Alpha Pack 4 - Hunters Heart (37 page)

shirt, she toyed with his chest. He hadn’t worn a tie, and

now he was damned glad. “Let’s do the cake, then go for

the icing—in our quarters.”

“Lady, I love how your dirty mind works.”

They called everyone over, tossed the garter to the guys,

the bride’s bouquet to the girls. Then they cut the cake and

shoved their pieces into each other’s faces, giggling. They

stayed just long enough to get all their guests served, and

then ducked out. Jogging toward their room, Ryon grew

more and more excited.

“I didn’t tell my dad good-bye,” she said suddenly.

“He’ll still be here tomorrow. And do me a favor—do

not say the word
dad
again once we get to our room, or

you’ll wilt a perfectly nice erection.”

“I doubt anything short of nuclear war could do that.”

“Why risk it?”

Inside, Ryon left a trail of clothing—shoes, jacket,

pants, shirt. When they reached their bedroom, he stood

only in his socks and underwear. His mate laughed and his

eyes narrowed.

“What?” she asked innocently. “You look cute.”

“I’ll show you cute.” He stripped off his briefs and his

cock slapped his stomach.

Stalking her, he turned her around and went to work on

the tiny zipper at the back of her dress. It was tasteful, a

slim lovely column that accented her body like a glove.

And he wanted it off, now.

Once she was naked, he led her to the bed, striving not

to jump her like the starving wolf he was. He wanted to be

gentle, but there was a greater fire tonight. A passion that

wouldn’t be denied. He wanted to take charge. The

answering heat in her eyes said she wanted it, too.

Pulling her onto the bed, he grasped both wrists in one

hand and pulled them over her head, pinning them to the

covers. He loved that position, the way it made her look

vulnerable to be taken by him. At his mercy. The way it

exposed her breasts to him, ripe and waiting to be sucked.

“I’m going to suck and lick every inch of you,” he

asserted. “Then I’m going to slide my cock into you and

fuck your sweet pussy until you scream.”

“Talk is cheap.”

Giving her a feral grin, he proceeded to do as he’d

warned. Bending, he sucked her pretty nipples—one, then

the other, nibbling them until they stood proud and tight.

She squirmed, and he liked that.

“Don’t move your hands.”

Leaving her arms over her head, he moved lower.

Licked a path down her flat tummy, to her thatch. Then

lower, he mouthed the lips of her sex, chuckling when she

spread her legs wider to give him better access.

“You like that, my pretty slut?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “I need you.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Eat me, please!”

With pleasure. He licked her mound, swirling his

tongue until she was writhing. Twice he had to remind her

to keep her hands still, and that seemed to excite her even

more. Then he plunged his tongue between her folds,

fucking her for a while, getting her nice and slick. He

loved her taste, and pretty soon he’d relish her blood

when he claimed her again.

He suckled her clit, not letting up until she was begging,

hips bucking. He knew she wanted to reach down and pull

at him, but he wouldn’t let her. His control heightened the

eroticism. Finally, he moved up and crouched between her

legs.

Lifting her thighs, he draped her legs over his shoulders.

Her ass was in the air, her sex spread and glistening.

Waiting for him to master.

Mine!

Neither he nor his wolf could wait another second.

Lining up his cock, he plunged into her moist, hot depths.

She screamed, a sound of pure ecstasy. She loved this,

craved more, and he gave it.

Cupping her ass in his hands, he pounded into her tight

channel, spearing home again and again. Their joining was

raw. Primal. Filled with lust and need, and the air around

them reeked of pheromones and sex. It was real.

His climax built, and he felt the tingle at his spine. The

tightening of his balls trying to climb into his body as it

prepared for release. And then he exploded, shooting

inside her again and again, the force and sheer pleasure of

it almost turning him inside out. This surpassed every time

before. He’d never come so hard in his life.

Lowering her to the bed, he fucked her toward release.

His fangs descended and he nosed into the curve of her

neck and shoulder. And struck, her blood like honey on his

tongue.

Her orgasm shattered and she cried out, writhing on his

rod and squeezing out more of his juices as he rode the

aftershocks. At last they came down together, and he

withdrew his fangs, licking the wounds closed. Then he

wrapped her in his arms, her head on his chest.

“That was perfect,” he murmured, kissing her head. “I

love you, my wife. My mate.”

“And I love you.” She nuzzled his chest, snuggled close.

“I’m so glad we found each other.”

“Me, too. I think it was fate.”

“Same here. I never dreamed I’d meet the love of my

life while studying wolves. Not to mention that he would

be
a wolf.” He heard the smile in her voice.

“Not long ago, you weren’t so thrilled about that.”

“I was scared,” she said simply. “Now I’m nothing but

happy and in love with my mate.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, baby. Because you’re stuck

with me from now on.”

“That’s the best news I’ve ever heard.”

Drowsy, they drifted off to the sounds of the party still

in swing outside, blissed-out and at peace. Daria had

completed him, had tamed his restless, lonely spirit—not

to mention the real spirits that had once plagued him. He

didn’t have to run anymore. She loved him, and was home

with him, with the Pack, for good.

A man couldn’t ask for more.

• • •

Miles away, the white wolf sat on her haunches and

howled out her grief. Her pain. She hadn’t gotten what

she’d come for, her plans delayed time and again.

But soon. The day was coming when she
would
find

peace.

