“One more question. Since werewolves have
enhanced senses, how does it work in, you know…” I stammered,
blushing. “In very private moments, when more than two people live
in the same house, for example?”
“Ah, you mean when we have sex, Miss Spock?
You can relax. All private rooms in our homes—and certain spaces in
public buildings wherever privacy is required—are under mandatory
Privacy Protection, or PP.”
“What about other rooms or outside noises and
smells?”
“Common rooms are not under PP. As you know,
we can adjust our voices, tune out other people’s conversations,
and so on. Yet even from the protected rooms you can sense whatever
is relevant, for safety reasons, as well as outside sounds. It
requires a complex tribal magic to have all these particulars put
together, but once it’s set up, PP works fine. In short, it
protects the most intimate times between two people, and strictly
confidential conversations, without jeopardizing our safety.”
“This also must be partly because of the
humans that live among you, right?”
“Yes, when it comes to privacy, it takes our
senses to a human level. Our enhanced sensory system puts them at a
disadvantage, so we try to even it out. Privacy is a big issue for
them, more than for any other race. Anyway, while we’re still on
the topic.” Jack gave me a meaningful look. “It should be said that
when we make love in unprotected places and in the open: cars,
woods, elevators, beaches, barns, airplanes, back rows of movie
theatres and so on— ”
“Okay, I’ve got the idea,” I said, and
stumbled towards the bathroom, grabbing the bag with my little red
dress from the table.
“There are other ways to keep it private,
especially if you have a wizard for a girlfriend.” I heard Jack’s
deep laugh before I closed the bathroom door.
I washed my hair and stayed under the shower
for a good fifteen minutes, letting the hot water relax my tense
muscles. The inner tension, in my chest, in my stomach, inside my
thighs, remained unreleased. Our constant closeness, our controlled
yet unstoppable passion, our suppressed desire had accumulated in
my body, demanding a release we couldn’t afford.
Well, I sighed, working vigorously over my
skin with a bath sponge—I’d come to the point that the touch of my
own fingers was becoming difficult to bear—my dress wouldn’t help,
either. I briefly considered wearing something else tonight, but
the fire that I was playing with was irresistible. And somehow, I
sensed that Jack also had an ace up his sleeve. According to
Tristan, Maurizio’s had the finest selection of expensive men’s
designer clothing within a two hundred-mile radius.
WRAPPED ONLY in a big towel—not a smart idea
because out of the corner of my eye I could still see Jack on the
sofa—I zoomed from the bathroom to my room.
“I’m asking for a bit of privacy, please,” I
said. I knew he could see my body outline whenever I moved. Except
the bathroom, which was under my own ‘privacy protection’ spell:
there was neither visual emitting nor receiving from there.
“I haven’t even tried to usurp it,” he said.
“I’m heading to the bathroom anyway.”
Soon I heard water running from the shower,
and Jack’s whistling.
I opened the box and took my surprise dress
out, spreading it over the bed. From the chest of drawers I pulled
out a black strapless bra, tiny black undies—the dress was so tight
that it required minimal and almost invisible underwear—and finally
stockings. A garter belt was out of the question for its contour
would be visible under such a close-fitting dress. I chose
black-silk, stay-up stockings with a silicone band to keep them
firmly around my thighs.
To my annoyance I discovered that, although
strapless, the bra was still noticeable under the dress, as well as
the underpants, notably from the back. Only the stockings decided
to cooperate. I took the dress off, then the bra, and finally the
panties. It was a bit unorthodox to wear only the dress with
nothing under, but I still had stockings, I justified my sudden
inspiration for a minimalist approach to underclothes. I critically
inspected my firm, round breasts and then my bottom in the mirror,
and concluded that the bra would indeed be redundant.
I pulled the dress back over my head and
looked again at my reflection. Much better, I concluded. My hair
was almost dry. I brushed it and let it fall over my shoulders in
soft waves. Probably because of the gentle yellow light in my room,
my honey colored hair seemed somehow lighter with a more prominent
red note that worked well with my outrageous dress.
