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She sprang off the bench, nearly spilling her wine. Drunk with lust, he eyed the white linen shorts hugging the tempting halves of her rounded bottom. His hands itched to squeeze. He imagined feeling the smooth skin of her plump ass caressing him as he mounted her from behind and drove into her in the traditional mating position.
Not the first time. Werewolf sex could be quite rough, too intense and passionate for her first time. Threading through Maggie’s female arousal was the distinct impression of innocence. Sexy, yes. Enticing. Oh, yeah. But experienced. No way. He’d bet a raw steak on her being a virgin.
He imagined gently initiating her in making love. Slow, sensual caresses. Perhaps a hot oil massage, his fingers sliding over her silky skin, caressing and stroking, delving into her secret hollows and making her writhe and plead. Slow for her first time, with lots of orgasms to compensate for taking her virginity. Then finally, igniting her passion and tangling together with her in hot, raw animal sex. He grew hard as granite, thinking about it.
Blood thrummed hotly in his veins. Nicolas hungrily watched Maggie walk toward two men.
What the hell?
Fists clenched, they fumed at each other. One, bristling sharp as the spikes on his crew cut, boasted muscles worthy of a veteran WWE wrestler. The other was leaner, but tall and wiry. They looked ready for a fight.
They were going to fight!
He swiveled, realized the crowd had quieted. They stared at the men, expecting action. He focused on the scowling men. And Maggie, his Maggie, was hurrying up as one drew back his fist.
Nicolas leapt off the bench. He bolted toward them, muscles tensed as he prepared to defend his draicara.
Maggie stepped between the pair snarling like angry dogs. She placed a hand on each man’s arm. Her honey-smooth voice rippled in soothing tones. “Stop it. John, you don’t want to hurt this man. Whatever it is, you can work through it without hitting each other. You don’t want to hurt each other. Listen to me. You’re here for a good time. Calm down. It’s all right.”
Serenity radiated from her. Maggie’s aura of peace extinguished the tension between the hot-tempered men like a bucket of ice water on a campfire. The two looked at each other, tension fading from their bodies. This is silly, their expressions said. Why are we doing this?
Nicolas ground to a halt between the pair. They backed off. “Lay a hand on her and I’ll tear you apart,” he growled.
Not giving them a chance to think it over, he wrapped his fingers firmly about Maggie’s wrist and tugged her back to their seats. Admiration for her courage and spunk filled him. Deep inside she possessed the qualities to battle the Morphs. Nicolas bit back frustration. First though, he must teach her to make war, not peace.
Better yet, make love. Then make war.
“What are you doing?” she protested.
“Saving your sweet little ass.”
He herded her back to the bar, barked an order for another pinot noir to the bartender. Nothing for him. He couldn’t risk another sip. Not if he had to stand ready and protect her from breaking up fights where she could get hurt.
Defiance snapped in her sea-blue eyes as they resumed their seats. The bartender set the wine down.
Nicolas pinned her with a censured look. “What the hell were you doing? They outweigh you by a hundred pounds.”
Maggie lifted her stubborn little chin. “I don’t like violence. John has already been jailed for getting into one fight. And what right do you have to interfere?”
“Same right you do.” Only more, he thought grimly. No way in hell would he allow her to endanger herself needlessly. “I had no desire to see you take a punch in the face.”
Her expression softened. “And I had no desire to see them fight. Fistfights serve no purpose.”
“They serve a great purpose when the fist is headed at your face. A man has to do what he must to protect his own.”
Her lovely mouth wobbled. “Sometimes a man is better off turning and walking away than risking violence. Men can die from a fight.”
“And there are those who seek nothing but a fight. You don’t turn and walk away from them. Because they’ll hunt you down and rip you into pieces while you’re singing the praises of peace and harmony. What would you do then, Maggie?”
Her gaze grew distant. “I’d try to negotiate.
Beg for my life, if necessary. And escape. Run.” Her voice dropped. “Anything … but fight.”
“There is no compromise. No negotiation. Run and they’ll run faster after you. Plead and they’ll ignore you. You must kill. Or be killed. Rules of the jungle, Maggie.”
“This isn’t a jungle.”
“Everywhere is a jungle. The covering is just different.” Nicolas braced his hands on the bar, scanning the crowd. The rose-gold sun had sunk into the gulf. Dark shadows spread over the sand. On the beach, the men playing volleyball laughed as they ceased the game.
Nicolas studied Maggie. Instinct urged him to see inside. Get an idea of her emotions. No. No invasion.
Her hand shook as she picked up the wineglass. Ruby liquid sloshed over the rim. Droplets splattered on the laminated counter, quivered, dark as blood. Nicolas fought a rising premonition. He gently touched her wrist, marveling at the heat sizzling between them.
