The Wolf Prince (4 page)

Not as bad as Darcy had feared, but still, she had been soundly chastised. Surlock went skinny-dipping, but she caught the flack. Not that she could blame the maids for having their heads turned. Apparently, he’d caused more than one heart to flutter.

She hurried out to the guest house, and tapped on the door. As she went inside, Twila was just coming out of the bedroom.

“His vitals are all good this morning,” Twila told her. “I checked them on and off through the night and there was no change.”

“Does he remember anything?”

She shook her head. “No more than he did yesterday. It might be a week or so before he’s completely back to normal. Maybe longer.”

Darcy didn’t like the sound of that. What if he never regained his memory? Would he live in the guest house forever?

Surlock stepped from the other room wearing her father’s old clothes. They were about the same height, but Surlock was broader in the chest so the white shirt didn’t button, and showed a delicious expanse of bare skin. He’d rolled the sleeves past his wrists, giving him a casual beach look.

How could he look even sexier than when he was naked? Maybe he
could
live in the guest house for a few years. She didn’t think she would ever get tired of staring.

“The shoes didn’t fit.” He glanced down at his feet.

“No problem, we’ll get you some new ones.” She met his gaze. “How do you feel?”

“I still can’t remember anything.”

“Give it time,” Twila told him. She glanced at her watch. “There’s nothing more that I can do. Dr. Wilson will probably call this morning.”

“Yes, of course,” Darcy said. “Thanks so much for coming out.”

Twila gathered her things and left.

The room suddenly began to shrink. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded.

Surlock didn’t talk a lot. Her theory that he was raised by wolves was beginning to sound more plausible. He followed as she went across to the house. She glanced at the pool.

“You should wear clothes next time you swim.”

“Why?”

Why? She couldn’t think of one good reason. It would be nice to wake up to Surlock swimming naked in the pool every morning. It might cause her mother to have a heart attack though.

“Because Ms. Abernathy will lecture me again if you don’t,” she finally told him. It was as good a reason as anything else she could come up with.

He nodded. She didn’t ask if that meant he would or would not wear trunks the next time.

They went into the dining room. Breakfast was always buffet-style in silver warming trays on a side table. It had been this way as long as she could remember. No matter how many times Darcy told Ms. Abernathy a bowl of cereal or just some fruit would be fine, Ms. Abernathy still fixed her spread. She always said it wouldn’t go to waste since there were plenty of mouths to feed at the estate.

When Darcy glanced at Surlock, he only looked confused. “Scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, pancakes and fruit,” she said, pointing to the different dishes.

He nodded. She watched in amazement as he loaded his plate with some of everything. She got him another plate for his pancakes, buttered them, and added syrup. After she carried it to the table, she fixed her plate—two strips of bacon and some strawberries.

She took a seat at the table, picked up a slice of crispy bacon and took a bite. Honey-cured bacon was a weakness. Surlock watched her until she began to feel uncomfortable.

“Go ahead and eat.” She picked up her glass of orange juice.

He began wolfing down the food as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
She choked on her orange juice when he picked up a handful of eggs and shoved them in his mouth.

He looked up, egg on the corner of his mouth. “What?”

She picked up her fork and waved it. “Use your fork for the eggs. You don’t eat food with your hands.”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. I watched. You picked up meat and took a bite.”

“But that was bacon.” He still didn’t look as if he understood. “Bacon is okay if it’s crisp because cutting it would only make it crumble. The eggs are soft so you eat them with a fork.”

Maybe he
had
been raised by wolves. He’d even told her that he remembered a wolf. Coincidence? Why else would he be running around naked? Wolf Boy?

He hadn’t looked like a boy on the diving board.

Wolf Man?

Darcy could almost see him running through the woods, the leader of a pack of wolves. A shiver ran down her spine. He’d be completely naked, growling and snarling, ready to do battle. Or have sex.

“This is good,” he said.

You better believe it was.

Darcy mentally shook her head and quickly brought her thoughts back to the present. She watched as he took a drink of orange juice. At least he knew how to hold a glass. He picked up the fork and looked at it, then plunged it down into the pancakes, bringing one entire pancake up and toward his mouth.