At the bottom of the wardrobe, I found my
black patent-leather pumps with red soles that Liv had made me buy
long ago. I’d never had an opportunity to wear them. Black-pearl
earrings, a few drops of Armani’s
Code
, my small black
purse, and I was ready to meet my date.
WE TOOK each other by surprise.
When I entered the living room, I found Jack
leaning on the doorframe with a glass of water in his hand. He must
have just been taking a sip because, upon seeing me, he had such a
violent coughing fit that he almost dropped the glass.
One look at Jack and my throat was so tight
that I had to gulp for air. For a long moment we both stood frozen,
mesmerized by each other. As soon as he’d recovered, Jack came
closer, leaving some space between us. His eyes were smiling, yet
he was positively shocked. In a good way, I would say, for the
wolfish grin traveled down to his lips and curved them upward. I
could see a flash of his perfect white teeth.
“Hmm...Tight, short and red. Just the way I
like it,” he said in a raspy whisper. “I’m absolutely stunned, Miss
Mohegan. And you smell better than ever. I’m not talking about your
perfume, mind you.”
“I would say something similar about you, if
only I could think clearly,” I said, unable to move my eyes from
Jack.
In his black suit, crisp white-gray striped
shirt, and bronze-silver tie, Jack was definitely the most handsome
man I’d ever seen, glossy magazines and movie screens included. His
tousled wavy brown hair was still wet and shiny, and smelled of
strawberry shampoo. His beautiful light amber eyes were bright and
full of life and joy.
Unexpectedly, the formal suit made him look
younger because he wore it as naturally as his T-shirts and jeans.
He looked like a model on a coffee break between two
shoots—relaxed, smiling, and equally comfortable in just about any
clothes they asked him to put on. He was elegant and nonchalant at
the same time, and both to the extreme. Now I knew why I’d
impulsively described him both as an eighteenth-century French
nobleman and a cowboy.
“I think it’s better if we go now,” he said
quietly and came closer, in fact blocking my movement. “We’ll think
later about how to deal with your dress and all the trouble that
it’s causing.”
Indeed. How are we going to deal with
that?
Jack’s hands ran along my body, moved to my
upper back and froze. I could see his Adam’s apple running up and
down several times and felt the echo of the tremor that shook his
body.
“Astrid...” Jack’s voice came out in a thick
whisper. I could see how his eyes became darker and darker. “Honey,
what are you wearing under that dress?”
Now I’d really done it. I had to take us out
of there, pronto.
“Stockings and a few drops of Armani’s
Code
.” I’d shot my last erotic arrow, ready for the
consequences.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment and
murmured something unintelligible. When he’d opened them again,
they resumed their bright golden-amber hue. “You’ll pay for this,
my love,” he said with a devilish smile in his eyes. “Next time
you’ll wear this dress and those shoes just for me. You can skip
the perfume altogether. And then I’ll have my sweet revenge. Now
let’s go. You are sleeping at the Blakes’ tonight.”
OF COURSE she wouldn’t sleep at the Blakes’,
but thanks to her little red ambush, I was in dire straits like
never before. She’d almost brought my wolf up, which usually wasn’t
a big deal because, after so many years of coexistence, I had my
wild part under firm control. Usually.
I had never had a bond-mate before, however,
and that fact brought an unexpected challenge to the inner harmony
of my spirits. My wolf part reacted fiercely to Astrid’s on a
primal level, and that still wouldn’t be a problem if her wolf were
under control. But her little beast roamed free and untamed, and
although Astrid had been dealing with her quite impressively, there
was a real danger that our wolf spirits could spontaneously decide
to combine their efforts to push our human parts aside and do
whatever they pleased.
Not that anything terrible would happen. On
the contrary, we would make passionate love and Astrid would
realize that she’d never had a werewolf lover before. I, the
happiest man alive, would love her like I’d never loved anybody
before, with everything I was and everything I had. Her spirits
would be linked, the pain would vanish, and there wouldn’t be black
holes in her memory any more. Her wolf would still be strong but
submitted to Astrid’s will. We both would be complete, two
inseparable pieces of a singular entity. Soul mates, bond mates,
yin and yang.
