too late.
All you have to do is whisper one word, Paxton, and I’ll be gone.
That word didn’t come.
Fragile lace underwear, a deep midnight black, peeked out from behind the zipper, barely covering a taut belly that stretched between sharp-bladed hip bones. Grant stared at those things as if temporarily transfixed until Paxton made an impatient sound that made him glance up.
“What are you?” she asked when their eyes met.
“Hungry,” he replied.
Paxton’s amber eyes were bright. She wasn’t smiling now. He knew she couldn’t possibly have seen the wolf lurking behind the man’s facade, because she wasn’t yet in a position to recognize it. So he waited for her to back up her question.
“I’m not sure what this means,” she said.
She was confessing to being as confused as he was about ending up on this bed with a stranger. Grant supposed she thought men were often more lax about casual sex than women were.
“Does it have to mean anything?” he asked.
“I have a feeling it does.”
“Yes,” he admitted, while knowing Paxton couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of wolf needs, even though her comment showed that she was trying to find a reason for putting herself in this situation. “I have that same feeling.”
Her face was smooth and expressionless. “If I think about it, I won’t want this to happen,” she confessed.
“Should I go?”
She shook her head. “Don’t you dare.”
Those were the words Grant wanted to hear. Two tugs over Paxton’s sleek thighs, and her jeans hit the floor. The next question Grant faced was whether he would take the time to fully undress, or if his rush to have her would win out. He was hard, aching and barely able to suppress a groan. In spite of the things she’d noted, Paxton was willing.
She sat up gracefully, bare except for the insignificant lingerie. Pushing him away, she got to her feet and backed him toward the wall by the door. With shaky fingers, she unbuckled his belt and slid his zipper downward without taking her gaze from his. In those amber eyes, Grant watched a flicker of wildness grow.
Deep inside him, his wolf moved, stirred by his racing pulse. He’d never felt so large, so strong, raw and powerful as he did right that moment. Hell, yes, he wanted this. Wanted her. What he felt for Paxton Hall, the sheer depth of emotion, was a first for him. He’d been with plenty of women. Hell, he was no saint. But he hadn’t felt the need to devour or possess any of them.
As much as he hated to believe it, signs all pointed to that damn word he had managed to avoid for all of his life so far. Imprint. Because if that were true, and that’s what was happening to the two of them, there really would be no escape clause if and when Paxton’s wolf finally emerged.
It was far too late to worry about that now. Paxton’s hands were on his zipper. Her fair hair curtained the sides of her face, contributing to that hint of wildness. Contained in the gleam of her golden eyes were flames that might have set his soul on fire.
“To hell with it,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. “Question time is over.”
Paxton’s breath whooshed out as he took her back to the bed with the kind of speed she should have questioned. As he stretched out beside her, Grant bristled with pleasure. His wolf silently called to hers, but the moon wasn’t full tonight, and that fact was in Grant’s favor. Man to woman was how this was going down. Paxton couldn’t shift without that moon, given that now was the time for her first transformation to happen. He didn’t have to worry about intimacy tonight, though tomorrow would be another matter.
Slipping his hand between her thighs, he skimmed the black lace, seeking the soft feminine folds that lay beneath the filmy scrap of fabric. Paxton made another sound...a surprised, breathy, totally sexy sigh.
He stroked her gently with his fingers, studying each reaction she made. Paxton clutched at the covers and arched her back. The light pressure of his fingers on her sex made her reach for him. In an attempt to hold on to whatever pleasure she was experiencing, she dug into him with her nails.
“Go ahead,” Grant whispered to her, his voice hoarse with expectation. “Enjoy this. Hell, your father might have planned for things to happen this way.”
Paxton’s lips parted as if she might challenge his remark. Grant’s mouth again found hers, sealing off any argument she might care to make.
Her hands moved, sliding up his neck and into his hair to tug him closer. He didn’t need the extra invitation. His hardness, at the moment still tucked inside his jeans, pressed against her hips. She, in turn, writhed on the bed enticingly, seductively, as if she couldn’t wait much longer to accept everything he held back.
But sliding his fingers over her arms made him hesitate. What he found there made him balk. Paxton had a birthmark on her left upper arm, a few inches down from her shoulder. Without having to see it up close, Grant knew exactly what that mark meant. Christ, he had one just like it.
Paxton Hall had a moon mark—a special kind of birthmark that would look exactly like an old bite from a full set of wolf teeth. And moon marks were proof of Were heritage that went way back.
What did she assume that mark was? Wouldn’t anyone question something like that?
