Hell! Something was awry, all right! Since when was he entranced by softness, and femininity, and grace? If he didn't know better, he'd have said she was the one messing with
his
head.
Nate dumped the pasta into the drainer, cursing softly to himself. This wasn't supposed to be how it happened. He was here for simple, straightforward, recreational sex. Not that that wasn't still what he wanted—he wanted it with a vengeance. It was just that his emotions weren't supposed to be involved, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be getting the warm fuzzies over a woman who appeared to be some modern version of Doris Day. Nice, and wholesome.
He shook his head abruptly, totally annoyed with himself. He was making her sound like some kind of food group, not a luscious woman he just couldn't keep his eyes off.
Chapter Four
Gina fidgeted with her cutlery, twirling her fork aimlessly between her fingers. When she noticed herself doing it, she used sheer mule-headed will power to force her hands to rest quietly in her lap. A few minutes later, she'd find herself playing with her wine glass, or her napkin, or the saltshaker, and the cycle would start all over again. She'd force her hands to her lap, only to find herself restlessly moving something else within moments.
This was so unlike her and, if anything, she was curious at the reaction he was causing. She certainly couldn't recall ever being so nervous around a man before, and definitely not in the exact same way that Nate made her nervous.
Really nervous.
She was no virgin, but nor could she say she'd ever
been quite so aroused by something as simple as the single sideways glance he'd just cast her way. His eyes had been somehow…veiled—more an impression than a reality, she thought—but the heat in them had seared her, reducing her to a pile of ashes.
Very
needy
ashes, but ashes nonetheless. She couldn't imagine finding the energy to stand up and move away from the table ever again. Which was a pity, really. A single smoldering glance from those amazing eyes and all she could imagine was herself and Nate reduced to a tangled jumble of naked limbs on crisp linen sheets.
She wanted him, she longed for him. Her whole body was a blaze of electricity—surely he could see the tiny sparks glittering every time her skin brushed lightly over anything? The scrape of the tablecloth on her thighs was an unbearable mix of pleasure and pain, and the solid coolness of her fork in her hand was a pure torture to her overstressed senses.
She'd be certain it couldn't get any worse, positive it was nothing but her imagination's sex-starved response to having a genuinely handsome man sitting across from her at the table, then he'd look at her. A slow sweep from under those disgustingly long lashes, the darkness of his eyes seemingly beckoning her to him, drawing her closer, swallowing her, consuming her. Then he'd smile—a slow, ruthless smile—and somehow the intensity of the moment would glide away as easily as mercury, leaving no trace of its presence.
All she was left with was a gnawing sense of need, and a body demanding relief. Immediate relief. She wasn't sure she could sit through dessert without incinerating.
An interesting concept, that… Was it actually possible for her body to get any hotter than it was, or for the fine hairs on her arms to be any more affected by the prickle of electrical current than they already were? She doubted it, but shifted uneasily in her seat at the idea.
Her nipples had hardened, were scraping against her bra, and she could feel an embarrassing trickle of fluid between her legs. She just didn't get like this. All horny and aroused and…desperate. She wanted him inside her like she'd never wanted another man. Her pulse was throbbing out her need, and she could feel a faint flush spreading across her cheeks and covering her body.
And on the opposite side of the table he was just sitting there calmly, smugly secure of his own desirability. Her blush deepened, her cheeks tinged a deeper red, and she tried to retreat within her own head. Okay, so she was apparently in dire need of release. Why else would her body behave like this around a man she barely knew?
The few things she did know about him weren't all that promising: he was arrogant, the town playboy, a salesman, and he was arrogant. Don't forget that bit, she cautioned herself as she stared over the table and into his eyes. She resisted the drowning suction but sat mesmerized, enchanted by what she saw.
No matter what, she had to accept that he was seriously good-looking—possibly the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on in real life. And he'd invited himself into her life, cooked her dinner, and now he was staring right back at her, his eyebrow hitched in question and his eyes gleaming in silent amusement.