But making love was precisely what we were
not supposed to do. Not yet. She had to suffer at least for the
next month or so, and I couldn’t protect her from the pain and
horror of her uncontrollable change.
She’d definitely made my day. A day? She’d
made my whole decade with her little surprise. What was she
thinking? I’d summoned all my strength not to jump her right there
in the living room. I dragged her out of the house, pushed her into
the car without glancing at her and drove to the Cosmopolitan
Hotel, the venue of the exhibition. I was lightheaded, my breathing
was raspy and my blood was boiling, rushing quite uncomfortably
toward the central part of my body.
I wanted to yell at her.
Damn it, Astrid,
look what you have done! You can’t go outside like that! I can’t
let you go naked among other males. They’ll go nuts as soon as you
step in!
Through the silent screams of my heart and
the cloud of her scent that made my head spin, I somehow came to my
senses. Those were humans, my mind tried to soothe me, they
couldn’t detect her scent.
Thank heavens for small mercies.
But I was still angry and mighty aroused.
“You can’t wear a dress without anything under it and expect me to
gently hold your hand all night,” I hissed through clenched teeth
as I parked the car in front of the hotel.
She sat quietly, curled deep into the seat,
yet I could swear there was a glimpse of a mischievous smile in the
corner of her eyes.
I took a deep breath. “It’s a hell of a
dress, Astrid. You almost gave me a heart attack.” I couldn’t stop
thinking about her sweet, white nakedness wrapped up tightly in the
red fabric.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” she said in a voice that
didn’t sound regretful at all. “It’s not unusual to wear nothing
under such tight dresses. Believe me, the contour of a bra would be
even more provoking. Perhaps.”
Now that would give me peace of mind. My hand
instinctively reached for her, but I stopped it in mid-gesture. I
was afraid that my touch would kick off a dangerous chain reaction.
She’d stir, releasing more of her scent, and initiate a physical
contact that would embrace us into the warm tide of our bond. I
wouldn’t be able to do anything except turn the car around, drive
us home and take an active role in connecting her loose
spirits.
“Astrid, sweetie,” I said quietly. I pressed
my back against the door in a futile attempt to expand the physical
distance between us in such limited space. “Please, please do not
wear anything like that once we come to Red Cliffs. You are my
mate, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t be attractive to every
eligible man there. You remember that technically, you’re still
supposed to choose a mate among us. Don’t make the game too
exciting. That would be more than some of them could handle.”
“I’m playing no games, Jack Canagan,” she
said, angrily slamming the dashboard with her palm to support her
statement. “And I’ve chosen already. Even if they could smell me…
Oh, that’s horrible! And I could smell them, I’m sure
I
wouldn’t have such a reaction to anybody else.”
“I hope you won’t. We’ll talk about this
later. Before we go to Red Cliffs, I’ll buy you a couple pairs of
long johns—gray, mind you—and you won’t wear that dress again until
I say so. Understand? Now get out of the car.”
FRESH NIGHT air cleared my mind, and I was
more or less composed when we entered the Blue Gallery on the main
floor. Liv and Tristan had arrived earlier and joined us now. No
doubt they’d already checked the room. My senses couldn’t detect
any trouble either, but the three of us spontaneously formed a
semi-circle around Astrid nonetheless, sheltering her from
potential danger, just in case. For the Blakes that was a habit
developed in a yearlong role as her bodyguards. For me it was the
natural act of shielding her not only from danger, but also from
the other males in the room.
And with good reason. As soon as my girl
stepped in, all heads turned toward her. I had to repeat to myself
that no, there was no other werewolf in the Gallery, and no, the
human males couldn’t smell her scent.
They had eyes, though, and they used them
well. I could hear their comments, too. Those standing with their
girlfriends and wives didn’t say a word, yet their silence was
equally eloquent. The single men grouped together expressed their
delight and surprise in one-syllable onomatopoeic words. They
weren’t vulgar or offensive, but the content was unmistakably
sexual.