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But she could smell him? Pine, earth, a woodsy pleasing scent tugged her in a nostalgic way.
I’m here, the same, deep voice assured in her mind. Quiet, nonthreatening. Maggie wrapped her arms about herself. Maybe I’m insane.
Only those of us craving absolute power turn, losing their minds, what’s left of their souls.
A subtle note of warning threaded through it. She shivered.
Do you smell that? Be careful.
This was too weird. Maggie went to cut off her imaginary friend by thinking of cell mitosis. She stopped. The heels of the wind brought a faint but foul odor.
Like rotting seaweed at low tide mixed with raw sewage. Except this stench carried nothing natural about it. Maggie fingered the chunky turquoise bracelet on her wrist. Grappling with control, she decided to indulge this voice, a fragment left over from her dream. A strong male presence, wanting to protect her.
You’re wearing turquoise. Good.
Turquoise fends off evil seaweed?
No. But it fends off an evil werewolf. For a while.
Maybe I should wear silver as well. Fend off rotting seaweed and werewolves.
Silver? That doesn’t stop them. I’ve tried.
Fear spilled through her like ice water. Tiny hairs on the nape of her neck saluted the air.
You’ve nothing to fear. I’m here now. But don’t remove the bracelet.
The quiet, masculine voice settled her raging nerves. Maggie rubbed her arms, reasoning this internal monologue was a stress reliever.
Superman saves the day. And turquoise is the kryptonite to fend off the Big Bad …
Wolf.
Ridiculous. Wolves in Florida? Only in bars. Her imagination was running amok, result of being alone too long.
She needed company. The pull of human laughter from the Tiki Bar tugged at her like a siren song. Maggie glanced at the dog lying drowsily on the tile. “I’m going out for a bit, Misha. Just a drink and sunset. Stay here and guard the house. And if any burglars break in, try not to lick them to death, deal?”
The dog raised her brown head, then slumped back to the tile. A lump clogged Maggie’s throat. She locked the sliders, went to the bathroom and brushed her hair. Dark purple shadows lined deep hollows beneath her eyes. She thought about cosmetics, decided she wasn’t getting married today. Giving a cursory glance at the turquoise bracelet, she sniffed.
No more imaginary voices. Unhooking the clasp, she let it fall to the counter with a clatter. For a moment, a heavy sigh echoed in her mind.
Ridiculous.
After changing into white linen shorts, a turquoise sleeveless blouse and Birkenstocks, she set off down the beach.
Sand sank into her toes. Maggie slipped out of her sandals, wriggled her toes with delight. Sandals swinging from one hand, she ambled toward the trilling laughter and clinking glasses.
Minutes later, she stood before the thatched hut bar. Buxom women in tight shorts and tighter T-shirts clustered about the bar like bees around a honeycomb. Younger men in wild tropical prints and khaki shorts buzzed around them. Some grizzled salty types downed beer and roared at off-color jokes. She recognized only one person. John, a client, was engaged in serious conversation with a taller man.
Doubts assailed her. What was she doing here? She didn’t drink. But something propelled her forward. Reasoning too many solitary days and nights isolated in her grief caused this yearning, she opted for the company. Maggie shouldered her resolve, slipped into her sandals again and approached.
The bar was elbow to elbow, people sitting on the wood benches, smoking, talking, laughing. Maggie sauntered to the counter with more confidence than she felt. Had she been so alone all this time she’d forgotten how to order a drink?
Then he caught her eye. Maggie’s heart hammered out an erratic beat. She stared.
A black T-shirt stretched taut over broad, muscled shoulders. Faded denim jeans hugged lean hips, molded to muscular thighs the size of tree trunks. Dark bristles shadowed his taut jawline. He had arresting features, a strong nose, firm, sensual mouth and silky black brows. A hank of inky hair hung over his forehead, spilled down past his collar. But his eyes, oh, they commanded her attention. Expressive and dark brown, they were soulful and deep. They observed the bar scene a little sadly, and he held himself aloof.
As if he, too, did not truly belong here.
Biceps bulged as he lifted his beer and drank. Fascinated, she watched his throat muscles work. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.
His gaze swung around, captured hers. For a moment Maggie forgot to breathe. Her hand fled to her throat. Arousal, sharp and deep, flooded her. A deep throb began between her legs.
