By the time he finally got his break, the sun was almost up and he was much farther away from town than he'd thought. McElmo Canyon ran east to west, just beneath the soft sprawl of sacred Sleeping Ute Mountain. Very few people lived here, and there was immediate access to the mountain to the south, to protected canyons to the north, and to the empty lands to the west. It was the perfect place for a wild wolf to live. Just inside the free zone, and isolated enough to make what was probably the ideal writer's retreat, but close enough to town for errands. Tate admired Claire's insight in choosing this place to call her home.
Despite that, he was intensely curious to find out why she had chosen this entire life. If she was indeed packless by choice, what had driven her to it? A faint doubt niggled at his mind as well, but he brushed it aside. First things first.
As soon as he'd wandered up to the next to last little place in the canyon, a tiny parcel of land tucked way back at the western end, he'd finally caught her scent. It was faint, but it was there. He also immediately realized why he'd had such a hard time finding her in the first place and why neither he nor anyone else in the Black Mesa Pack had ever noticed her in the area before. She used a scent blocker. Such things were often used by wolves, especially Guardians. Easily available to any human hunter, let alone any wolf shifter, scent blockers were primarily useful when a wolf wanted to travel incognito through another pack's territory, for Guardians in dangerous territory, and of course for rogue wolves. No scent blocker could entirely mask a wolf forever, of course. Claire must have a lot of it stockpiled.
Again, Tate wondered at her insistence on living in such a careful manner. It couldn't be an easy life.
His wolf whined softly.
Choice,
he thought.
Her choice.
A door banged at the back of the compact little house. He shifted position slightly, but stayed put. The ball was in her court now. Besides, he could still definitely sense her very female interest in him. She'd scent-marked his clothes. She still claimed him as hers.
Whatever that might turn out to mean with a wild wolf.
Claire's front door opened. She stood on the other side, giving him another searching look. Although now human and fully clothed, there was no mistaking the fact that she'd just spent hours as her wolf. Something feral clung to her, showing itself in her eyes, her stance, even in the wild tumble of her hair.
An image of that hair spread out over a pillow while she looked up at him with sleepy, satiated green eyes flashed though his mind. He firmly ground down the very enticing thought almost as soon as he had it. She'd dared him to find her, but now that he had, she seemed a little less eager to invite him. Once again, he had to tread gently.
Before he could open his mouth though, she stepped back, swinging the beautiful wooden door wide and wordlessly gesturing for him to enter. Taking off his hat, he let a corner of his mouth crook up a just a bit as he carefully stepped into her house.
***
Claire's heart pounded hard as Tate passed by. Her nipples perked up, too. Sternly reining in her very needy body, which had flared to life the second she'd realized he was actually here in her presence, and still just as intrigued by her—her wolf thumped her tail in full agreement with that assessment—she shut the door behind him, though not without taking an automatic glance around her yard for anyone else. She didn't exactly have a security system, but she did keep an eye on everyone who came through her tiny, remote little neighborhood. No wolves had ever bothered her here before, because they didn't know of her existence. Even so, her mother had drummed safety and careful observation into her head from the time she could walk. Despite that upbringing, Claire sometimes still let her guard down around her own home, where she felt safest and most comfortable.
Tate's presence filled up her small space. It felt a little strange to have him here. She didn't entertain often. She had a very few human writer friends over at times, and her recent ex had spent time here of course, after she finally allowed him to come into her small sanctuary. Her best friend, a human girl who grew up in Cortez but moved away after college for a job and ended up settling out of state, sometimes stayed with Claire when she came back to visit, but that was getting more and more rare. Otherwise, Claire spent the majority of her time alone, and she liked it that way. This was her private retreat.
Despite that, Tate being in her space felt—natural. Normal.
Because he was her mate? That simultaneously unsettling yet elating thought had stayed with her, swirling through her mind despite the long run with her mother, through her trot back to the house, right up until the moment she finally saw him and nearly had heart failure from being so startled. It was also the second time she'd come upon Tate and not sensed his presence in advance. Was she getting too distracted just by thinking about him all the time now? Or was she letting her guard slip because since she'd been unbothered for so long, she didn't pay quite as close attention to her surroundings in familiar areas as she should?
