He wanted those hands on him. Firm, with demand, even. Wanted them wrapped around his cock, scratching at his back or twined together with his own up over her head. Especially that last one, because he had decided plans for those long legs of hers as well. Most of them involved her wrapping them around his waist, folding them over his forearms or draping them limply over his shoulders.
Lia moaned, rolling onto her stomach and giving him way too good a view of her ass in those too-thin jeans. In fact, his eyes following the line of her spine, he could see right into the gap of her waistband, over a shadowed pattern at the small of her back to where the swell of a rounded cheek began…
He sat up abruptly, hand already scrubbing through his hair. Shower. Food. Those were the things he needed to be thinking about. Not stripping a woman who’d introduce his balls to the toes of her shoes if she knew what he was thinking. He stood up, carefully sliding off the mattress, where he almost tripped on the boots she’d taken off him and propped next to his side of the bed. Next to them, neat as a pin, were those torn-up Keds he’d just finished imagining.
She’d taken off her shoes.
His chest tightened at the sight, stayed that way even as he straightened them before getting up.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
But that just ensured he would. These weren’t light concessions for her. Sleeping with all her guards gone. Trusting him to take care of her the same way he’d trusted her. It meant something and, try as he might, he couldn’t come up with anything other than the obvious. She was accepting him.
Lifting the blanket he’d just vacated, he folded it over her, covering her from her slim shoulders to her threadbare socks. Warmth infused him, growing from his heart and radiating outward. He smoothed back her bangs, resisting the urge to lower his nose to her hair and breathe her in. Instead, he backed up and made himself turn away. When she was awake, when he could see the choice in her eyes. Not a second before that.
He followed his nose to the table, trying to tamp down the excitement over her actions. Females, especially strong females like Lia who were three-quarters stubborn and all-the-rest just contrary, generally didn’t like the idea of being claimed. They put up challenges and dares and all kinds of unnecessary shit that just made a male want to dive off a cliff into something dry and unforgiving, like a giant slab of granite. If she wanted a chase, he could give that to her, but he had every intention of making her his. As frequently as possible.
Finding fast food bags, two of which were full of burger boxes declaring them made of Black Angus beef, turned his optimism into delirium.
“God, I love a woman who thinks ahead.” He stood there and ate two of them before grabbing the third and taking stock. Since the closet was open and empty but for a few hangers, it wasn’t terribly difficult to figure the bathroom was the other, darker doorway next to a sink. On one chair she’d dumped a number of things, including—he realized with some relief—his knife and the first-aid kit. Good, not completely defenseless then.
A window, positioned behind one of the overstuffed chairs. The other window above the bed. A quick check of the locks showed she’d taken care of securing them before letting herself fall asleep. He pushed one of the chairs to the door, fitting it neatly under the knob. The only other source of entry was a large vent near the ceiling for the air conditioning and heat. He inspected it, searching for what it might take to use it to sneak into the room.
No less than a drill and a hell of a bendable arm. The metal grate in front of it wouldn’t budge without alerting them to danger.
It wasn’t Fort Knox, but it would do for the night.
He headed to the bathroom, smiling down when he saw two toothbrushes laid out by the sink, one still in its box, the other used. He touched the handle, shaking his head. Toothpaste addict.
Next to it was a discarded paper coaster, its gold-embossed design declaring this little room part of the Hampstead Inn, Statesville, North Carolina.
He glanced over his shoulder at the lump of blanketed woman sacked out on the bed. She had every right to be exhausted, she’d had to drive at least nine or ten hours to get this far. He frowned, wondering how the hell she’d gotten him out of the car and into the room without him helping her at all. He rubbed at his head, feeling for a knot, and decided that what he didn’t know clearly hadn’t killed him. Thanks to the healing sleep, he wouldn’t have to ask.