“No!”

He frowned. “I eat it with my hands?”

She shook her head. “No, you cut it first. Like this.” She hurried over to him, took his fork and knife and cut the pancakes. “Now you take normal bites.”

She turned to look at him. Their faces were close. She felt as if she could drown in his whiskey-brown eyes. He suddenly leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. He tasted of orange
juice. He deepened the kiss, pulling her head closer. Her heart pounded inside her chest, and her palms grew moist when his tongue stroked hers.

Someone cleared her throat.

Oh, go away.

This was nice. Visions of him carrying her up the stairs to her bedroom filled her head.

A throat was cleared again.

Damn! She moved back, guilty warmth flooding her cheeks. One of the maids held the cordless phone. “Dr. Wilson is on the line, Miss Darcy.” The maid ducked her head, but a knowing smile played around the corners of her mouth.

“Of course.” Darcy smoothed her hands over her hair, then took the phone from the maid. The girl hurried out.

Darcy cleared her throat. “Yes, Dr. Wilson.” They spoke a few minutes, with Darcy agreeing to bring Surlock in later that morning. After saying good-bye, she set the phone on the table, and took her seat.

“Don’t kiss me again, please.” She primly laid her napkin across her lap, smoothing out the linen, but her hands trembled.

“Why?”

Why? Why did he always ask why? And why couldn’t she ever come up with a plausible explanation as to why he shouldn’t do something? The kiss had been nice. Better than nice. It had had made her feel warm all over. Hell, it made her want to straddle his lap and press her body against his and forget about everything except how he would make her feel.

She took a steadying breath and looked at him. Her insides turned to mush. He was way too tempting. “It’s just not done.”

“You don’t kiss?”

“Of course, I kiss.”

“But not me. You didn’t enjoy it?”

“Of course, I enjoyed it. Very much, in fact.” He was confusing her. “We don’t really know each other. Maybe kissing wouldn’t be a good idea right now.”

He forked some of the pancake, but stopped halfway to his
mouth. “I enjoyed kissing you, too.” He took the pancake and slowly chewed, but his heated gaze never wavered from her. His words pleased her more than she wanted to admit.

Good Lord, the guy was a stranger. His words shouldn’t make her feel all giddy. She still wasn’t sure he hadn’t been raised by wolves. Maybe he just camped out a lot with the guys. Even if he had amnesia, he wouldn’t forget how to eat, though. Would he?

She
had
used her hands when picking up her bacon. Maybe he just didn’t recognize the food. He could be from a foreign country. She could believe that more than Surlock’s being raised by wolves.

She studied him while finishing her breakfast. He held the fork correctly, so he was apparently familiar with utensils.

“You still don’t remember anything?” she asked.

He looked up. “I remember you hitting me over the head with a big stick.”

She cringed. He
would
have to remember that. She took a drink of orange juice, then studied him some more. His hair was neatly trimmed. She also noticed his fingernails looked as if they were manicured—no ragged edges. That kind of blew her raised-by-wolves theory.

Laborer was probably out of the question, too. Although it wouldn’t be hard to imagine him stripped to the waist, frayed jeans riding low on his hips, his muscles straining as he held a jackhammer in place to break through concrete.

He finished his food and laid his fork across his plate, forcing her to abandon her newest fantasy.

“Would you like more?” she asked.

“No, that was sufficient.”

Now what to do? She drummed her fingers on the table. He needed clothes that fit, but all the stores in town would still be closed. They couldn’t just sit here staring at each other—no matter how tempting the thought.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?” That would give them something to do before they went to town.

“Yes, I’d like to see how you live.” He stood, but then grabbed the back of the chair.

She jumped to her feet, rushing over to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I think I stood too quickly. The room spun for a moment. I’m fine now.”

“If you would rather sit, we can.”

“No, I’d like to see more of the house.”