“Very nice little place you have here, darlin',” the sexy man on her mind said. He wasn't wandering through her house, checking it out. Instead, he politely stood in the middle of her small living room, which was really one large room that opened right up into the kitchen, a dining area, and her office, all in one. “That view is amazing.” He gestured toward her huge south-facing window, which framed the mountain in a postcard perfect scene.
He seemed as comfortable here as she felt having him. While he wasn't looking at her, she took a moment to inhale his scent. It flooded her with its tantalizing maleness, the one licked by hints of dark chocolate, a dash of cayenne, the light snap of ginger. It set her nerve endings to tingling and stirred the banked fire between her legs. Not to mention her darn nipples, which pebbled beneath the shirt and thin sweater she'd tossed on when she entered through her perpetually unlocked back door while still in wolf form, which could be opened simply by pushing hard on it. She didn't worry much about thieves here in the canyon. No one really did.
The sudden image of Tate leaning over her, braced on his arms, his face slicked with sweat and concentration while he penetrated her, whipped through her so fast and vividly she swallowed a gasp, then almost choked on it. Tate turned toward her as she began coughing.
“You okay? Been drinking already?” His teasing voice again. She really liked that about him. He'd pulled more laughter out of her the other night than she'd probably done in months.
And orgasms. Definitely more orgasms than in months. And the best orgasms in—ever.
She tried to breathe normally before answering. “I'm fine. Just—um, I'm fine.” Time to change the subject. “Speaking of drinking, would you like some coffee? Or tea, if that's your poison.”
“Coffee, please,” he said, still polite but with that wickedly funny edge just beneath. “Let me know if you need help in there. The way you just choked on air alone, a whole pot of java is likely to drown you.”
“Ha ha,” she returned, but a silly note hugged her voice. It just felt so natural to be teased by him.
As she ducked into her compact kitchen, Tate called after her, “Lots of cream if you have any. I like my coffee blonde.”
“Just like your women?” Claire arched her brow as she leaned back to glance at him through the open connecting space. “Or was I just a coincidence?”
“No such thing as coincidence,” he said easily. “You have a lot of books in here,” he noted. He must be examining her very full bookcases.
“Job hazard.” Claire moved around her kitchen with efficiency, despite every last nerve she had tingling like crazy just from the man's presence. Morning coffee was a daily ritual. She'd laid out her favorite mug last night before she left, along with filling the coffeemaker with grounds. Adding enough to make a whole pot, she looked into her fridge while trying to relax about the fact that the wolf who'd tilted her small universe on end a few weeks ago had not only found her, he was standing in her house right now.
Looking and smelling like some sort of sinfully delicious man-treat. Claire inhaled again while he couldn't see her. Between his fascinating scent and the smell of fancy organic coffee brewing, it was a delightful sensory overload.
Needs rabbit,
her wolf murmured. Claire bit back a laugh. Her wolf didn't fully understand the human need for coffee much more than her human fully understood the wolf's need for rabbit, but both sides of herself indulged the other.
“Feel free to look around out there,” she called out, eager to hear his voice again. “I know you're probably curious.”
“My mother taught me it's not polite to snoop.” The deep wash of his voice spilled over her, oozing along her body and setting the tingling sensation to high. Claire took a steadying breath before she answered.
“It's not snooping if I tell you it's okay.”
“Well then. If I have your permission.” The light tease outlined his words again, but she heard genuine curiosity as well.
“Yes, you definitely do.”
Surprised at her own firmness, she rummaged through the fridge with determination. She hardly knew the man and had already invited him to poke around her life. She should be feeling trapped, or like her boundaries were being pushed. Her recent ex—
The Ex! No Good,
she thought wryly to herself—always wanted to know more about her, why she lived as a wild wolf, how she could be happy without a pack, what had happened to her mother. His insistence on pressuring her about topics she didn't want to talk about had been a large part of why she'd ended things with him.
He'd called several times in the past few weeks. She hadn't been remotely tempted to answer. All her thoughts had been filled by Tate.