That would be the day Nick Westfall paid for his sins.

In his own blood.

Turn the page for an exciting preview of the

first in the

Torn Between Two Lovers e-book trilogy by

Jo Davis,

RAW

Coming in October 2013 from InterMix.

Anna Claire sipped her dirty martini and observed the

restaurant from her soothing darkened corner. From back

here, nobody could see her slip off her Pradas under the

table and stretch her aching feet.

This place was her domain, her baby. Every stick of

furniture, every glass, every fork, knife, and spoon

belonged to her. The staff moved as efficiently as a well-

oiled machine under her ownership and also the direction

of her brilliant head chef, Ethan Collingsworth. They

respected her and were quite terrified of Ethan’s wrath, an

arrangement that suited her just fine.

She didn’t need to be bosom buddies with her

employees to be a success. Quite the opposite had proven

true in her previous business experience. She merely

needed intelligence, persistence, and lots of money.

Anna had plenty of all three.

Which didn’t explain why she was sitting alone in a

corner booth of her own high-end New York

establishment, feeling sort of down, when by all rights she

should be basking in the glow of two years of hard work

come to fruition, from conception to success.

Soft laughter and a tinkling of glasses drew her attention

toward a table on the far side of the main dining room. A

group of four was having some sort of celebratory

gathering, and they looked happy as they toasted with

champagne. At ease and on top of the world. A promotion

perhaps or the landing of a big account. An engagement or

a pregnancy. Whatever the occasion, Anna couldn’t help

but feel proud that they’d chosen her restaurant for their

celebration. On the way to her own table, Anna had

welcomed them and told them so.

But as she watched, a sense of melancholy stole over

her.

Nobody

had

ever

really

celebrated
Anna’s

accomplishments. Even her own mother didn’t “get” her,

didn’t understand what drove Anna to succeed, especially

in the restaurant business. Margaret Claire was set in her

ways and her thinking and never minced words. Like many

parents, she had the power to make Anna bleed from

hundreds of tiny invisible cuts, even if she didn’t realize

it.

Her mother stared at her incredulously. “Let me get

this straight—you worked hard to make that little café of

yours a success, and now you’re
going to just throw it

away . . . spend a ton of money to open a fancy

restaurant in New York City.” The older woman sighed.

“Honey, you were doing well as a manager, and then

you went out on a limb with the café and did all right.

But this? I don’t understand why you need to take a risk

this big.”

Anna’s heart froze. Was she kidding? “This restaurant

has been my goal for as long as I can remember! You

haven’t listened to a word I’ve said!”

So unbending, her mother. Such a product of her own

upbringing as the daughter of a steelworker and a

teacher. The Claires were good, salt-of-the-earth people

who worked hard and loved harder. But the fact

remained that they were also narrow-minded in their

view of what equaled success—and that typically

involved punching a clock nine to five and earning a

retirement after forty years or so of working for

someone else.

She tried again. “Mom, did it ever occur to you that

employees have to work for somebody? Someone

intelligent who knows their business? And that the boss

might as well be me?”

Margaret Claire just stared at her daughter as though

she’d spoken in tongues and sacrificed a chicken in the

front yard.

“Miss Claire?”

Anna snapped to the present and blinked at the man

standing in front of her table. She’d expected to see one of

her waiters but instead was greeted by a tall man dressed

in kitchen whites. In the dim lighting, it took her a moment

to focus on his features.

He was a big man, fit and broad-shouldered, and she

could only guess at the muscles hiding under the drab

required uniform. His short golden brown hair was

mussed in that sexy just-rolled-out-of-bed look that turned

her on when a man knew how to pull it off—and this one

did. His full lips quirked upward, and she found herself

wondering, not for the first time, how he would taste.

Brows that were a bit darker than his hair arched over

expressive blue eyes, which conveyed a very male interest

he couldn’t quite hide, or hadn’t bothered to, from day

one.

The last idea intrigued her in spite of herself—what

kind of man would hit on his boss? One who was either

very stupid or very confident.

Anna had always found confident men to be extremely

sexy.

“Mr. James? What can I do for you?” She made it a

point to know the name of every single employee, so his

came effortlessly—and the question emerged more flirty

than she’d intended.

Grayson James, the new prep chef, was one rung on the

ladder above the janitor of this building. At age thirty-

three, he was a bit long in the tooth if he hoped to make

head chef one day, but he’d come highly recommended

from Le Cordon Bleu, one of the most prestigious cooking

schools around. That, and his letters of recommendation

from the senior partners at his former law firm, had been

enough for Anna. She’d hired him on the spot, despite a

few reservations Ethan had voiced.

Who was she to hold back someone determined to

follow his dream?

“Chef sent me to see if you wanted anything special for

your dinner,” he said in a smooth, deep voice.

A “radio voice,” her mother would say if she were

here. Anna toyed with her martini glass, trying to ignore

the warmth that pooled in her middle at the sound and

traveled south. The man was an employee and she had no

business drooling over him, much less playing this

flirtatious cat-and-mouse game with him for the past few

weeks. But she supposed what he didn’t know wouldn’t

hurt anyone.

She cocked her head, lips curving upward. “I highly

doubt Ethan did any such thing.”

He made a face. “Busted. But how else was I supposed

to get away to talk to the most beautiful woman in the

whole place?”

Pleasure curled through her insides. “You’ve got a big,