A digital clock next to the side of the bed glowed red and declared it to be nearly nine o’clock at night. It could have been high noon and no light would have gotten through those heavy curtains. She’d be safe while he had a few much-needed minutes under a hot spray of water. After finishing the last bites of burger, he tossed the wrappers in the bin and decided she had a point with the toothbrush. He grabbed it and the travel-sized paste next to it before stepping into the bathroom. He closed the door except for a few inches, not wanting to disturb her with the sound, but not wanting to block out hearing her either. Dropping his clothes with a sigh of relief, he stepped into the stall and turned the hot water on full.
Lia lifted her head at the sound of a moose lowing long and deep.
Then she realized the ground was too soft and the blanket on her back too heavy for her to be in a camp. She rubbed at her face, all but prying her eyes open so she could come awake.
When she did look around, it still took her a few seconds to realize she was in a motel room. One she’d rented with the money she’d found at Tate’s feet with his knife.
Tate.
She spun, feeling the bed for him before her eyes caught sight of a whisper of steam coming from the bathroom. She closed her eyes again, this time to laugh. She’d found her moose. Who’d have guessed he was so moved by hot water?
She looked around, finding the clock and staring at it until it made some sense. She’d arrived here ready to drop at around three; she’d been down nearly six hours? Or should that be
only
six? The temptation to lie back down was strong…but not as strong as the idea of following that growing ribbon of steam.
She sat on the bed, frowning at the mist rising to the ceiling, holding onto her knees and wriggling her toes.
What would he do if she followed him in there?
What would
she
do?
Her mind flashed on the feel of him against her neck. The heat of his mouth, the intensity of his claws moving over her skin, her blood rushing until her mind turned into a puddle and her body melted just for him…
Knots clenched in her stomach as she ached with emptiness. She wanted more of that. Wanted to feel that pure rush of need again. Wanted to
choose
it.
She glanced at the clock again, though it didn’t tell her anything different. Two minutes past. She looked away, back to the ajar bathroom door. She didn’t want time to factor into this. She could—and would—spend the rest of her life waiting for Asher’s blade and the guns of the death squads to come after her. But not now. This time was for her.
For them.
With surprisingly steady hands, she reached for her braid, pulling off the band to unweave the heavy lengths. As soon as she got the chance, she’d cut it. For too long it had served as her measurement of her captivity. Tonight, she was taking back her freedom.
She peeled her clothes off, dropping them to the floor without a second glance. Steam filled the small room completely, enveloping her as she entered. In a strange way, it reminded her of the moment when Tate lay on the ground, his gaze intense, what felt like his very will wrapping itself around her.
She could see him, through the hazy, almost clear shower curtain. He stood, one hand on the shower rod, the other on the stall wall, his head bowed beneath the spray. She wasn’t surprised to recognize his face turning her way, raising until the water had to be pelting him, but you’d never know it by the rigid line of his body.
The florescent light overhead wasn’t bright, more yellow than white, but the shadows somehow heightened the power of him. Tall, strong, virile. She let her eyes course down the length of his arms, the lean stretch of his torso, the powerful legs braced to support him. She wanted to touch all of him. With all of her. Feel him against her heart so he would know how hard he made it beat.
Her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs. The only thing stopping her was an uncertainty she couldn’t shake. Shifters, by definition, didn’t usually care much about nudity, but she had never bared herself of her own volition. And this was a different kind of naked altogether. She felt too open, too exposed. He’d gotten past her hard shell, knew it for the scar it was. The same way she knew he wore his masks to protect himself. To keep himself detached.
He’d know if she kept any part of herself back.
Could she bear it if she knew he was doing the same?
“You coming in or not?” A gruff question from inside the shower. She almost thought he didn’t care one way or another, until she saw his grip had tightened on the shower rod…and dark claws had extended from his fingertips.
He wouldn’t let himself come after her.
She let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her bearings found. He knew what she wanted, why she was there, but he was waiting for her to be ready. If she’d left, he would have let her.
“You finished healing?” No matter how much she wanted to go to him, she wouldn’t it if doing so would open his wound again.