“Are you okay, Maggie?”
Expression distant, guarded, she gulped down the wine. Nicolas kept quiet. Finally, she took a deep breath. Her voice cracked.
“I shouldn’t have … have come here. I knew this was a mistake. I just wanted … a little diversion. Some company. I’ve been working so hard.”
He didn’t invade her thoughts. Nicolas read her expression instead. It said she wanted to retreat to the safety of her four walls, where she didn’t have to encounter fistfights.
“What kind of work do you do?” He kept his tone casual. Inside, he ached at her wild look, like a cornered animal.
Enthusiasm chased away dark shadows from her eyes. She began talking about her practice as a veterinarian. Nicolas fired one question after another. Kept her talking, distracted her from leaving. He learned she’d been raised by a parade of indifferent foster parents after her mother and father died when she was twelve. Only after she turned fourteen did she finally have affectionate foster parents. Her foster father was a physician and encouraged Maggie’s studies.
“I skipped grades and graduated high school at sixteen and went to college. My foster father wanted me to major in premed and I was desperate to please him because he had been so good to me. It was almost … like having a real father.”
Her tiny sigh pierced him like a dart.
“I thought they both loved me as if I were their real child, until my second year of school when I knew I wanted to become a veterinarian. My foster father threatened to stop paying my tuition if I changed majors. Animal doctors weren’t as skilled as real doctors.”
Maggie’s gaze dropped to the counter. “I couldn’t force myself to comply with his wishes so they cut off all contact with me. It was challenging, but I had a few scholarships and worked through school as a phlebotomist.”
Nicolas steeled himself against the rising urge to take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “Your foster father was wrong. It takes a special skill, and empathy to treat animals. Animals don’t talk, and can’t communicate with words as to what’s wrong.” He gave a wry smile. “But in many ways, they’re easier to be around than people.”
A little laugh escaped her. “You think so, too? I had to force myself out to come here. Sometimes I don’t want to be around people, especially men. They can be such wolves.”
Nicolas raised a questioning brow.
“Not you. You don’t have that wolfish demeanor. I like you. No one else would have cared if one of those men hit me. And you’re very cute,” she blurted out.
A radiant flush tinted her cheeks. Nicolas was utterly enchanted.
“I’ve studied wolves, you know,” she confessed.
He raised a dark brow. “Oh?”
“As an undergrad. My major was zoology. I spent a summer out West working with a conservation program relocating wolves. It was fascinating watching them work as a pack. Real teamwork. Did you know that, in a pack, the beta wolf is responsible for ensuring the alpha male’s orders are carried out?”
“I’ve heard something about that,” he murmured.
She cocked her head, looking adorable. “I’m babbling. It’s the wine. I shouldn’t have had that second glass.”
Pulling out a wad of bills from her pocket, she tossed them down on the bar. Maggie stood on wobbly legs, swaying like a palm tree in a head wind. Nicolas stood, laid a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll take you home.”
Auburn curls flew as she shook her head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a short stagger down the beach.”
“Then I’ll stagger with you.” He took her elbow, steadying her as she slogged through the soft sand.
“Besides, I have to keep you safe from the Big Bad Wolf.” Nicolas winked. Maggie laughed. It was a gurgling laugh that reminded him of crystalline streams tumbling over rocks.
Wind combed through her hair. Darkness thickened, draping the beach in ebony. Yellowish light from beachfront homes and towering condominium buildings cast oblong pools on the sand. Above them, a canopy of stars glittered like tiny jewels. A sailboat, blue light bobbing atop its mast, drifted as it headed south for the inlet.
He guided her around an abandoned beach bucket threatening to trip her. Had Maggie ignored her night vision, or did the fact she never experienced the change dim her wolf senses?
Sand kicked up in little eddies as they walked. They wended through a small stand of palms. Maggie paused before a tidy, two-story whitewashed house. “Thank you for seeing me home.”
She leaned against a swaybacked palm trunk, lacing her hands behind her. Clearly in no hurry to say goodbye, leaving him standing in the dark. His night vision showed interest flaring in her deep blue eyes.
She didn’t want to end the evening. Neither did he.
“Been my pleasure, Dr. Maggie.” He sketched a courtly bow. Straightening, he winked. She laughed again, stopped, searching his face.
“It’s odd but I feel like we’ve met before tonight.”
“Perhaps we’re destined to be together,” he said softly, watching her.
Nicolas placed a hand on the trunk, above her head. Leaned just a little closer. Close enough to drink in her delicious aroma. Spice. Something fresh, floral like wildflowers. And the gut-clenching scent of female arousal.