Damn the man!
He knew she was trying to fight off her attraction to him and that…that…that…cocky bastard was just sitting there, grinning at her. Her temper flared. She'd show him!
Show him what?
An insidious little voice inside her head was clinging onto the vision of them in her bed, her slight body overshadowed by his heavier legs, his hips holding her submissively beneath him as he stoked the fires somewhere deep within her, fanned them until her body was a raging wildfire, desperate for release.
Gina trembled. Could he really do what her imagination promised? Could a man really make her feel like that?
"Are you cold, babe?"
His voice reached around her, wrapping her in velvet warmth, comforting her sudden unease. The whole idea that a man could have so much control over her body scared her silly.
Or are you scared that a man could give you that much
pleasure?
the voice whispered enticingly.
Try it
, it urged,
What can you possibly lose?
Myself?
Bah!
Her conscience—or was it her very own personal devil?—went quiet, apparently disgusted with her indecision.
Other women have one-night stands.
The voice was back, silky soft, enticing her to take action, to go get what she wanted.
He hasn't asked, she hissed back, feeling ridiculous. Was she going insane, or was she really having an argument with herself?
The little voice positively smirked.
He will.
And that was it.
Through it all he'd been silently watching, his expression never changing, with that indolently amused grin firmly in place. Her eyes widened as she realized he'd observed the whole struggle and had actually enjoyed watching her fighting her own inner demons—and losing.
He knew.
There was a hint of complacency in the depths of his chocolate brown eyes. It was also in the humor lurking at the edge of his lips. Then there was the indefinable male arrogance in the way he watched her, as if he'd known all along she was going to be his that night. Damn him!
Gina squared her shoulders and smiled sweetly back. He may have thought she'd be panting in her eagerness to be his latest sex toy, but she was more than that. It was
her
choice and, tonight, she planned to be the one doing the using. His eyes promised lust and fulfillment, and she'd take it all without qualm.
Her lips twitched. Just the thought of using him as a kind of walking, talking human vibrator had sent a fresh trickle of warm moisture down her thigh. To have that kind of muscular strength totally at her command… Mmm.
* * * *
Nate struggled to hold his least threatening grin in place. Her thoughts crossed her face as blatantly as a child's. He'd watched desire, then need, then doubt all flying across her face, and been inordinately relieved when the hunger returned to her eyes.
He would have known what her body wanted from streets away. His wolf instincts were fighting to the surface, the strong scent of her arousal inciting him to lean across the table and pull her to him—right now. Her blush had faded, but the pink of desire remained, and the tip of her tongue traced a soothing line around the lips she'd been unconsciously nibbling all through dinner.
He fought down his predatory instincts, the need to take her, to mate her, to make her permanently his, and instead reached a lazy hand across the table.
"How about we go into the living room for coffee?" he suggested mildly, careful to hide the ragged edge in his voice.
"Dessert?" she queried, her voice a siren's song beckoning him to rip her clothes off and fuck her senseless on the spot. And
then
think about all the wonderful things he could do with her body and the fruit he'd taken so much care choosing.
He smiled instead, ignoring his own body's demands for the moment. "I'll bring it in with the coffee," he said, accompanying the comment with a tiny mental push. If she didn't get herself out of the kitchen in the next few seconds,
she'd
end up as dessert. Which wasn't altogether a bad idea, he mused, glancing at the collection of berries and tropical fruits he'd rinsed and put aside while the pasta was boiling.
Fresh cream? He opened the fridge and upended the carton he'd bought into a jug he found in the dresser.
Bowls? He considered for a few seconds then grinned, once again wholly the predator. Nah, totally unnecessary.
Spoons and a knife, however, he'd need if he didn't want to scare her. He may have had perfectly good claws that were ideal for peeling fruit, but he couldn't imagine her lying there quietly while he shapeshifted. He almost laughed at the image in his head— that of a werewolf calmly hulling and eating strawberries—and went back to his preparations.