Glancing back out at the almost unbearably sexy man—her
mate!
she thought yet again in sheer wonder and no small trepidation—again for a quick moment, all she saw was a deliciously intriguing man curious about her living space—not about the secrets it might reveal about her. Feeling oddly warmed, she kept watching him.
Undeniable hunger licked along her limbs, enflaming all her nerve endings as she watched Tate prowl through her cabin. He moved with such easy grace, so liquid and soft and gentle and sure, it managed to arouse her even though he wasn't focused on her. He looked at the few framed drawings she had hanging on the walls, at the books overflowing her cases and stacked on every flat surface in the room. The burble of the coffeemaker and the gentle scratching noise of the wind rustling aspen branches against the windows were the only sounds.
“I really love that painting,” Tate suddenly said.
“Which—oh.” She laughed. “Of course you would.”
The painting in question was a portrait of a larger-than-life horse leaping over russety-orange canyons. Mane and tail flowing off the canvas, the red and white horse seem suspended in midair as it leapt. A determined expression said it wouldn't stop for anything. A large moon bathed the scene with its light, casting shadows through curves of the canyons as well.
Tate shrugged and grinned. The grin that was slowly burning away her panties. She'd thought she knew what physical attraction was. This, however, was hotter and brighter than anything she'd ever experienced. This must be why wolves got so completely loopy when they met their mates. Hormones trumped all other thoughts and perceptions. It explained the blindly seeking, completely unrestrained night they'd tumbled into mere minutes after her reading. Her mind again filled with images of the breathless, no-holds-barred way they'd come together that night. Like they were the only two people in the world.
“Course I like that painting. Cowboy here.” Tate nodded, pointing at himself. “Horses are my bread and butter, anyway. You like horses, then?”
Taking a breath and forcing herself to focus on the now, Claire nodded. “Ever since I was little and saw some in a book. But I found out horses and shifters don't go well together. So I indulge my equine interest by having things like paintings of them, rather than the real thing.”
“Hmm,” Tate said, sounding speculative. Claire gave him a curious glance, but he kept his attention on the painting. “That's called a paint horse. You probably know that. Lots of people like them because they're pretty.”
“She's beautiful. I just look at it sometimes, and imagine riding her over the canyons like that.” Claire felt just a tiny bit foolish admitting that to Tate. He, however, nodded with complete seriousness.
Smiling a bit in a silly delight at their camaraderie over horses, she turned back into the kitchen. Pouring the glorious, steaming hot black coffee deliciousness into two mugs, she brought them out along with a small carton of creamer tucked under her arm to her small wooden dining table.
Tate stepped forward to help her. He reached for the creamer, the look in his eye telling her he knew exactly where he was reaching. Claire stopped mid-stride as a tiny but powerful shiver rocketed down her body. Still captured by his gaze, which had suddenly gotten more serious, she stood motionless as he reached for the carton wedged between her arm and the side of her breast. Very gently, he slid it out.
His fingers didn't touch her flesh. Even so, just the sliding sensation against her sensitive breast as he pulled it out sent another shiver racing over her, then another. Her breathing quickened and she could feel her pulse jumping in her neck. She knew he noticed. All she could think about was the night they'd spent together, captured together in wild embrace half the time.
Their eyes locked again with that sizzling connection leaping across it, charging Claire with desire.
Mate,
her wolf tested out the word. Liking it, she said it again, this time with unshakeable certainty.
My mate.
Claire swallowed as Tate's expression subtly changed. Need spilled from him. Sheer, hot, pure male need. His own tremendous desire shimmered through him and leapt to Claire. The pure understanding of it roared along her limbs like a sudden conflagration, threatening to burn her up into a delirious blaze of ecstasy. She literally felt dizzy with the sensation. He was going to kiss her. She felt it in every tiny particle of her being, her wolf felt it down to the trembling tip of her tail. The look he was giving her was the look of a man who couldn't control himself and didn't really want to. With a rush of wild sensation, Claire knew she didn't want to, either. She wanted a repeat of the other night. The night that had sealed her fate with this one incredible man.