“Seems like it. Those butterflies you cinched me with were a bitch to get off, by the way. I’m not sure that hair is ever growing back.”
“You
could
just say thank you.”
“Why do that when I can show you instead? Which leads us back to the first question. You coming in or not?”
She reached out and drew back the curtain.
Gray eyes, the lashes wet and dark, captured her gaze instantly. She tried to smile, managing it only when one corner of his lips lifted, indenting the dimple on his cheek. “Come in and get warm.”
She was already warm, hot almost, but at the same time, her skin had goose bumps all over. He took his hand off the stall wall and offered it to her. He didn’t retract his claws and strangely, that fact didn’t bother her. This man wore his Wolf so easily, it being a part of him he accepted, while hers had been trapped inside, locked away as deep as possible to keep it safe. Her secret heart.
Until him.
She took his hand, let him pull her inside, under the spray. She lifted her face into it, turning within the confines of his towering body, reveling in the pressure as the water slicked her hair back. In the utter rightness of being with him like this, of his warmth at her back, keeping her safe. She sighed when she felt his big hands sinking into the wet masses of her hair, lifting them for the water to flow through it.
“Want me to help you wash it?” His voice was still harsh, but she understood why. Like this morning, the Wolf was as present under his skin as the man.
She nodded, tipping her head back for him. He reached for something, she assumed it had to be the room’s travel-size toiletries. Soon enough, the smell of strawberries assailed her senses. Nice, but overwhelming to her nose the way human soaps always were. She said nothing, though, when his calloused fingers began massaging her scalp. He worked the lather down, lifting the lengths to rub them together, section by section. Bit by bit, he made his way to the ends. Suds slid down her body, easing down her arms and over her chest as if they had all the time in the world to get to her toes. When he nudged her, directing her to turn, she did so without a single reservation. Since his hand still held her hair, it loped over her shoulder as she turned, spreading more bubbles across her breasts.
He lowered his hand, the backs of his fingers tracing the path of one cluster over the rise of her right breast before catching on the small bud of her nipple. At his indrawn breath, she looked up, pleased to see those eyes had changed. Amber-yellow, gleaming in the light reflecting off the walls of the stall.
She knew there were lusher figures out there. Bodies without scars. But watching him take in her skin, lose his breath at the barest graze of her nipple, none of them mattered. His hand was shaking, she realized with wonder. He wanted to touch her, but dared not take what wasn’t explicitly given.
She didn’t need the burning mark on her neck to appreciate that.
She could sense him, like a whisper she couldn’t quite hear but couldn’t misunderstand. His desire was as real to her as her own, melting into her mind and soul like ink in water. Hunger, consuming and drugging, the flavor of it rich on her tongue, dark in its desperation. He didn’t just want her. He
needed
her. Needed to feel her against his skin, the same way she ached to slide against him, but he continued to hold back.
No more holding back. Not for either of them.
Gathering all the courage she had, she cupped her hands firmly around one of his wrists, drawing his hand to her breast. Her soft flesh didn’t fill it, but if his closed eyes and his strained mouth were any indication, he didn’t mind.
“You have to help me,” she finally said, not even sure if he could hear her over the splash of the water. “I want you, I just don’t know what I’m doing.”
Dark gold brows drew together. “You’re doing just fine.”
“Then why don’t I know how to tell you what I want?”
His gaze met hers, still amber, still intense. “What do you want?”
“You,”
she whispered, feeling almost desperate. Didn’t he feel it, how much she wanted what he’d shown her that morning? As if her insides had turned to warm liquor and her body shuddered with a sweet pleasure that made her forget everything else. That she wanted what came next? “Please, Tate. This might be the only chance I have to…show you…”
The damn words weren’t coming out right. She felt like a live wire, straining wildly toward something she couldn’t reach, didn’t know how to describe.
His frown turned thunderous. “Is that why you’re here? Because you don’t think I can keep you safe past tonight? You think this is your only chance to have me?”