You’re pathetic. Getting all hot and bothered over a stranger at a bar.
Maggie jerked her gaze away, shouldered her way to the bar. Trying to squish between the bodies crowding the bar, she barely managed to push through. Why the hell was she here, anyway? Ready to flee for the safety of home and hearth, she started to turn when a deep male voice interjected.
“Room here.”
Tall, dark and gorgeous gestured to the empty seat beside him. She hesitated.
“Grab it before it, or the sunset, is gone.”
His mouth, chiseled and full, quirked in a charming half smile. Maggie mustered a smile and joined him. What the hell. She needed this.
“Drink?” he asked. His voice was deep, smooth, the burn of whiskey sliding down a parched throat.
She didn’t like strangers buying drinks for her. The man arched a silky black brow. “You buy. I get the bartender’s attention. Deal?”
Fair enough. “Pinot noir.”
“Good choice,” he murmured. The stranger signaled. A bartender floated over as if jerked by invisible strings and a minute later, a rounded glass of ruby liquid sat before Maggie.
The stranger lifted his glass. “Here’s to the beauty of nature,” he murmured.
They clinked, drank. Maggie savored the rich taste on her tongue. Awkwardness came over her. So long since she’d conversed with a total stranger other than clients. And such a gorgeous one. She struggled for conversational openers. Cell mitosis wouldn’t do.
“I usually don’t like crowds of strangers, but the scenery in my room was boring. How many times can you watch hurricane storm stories on the Weather Channel without wanting to drown yourself in the bathtub?” the man said.
Maggie gave a reluctant smile. “I tried drowning myself in the bathtub once after watching one, but I had just returned from the hairdresser and had a good hair day for once.”
He laughed. “Here’s to good hair days.”
Maggie clinked glasses. She took another brief swallow. Here we go again, what do you do, do you come here often …
“Baths are overrated. Too much water, unless you share.”
Maggie stole another glance at his firm chin and the delicious sprinkling of stubble. His mouth was full and sensual. Most striking were the eyes, dark brown with swirls of caramel. Enticing. Hypnotic.
He tipped his glass toward her. “Nicolas Keenan, here by way of New Mexico.”
Maggie smiled. “Maggie Sinclair, here by way of the beach.”
She stuck out a palm to shake. Businesslike, how’s it going? But he picked up her hand instead. His palm was warm, a little calloused and swallowed hers.
Electricity shot through her, pure current that sizzled. Never had she felt such deep, primitive emotion. Dark eyes met hers as Nicolas brought her hand to his mouth.
He brushed his lips against her knuckles. A brief, but intoxicating kiss. Maggie fought a wave of sudden lust. Her body tingled pleasantly. He let her hand rest in his, then released it. Wordlessly, she sipped more wine. For a long minute, she felt as if they were alone, two strangers sharing space and more.
“Are you here vacationing?”
Nicolas gave a slow smile. “Out to see a friend. She doesn’t know I’m coming.” White teeth flashed. “It’s a surprise.”
Lucky girl, Maggie thought with an odd pang of jealousy. “Just a friend?”
His steady gaze burned into hers. “And we will be more than friends before the night ends. I’m a very determined man.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“Always,” he hinted softly.
Maggie wished someone would want her. She pushed back at her unruly curls. “I’m usually persistent at what I want, but some things are beyond my control.” She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “But that’s life.”
“Sometimes what we think is beyond our control isn’t. We just need a little help,” he observed.
She had the oddest feeling they’d met before. Kismet. Maggie sipped more wine. “Lovely sunset.”
Nicolas nodded. “There is such power and energy on this earth. Only now are most people beginning to understand their world, and live in harmony with the elements.”
“You sound like one of those snotty hybrid drivers who has solar panels and cooks with his own methane emissions.”
Horrified, Maggie bit her lip. But Nicolas laughed. “I drive a truck,” he countered, warm brown eyes twinkling. “I have a ranch in northern New Mexico and hybrids can’t carry bales of hay. I do have solar panels on the roof, only because I hate paying for electricity. And I never fart. Ever.”
He winked. Maggie laughed her first real laugh in weeks.
“But I do host lovely candlelight dinners … when I meet a special lady.”