“Okay, but if you get tired, let me know, and we’ll stop.” When he nodded, she pointed toward the door the maid had come through. “That goes to the kitchen, but Ms. Abernathy doesn’t like anyone in there who’s not authorized.”

“Ms. Abernathy was the one who brought me clothes this morning. I can see that she would be ruler of her domain. She has a commanding presence.”

Darcy chuckled. “She does rule with an iron fist, but she takes good care of us.” Darcy opened a set of double doors. “This is what my mother calls the music room. Not that any of us can play.”

There were two sofas in an ice-blue floral print that were more pretty than comfortable. The four arm chairs weren’t quite as bad. Long, ice-blue silk curtains framed the floor-to-ceiling windows. An antique, faded yellow rug with blue accents warmed the room.

Her mother called it her Victorian room and had done a lot of the decorating herself, spending an enormous amount of money on priceless vases and antiques. Darcy’s father had said that if it made his wife happy, then what was the harm? He spoiled them both shamelessly, but they loved him anyway.

Surlock ambled over to the baby grand piano, running his fingers over the keys. “Nice.”

“Do you play?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled out the bench and sat down, testing the keys again.

Suddenly, he began to play a melody she had never heard before.
It was absolutely exquisite. She closed her eyes and let the haunting music wash over her. It was powerful and sensuous at the same time. He conjured a whole new fantasy in her mind.

Heat rushed through her. She closed her eyes and let the melody fill her. He stood naked before her, and when she glanced down, she was naked, too. He stroked his hands over her bare breasts. She moaned, arching her back.

The music called to her, exploding inside her. Throbbing vibrations caressed raw, exposed nerve endings. His body pressed against hers. He lowered his mouth, his kiss hot and fiery as he claimed her body as his own. She let him have his way, relishing the feel of his hands stroking her body, bringing her closer to his need.

The music rose to a deafening crescendo. It was all she could do to take a breath. Her chest rose and fell as her body strained for more. She bit her bottom lip; her body quivered with release.

The sounds grew softer as she brought her ragged breathing under control. Calm settled over her. Darcy opened her eyes, and looked around, surprised to find she still stood close to the piano, just behind Surlock, and that she was completely dressed.

Clapping sounded behind them. She turned to look. Ms. Abernathy stood in the doorway, wiping her damp cheeks with her apron. “That was so beautiful. I’ve never heard anything like it in my life. Such a sweet sound.”

Sweet? Had they heard the same music?

A flood of heat rushed through Darcy. She hoped what she had felt didn’t show on her face.

Surlock came to his feet. “Thank you,” he said humbly.

“Was there something you needed?” Darcy asked.

“No, I heard the music and knew it wasn’t you playing. I just thought I’d peek in to see who was making such a wonderful sound.”

She couldn’t fault Ms. Abernathy for thinking Darcy wasn’t the one playing. The help had worn earplugs every time the
music teacher came to the estate. Even the teacher had worn them. Finally, Miss Crump had had enough and explained to Darcy’s mother that Darcy was tone deaf. After that, her mother had stopped the lessons.

“I’ll just go back to my work.” Ms. Abernathy left the room.

Yes, please go away. When Ms. Abernathy was gone, Darcy stole a look at Surlock. He studied her as though he knew exactly what she’d experienced, which was completely ridiculous, of course. He couldn’t, could he?

She cleared her throat and kept her expression bland. “You play like a professional.” He was thoughtful for a moment and she wondered if he might have felt something, too.

“Which doesn’t tell me much,” he finally said.

She sensed his frustration. “I’m so sorry I hit you over the head.”

“As you said, I scared you. Even so, I can’t continue to accept your generosity. What if it’s a very long time before my memories return? I doubt you would want me to reside in your guest house indefinitely.”

The way he talked baffled Darcy. He didn’t talk like most people. His speech was more refined, besides the fact he could play like a genius. He was exactly the kind of man her mother would love to see her dating.

Oh, that was a thought. She studied him for a moment. “How would you like a job?”

“A job?”

“You could live in the guest house and work for me, but the arrangement would have to be between the two of us. No one else could know.”

“What exactly would I do?”