“Do you know?” he asked her with his lips moving over hers, hoping she was too caught up in the same sensations moving through him to understand what he was getting at. “Do you understand what this is, between us?”
Realizing there was no way for Paxton to make sense of those words, and feeling way too wolfish all of a sudden, Grant took the fragile ivory skin beneath her right ear between his teeth and bit down lightly, as if teeth were part of the mating game.
He brought his lips back to hers for more kisses, more connection, more fire, tasting Paxton’s heat and allowing the flames she gave off to sink in. Her body moved like liquid sin beneath his. Her mouth was a monstrous delight.
The time had gone for adhering to rules governing wolf behavior. These moments were full and incredibly rich. Here she was. Paxton Hall. A she-wolf in human form. And she was waiting for the very thing he wanted most without realizing it could mean they would never again accept any other partners.
The sting of her nails on his back kept Grant’s wolf tethered, so the man could have his fill of the woman beneath him without interference. Faint traces of the scent of blood filled the air. Her nails were going to leave welts.
With his hands on her hips, Grant pressed his body against Paxton’s, tight to the spot that would soon open and accept him.
She was ready.
He was ready.
To hell, he wanted to shout, with everything else.
As he pressed her into the pillows, Paxton made another sound, one that abruptly brought Grant up from the world of dreams and rapidly fading willpower. It came from deep in her throat. Not a moan, a sigh or an argument against what they were about to do.
No.
Not this time.
Paxton growled.
Chapter 9 (#u0738f038-9e2c-5e62-91db-ec71d744e5d5)
Her cowboy drew back as if he’d been slapped. Paxton’s eyes flew open. What had happened? What was wrong?
Grant had stopped moving. His eyes bored into hers as if searching out a reason for his sudden reluctance to go through with what they both wanted. His hand was wedged between her legs with his fingers splayed. He was hard as a rock inside those jeans he wore.
The suddenness of his restraint was a shock to her searing, blistered senses. The room seemed to whirl.
“What?” she demanded, her tone rough with leftover anticipation.
“It’s nothing,” he replied in what was obviously a lie, since his body was still and only his gaze continued to probe.
The interruption in whatever raw passion had brought them together was accompanied by a swift return of Paxton’s common sense. In that moment, she began to feel foolish and way too exposed. She was on a bed in a motel room, almost completely naked, with Grant Wade’s muscled body hovering over hers.
Had she been hypnotized? Mesmerized? She didn’t know this man. Grant Wade was nothing more than a hiccup in her plans, and she had almost lost whatever dignity she’d had in their standoff by being caught like this, with his hand between her legs.
Closing her eyes, she considered how she was going to get out of this situation gracefully and quickly realized there wasn’t any way to accomplish that. She pondered how to salvage what was left of her rapidly dissipating self-control. Clearly, something had caused the interruption in their plans to tear into each other, so wishing they hadn’t been on this bed in the first place was a total waste of time.
Grant had merely come to his senses before she had. Did he expect a medal for that? Would he hold this little slipup over her tomorrow when paperwork crossed his desk? Embarrassment didn’t begin to describe what she was feeling as the man she’d been about to get down and dirty with sat back on his heels. She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she concentrated instead on the way his pulse beat softly beneath his right ear.
Cool air flowed over her without Grant’s incredible body heat to block it. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Paxton finally glared at him.
“You’re right,” she said. “This was a bad idea. I applaud your self-control.”
Grant shook his head. “I wanted this. Wanted you.”
Wanted. Past tense.
“I’m flattered. Really. You’re...” Paxton let that remark dangle for several seconds. “Well, you are very strong, and I had a scare out there tonight.”
She hated how that statement made it sound as though she had been about to use her body to thank him for being there when she needed somebody. Bodyguard sex.
“Fact is, I’m no good for you right now,” Grant said in a low-toned, gravelly voice.
Hardly able to speak after a remark like that, she said, “Thanks for the heads-up,” and shoved him away.
Rolling sideways, she edged off the bed and stood. Any attempt to cover herself would have been absurd, so she planted her feet near the air conditioner wearing nothing but her fancy lingerie.
Grant Wade stared at her for a long time before reaching for his shirt. There were, Paxton noticed, only a few buttons left.
Having him stand there with his chest exposed and his six-pack visible made her uneasy all over again. This guy was one of the finest specimens of manhood she had ever seen. She had let that go to her head, and promised herself not to let that kind of lapse happen again.
Seeing him tomorrow was going to be a bitch.