Tension eased, replaced with something more intense and far more sexual. Wine made her bold. “I bet you even seduce by candlelight. To save power and be romantic at the same time.”
“Not all women. But there’s one special one I would definitely seduce by candlelight,” he said softly.
Daringly, she set her wineglass down, met his smoldering gaze. “And how would you do it? Seduce her? What if she didn’t want to be seduced?” she challenged.
“It wouldn’t matter. Because when I set my eye on something I want, I can be quite ruthless. I would pursue her endlessly, until she surrendered to me.”
She saw in the swirling depths of his dark eyes his determination—the relentless energy of the hunter pursuing what he wanted. A little shiver snaked down her spine.
“And once you caught her? Why should she surrender?”
“I would tell her she’s the only woman in the world for me, someone special sent just for me. That I would die unless I made love to her, and how perfect she is, how absolutely lovely. I would coax a smile to her sad face, kiss away her fears and whisper to her that there was nothing to fear. I would take very, very good care of her,” he murmured.
This man, he sounded so familiar. Must be her alcohol-doused brain. Maggie moistened her mouth, tossed her hair. Flirting couldn’t hurt. When was the last time she’d flirted?
“How good?” Maggie challenged. “Because you’d have to be good. Very, very good.”
He leaned closer, until she could count the black bristles shadowing his jaw. His smoke-and-whiskey voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Trust me. I would be good. Very, very good.”
Heat coursed through her. Maggie sank into his liquid gaze, the dark vortex pulling her down. He looked at her as if she were that woman, and he wanted to love her all over until she sobbed for mercy.
She drained her wine, focused on the crimson-gold sun swallowed by the horizon. “It’s so beautiful. So right. I love this time of night. Dusk.”
“The edge of night filled with promise.” His hooded eyes regarded her. “There’s one sight in nature I find more stirring than a spectacular sunset.”
“That is?”
“A full moon.”
She nodded. “Yes, a full moon can be quite inspiring, can’t it?”
A soft laugh rumbled from his deep chest. “Yes,” he said, gazing at her intently. “Indeed, it can be quite … inspiring.”
Chapter 3
Her delectable aroma drove Nicolas mindless.
Primitive lust coursed through him. Her scent hovered on his tongue. Female, musky, aroused. Exciting. Nicolas picked up the brown bottle of beer, took a long swig. The icy liquid slid down his throat but did not cool.
Liquor would not quench his thirst. Only Maggie would now. Sweet, delicious Maggie, the taste of her flooding his senses.
He’d heard of the driving relentlessness of the mating urge when werewolves found their draicara. “When you find her, watch out. Catching her scent turns you totally animal. You forget everything. You just want to rip her clothes off and mount her,” one of the newly mated pack males had said.
Nicolas had always scoffed at such mindless loss of control. As the pack’s fiercest warrior, he prided himself on his restraint. All those times he’d bedded scores of women after a hunt, releasing savage energy built from fighting Morphs, he’d never lost control.
Now he knew the other male hadn’t exaggerated. He’d expected his draicara to be attractive. The chemistry strong, but not this explosive. Not as if the entire world had faded, and the sun’s last rays shone exclusively on her.
A nimbus of silky dark red curls framed her heart-shaped face, pert nose and soft, rosy cheeks. Her large, expressive eyes were the blue of a quiet lake. Her mouth, ah, her mouth! Full, soft and inviting.
Maggie stole a glance at him. Smiled. She tossed her head and moistened her lips. Desire darkened her eyes.
Oh, yes. She was feeling it, too.
Nicolas’s body tightened pleasantly as he imagined the things he could teach her to do with that lovely mouth.
Shorter than he’d envisioned, Maggie barely cleared his chin. Her figure was a bit too thin, her cheeks slightly hollow. He’d fatten her up, personally hunt her fresh game. His gaze flicked to her full breasts. He imagined cupping them in his eager palms, testing their heavy weight. Enjoying her little moans of excitement as he gently stroked his thumbs over the pearling nipples. Then bending his head to taste, he’d swirl his tongue over one. Oh, yes.
Maggie frowned. Two lines, facial punctuation marks, formed between her silky dark brows. Nicolas was utterly charmed.
“Be right back,” his sexual fantasy murmured.