"How do you take your coffee, baby?" he called through the door. Even in human form, his nose told him she drank it black with one sugar, but he didn't want to have to explain where he'd got that knowledge.
He waited for her reply, a little time-lagged by the slight compulsion he'd placed on her, and placed two mugs of sweetened coffee, the jug of cream, and a plate heaped high with fruit on a tray. Two spoons and a paring knife clattered as they landed on the tray and he glanced up, aware the sudden sound had broken his concentration. His gentle mind-spell had shattered.
His eyes gleamed hungrily and his teeth lengthened into fangs as he thought of the woman waiting on the other side of the door. By the time he stepped through, nudging the door closed behind him, his appearance was perfectly normal.
Gina had arranged herself on the lounge, curled into a corner of it to leave plenty of space for him. He accepted the unspoken invitation, watching her eyes travel over the tray. She looked up at him expectantly as he settled and he smiled back, letting his reassuring warmth flow towards her. Before he'd thought about what he was doing, he'd let his body follow the same path as his mind. He leant towards her and scooped her into his lap, enfolding her protectively in his arms. As his mouth lowered over hers, he inhaled her scent and forced the wildness of the forest to lurk
deep inside him. Her neck tipped, her lips parted, and he claimed her mouth as his own.
Chapter Five
Gina wasn't quite sure what she'd expected. Hunger? Desire? Strength? Lust, even?
Maybe.
But not this.
Everything slowed down, his passion suddenly on hold. Still there, but somehow…controlled. Waiting.
Well, she could wait. Right now, this was too nice.
Nice?
That wasn't a word she'd ever thought she'd use when it came to Nate Moore. But it was nice.
His lips were gentle on hers, coaxing her to join him in the kiss. His tongue flicked out, so swiftly she could almost have imagined it. But it was real. A hint of his heartbeat. The moisture of his mouth on hers. The sharp mint of toothpaste. His warm breath.
And the heat spread. Surrounded her. Wrapped her into her own little velvet world. Just her. And him.
Suddenly, the moment flared, grew. The warmth of spring became the sweltering heat of mid-summer, and the moment out of time was lost, swallowed by the return of his lust.
In an instant his arms had wrapped her closer to him, and his mouth ravaged hers. Helpless to resist, she found herself answering in kind, her own tongue delving deeply as she explored his mouth and lips.
Gone was the tenderness of moments before, replaced by a savage hunger that was almost frightening in its intensity. Almost, but not quite. There was nothing frightening in the way his hands ran smoothly up and down her sides; it was a soothing touch, making her feel something like how she imagined a cat would feel when it was being stroked.
His hands strayed gradually, almost absently, from their rhythmic caress along the side of her ribs and over her hips. He held her to him, his hands warming the small of her back as he pressed her hips into his, taking possession of her body as easily as he'd taken possession of her mouth.
A final hard kiss was pressed onto her lips, then he wrenched his mouth from hers and Gina found herself turned so she was somehow leaning forward over the arm of the chair, half kneeling on the sofa, her legs slightly spread and her arms trapped at her sides. Her bottom rested snugly against his groin: she wriggled against him, pleased with the evidence of his own arousal. As she moved, he grew harder, and she felt his breathing grow ragged before he yanked her hard up against him, restricting her teasing movements by holding her firmly in place.
That left his hands free to roam over her front, across her stomach and up towards her breasts. He'd sent a million fires roaring through her body, and the slightest flutter of his breath on the back of her neck was enough to send new convulsions rocketing across her sensitized skin.
His lips were on her nape, his tongue a halfimagined instrument of delight as it swirled soft patterns that barely touched her. She could hear him murmuring into her neck; she couldn't understand the words, but knew instinctively what he was doing. Like a cat basking in the sun, she arched her back and stretched her neck, encouraging him to continue the sweet torture.