That adorable frown line dented her brow. “You said you came here to visit a friend, and that she’d be more than a friend before the night ends.”
“I did,” he said softly. Nicolas brushed away a lock of silky hair from her cheek. “It’s you, Maggie. I came here to seduce you.”
She drew in a deep breath, blue eyes darkening. “You’re very charming. Are you like this with all woman?”
“Just you. Only you, Maggie.” He cupped her chin, tilted her head up to meet his penetrating gaze. “You’re the only one for me.”
Her lush mouth parted. “It’s odd. I truly do feel like we know each other. As if it’s meant to be. Do you believe in destiny? One person, your missing half, destined to be with you? But what are the chances of it happening?”
“I do. You know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of wolves to find Mr. Right,” he murmured.
“I thought it was kiss a lot of frogs?”
He shot her a cocky grin. “Would you rather kiss a frog?”
“No,” she said, a little breathlessly. Nicolas watched the pulse beat at the base of her throat. Fast. Faster. “I’d rather … kiss you.”
Against the coconut tree’s rough bark, he braced his hands on either side of her, pressing her against the tree. “What do you want, Maggie? This?”
He lowered his head, and his mouth claimed hers.
It felt electric, hot, as if all his nerve endings centered on the contact between their lips. He savored the tangy taste of wine and her innocence. Her mouth was pliant, soft and silky beneath his. Nicolas cupped the back of her head, deepened the kiss. His tongue plunged into her parted mouth, thrust, imitating the sex act. She hesitated, reached out in turn, flicking her tongue over his.
He drank in her essence, her spice, tasting her life, all her hopes, dreams.
Passions.
Nicolas felt himself flowing into her, his internal essence trickling like water into her spirit. First contact … prelude to mating, when they’d exchange magick powers, and become fully one. Each lost half joined as in Old Times, before the Draicon split themselves in half to willingly lessen their powers before they became too powerful. Too dark. Too … evil.
Nicolas groaned as she writhed against him, pressing her hips against his. Maggie. His Maggie. His free hand stroked her body, teased, explored.
Sweetness. Spice. His hand delved between her thighs, cupped her in hard possessiveness. Nicolas rubbed, wanting to give her hot pleasure. She whimpered, twisted, ground her hips against him. Maggie pressed closer to him. As if she couldn’t wait to get inside him.
He withdrew his hand, his groin growing hard and heavy. Nicolas brought his fingers up, inhaled her delicious female scent. Bringing his index finger to his mouth, he gave it a long, slow lick. As if licking her.
Her wide gaze held his. Maggie moistened her kiss-swollen lips.
He gazed at her, dark, fierce. Wanting.
In minutes he’d have her, shorts stripped off, panties shredded, her slender legs spread open. Tasting her, bringing her to one shattering climax after another. Then, when she was wet and ready for him, he would sink his hard cock into her, sealing their bond of the flesh.
Every male instinct screamed yes. Nicolas reached for her again.
And caught a scent that rocked him back on his heels. Not delicious, aroused female spice.
Something dark, evil. Like a rotting corpse.
A Morph.
Trembling, Maggie fell back against the palm. One kiss. One soul-stopping press of his warm, wet mouth against hers. Feeling that hard, muscled body mold against her. In that moment, she went from guarded, slightly drunk but distant Maggie to Super Hormonal Woman. Able to leap his male body in a single bound.
She’d never been this sexual. Men interested her, but thought her too intelligent, too unapproachable. Too prudish when she refused to go to bed with them.
Now, dealing with a man she’d met barely an hour ago, her hormones were hopping like water drops on a hot skillet. The guy radiated sexuality like a beacon.
Practical to the bone, Maggie knew it was only nature dousing her with a flood of arousal to make up for the long months she’d avoided men while focusing on her work. Nature versus Overworked Single Businesswoman. Hormones on nature’s side. Score … tonight.
Maggie blinked as Nicolas lifted his head. He appeared to sniff the air. The dim yellow glow from her porch light revealed his expression shifting from fierce desire to wary speculation.
He moved so quickly she had no time to react. Strong fingers laced about her upper arm in an unyielding grip. “Get inside,” he urged, and steered her toward the front entrance.
Whoa. A bit fast. But wasn’t this what she wanted? Maggie, the practical, weighed the consequences of sleeping with Nicolas, a total stranger. Okay, a cute total stranger. Condoms?
She had none. Maybe he had some in his wallet. Right. New ones. She swiped a glance at his bulging crotch.
Her internal traffic light flashed yellow. Caution. Yet everything inside yearned to join with him. She felt caught in the helpless grip of sexual arousal. Why not sleep with him? She was a virgin, not out of moral principle, but sheer disinterest. No man had ever made her feel interested enough. Until now.
