A SEAL Wolf Christmas (23 page)

The wolves’ howls faded into the misty snow and the moan of the wind returned. Cameron jerked awake, feeling strangely unsettled. Faith was curled up against his chest, her breathing light in sleep, her body soft and huggable. He held her with his good arm, reached over with his bad, and stroked her golden hair. But she was sound asleep, and he didn’t want to wake her. His wounded arm didn’t even give him a pinch of pain now. Maybe it hadn’t been as bad as he thought.

But what he couldn’t comprehend was the restlessness stirring deep inside him. He’d never felt that way before. On cases he was close to solving, he might not be able to sleep, his mind working overtime in solving the puzzle. But this was something more primal, more physical. He was torn between staying with Faith and enjoying her comforting heat, the sound of her steady heartbeat, and her subtle fragrance—and squelching the craving to ditch his clothes no matter how cold it was and run through the snow.

Trying not to disturb Faith, Cameron slipped out from under her, making sure his sleeping bag still covered her, and then he left the bed. He was surprised to experience no dizziness or fever from the wolf’s bite. He stretched out his arm, but no matter how he moved it, the ache was completely gone.

After pulling the towel off his arm, he examined where the wolf had bitten him. Except for faded bite marks, dried blood, and light bruising, he was nearly as good as new, although it had seemed so much worse when he was first bitten.

He went to the door and opened it, stared out at the moonlight reflecting off the snow, the clouds having moved away, the storm spent and gone, leaving mountains of snow in its wake. It looked as though the day was already upon them instead of the dead of night. Mystical, magical, even romantic, if Faith had been awake and here to share it with him.

But the moon compelled him to do what no sane man would ever have done. He couldn’t repress the urge he had to—well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Leave. Maybe. But it wasn’t exactly that either. Despite not being able to see the actual moon, he could feel its presence. Like the moon’s gravitational pull on the tides, he felt an odd connection. A seduction, a caress of wills, his against the moon’s.
Come to me, and I’ll make your dreams come true. Fight me and you’ll suffer.

He was going mad.

Without another second’s hesitation, he stripped out of his jeans and boxers, and stood watching the tree limbs stirring in the breeze. The bitter cold surrounding him shook him to the marrow of his bones, but then dissipated when a strange warmth quickly worked its way through every fiber of his being, his muscles twisting, bones reshaping, all painless, effortless, exhilarating.

He stood on four pads, a thick, double white coat covering his skin, making him impervious to the cold. He stared at his large front paws, black wicked-looking claws touching the wooden floor. He sniffed at his fur, which smelled of spicy aftershave.

The moon again called to him, the branches of the trees waving at him, beckoning him to join them. Without another thought, he lowered his forequarters, keeping his hindquarters straight and did a slight bow, then raced out the door, bounding over the piles of snow left by the storm and took off through the woods.

Cameron raced through the forest, brushing against the snow-covered branches of towering spruces, shaking loose torrents of snowfall. The snow falling down on him didn’t touch his skin though. A thick coat of fur kept the snow from melting, and he felt toasty warm. He expected the snow and cold to chill his “bare” feet, but it didn’t bother his paws, maybe, he thought, because of the fur between the pads.

He ran on the tip of his toes, which seemed weird, but it lengthened his stride, and he covered more ground that way. Whenever he began to slip on an icy patch, he instinctively spread out his pads, increasing the surface area that he stepped on, the additional friction preventing him from taking a spill.

A fresh coat of snow, looked to have been a foot or more, covered everything, but he found that he didn’t sink into the fluffy white stuff as he would if he was running as a human. The freedom this gave was exhilarating as he raced through the trees, only stopping momentarily to smell a whiff of a rabbit or bird and fresh clean air.

Taking a deep breath of the cool air, Cassie didn’t catch the scent of anyone or anything else. Either she was imagining things, or whatever-it-was knew to keep downwind of her. She hoped it wasn’t Alex Wellington, trying to track her down again. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she swore she’d never convince him she strictly worked alone. And then she thought of Leidolf and those of his pack. She stood very still, listening, not hearing anything further. That’s all she needed. Leidolf or one of his people tracking her.

She brushed aside the soft needle-covered branches of a hemlock blocking her view of the source of water and…
gasped
.

Not at the spectacular sight of the dark blue lake, still closed for visitor day use until May, but at the naked man standing mid-thigh in the cold water, his back to her as he stared out across the region.

She didn’t see anything to garner his attention but the beauty and serenity of the vista. Picturesque Mount Hood, the snow-covered volcanic mountain in the distance, the focal point of the whole landscape, so prominent that it could be seen from a hundred miles away.

Well, it would have been the prominent feature if a naked man hadn’t been standing in the lake in front of the view, taking center stage instead.

Chestnut hair curled about the nape of his neck, shorter than she thought a reclusive mountain man would wear it. His backside was pure delight to look at, from his broad and muscled back down to his narrow waist and a toned butt a girl could die for. Muscular legs disappeared into water that rippled in the slight breeze.

She sniffed the air but couldn’t catch his scent. Being a
lupus garou
, she could smell the mood of an individual like any wolf could—whether he was fearful, aggressive, cowed, or sexually aroused. The way the man was standing so peacefully, she assumed his scent would be a mixture of woods, water, musky male, and blissful serenity.

Before she could back up and leave, he dove into the lake with a splash and, with a powerful momentum, began swimming freestyle. Fascinated, she watched his compelling overarm strokes and legs slicing the water, wondering how he could stomach the cold. Unexpectedly, he plunged beneath the surface. Forever, it seemed, she watched the dark blue waters, the building clouds making it appear blacker. And no sign of the man. He remained under so long that she finally took a step forward in rescue-mode when he suddenly rose up like Poseidon, Greek god of the sea, took a deep breath, and dove under again. She half-expected him to be wielding a trident while porpoises swam alongside him.

Frozen in place, she continued to watch where he’d disappeared, when he abruptly shot up again. Only this time, he headed for the beach. She frowned. Leidolf? She couldn’t be sure with the way he dove in and out of the water so quickly and the distance between her and the beach. Waiting for him to dive again, she didn’t move. This time, he remained on the surface and kicked vigorously with his legs, his arms plying the water, his head mostly submersed under water as he swam toward the shore and a pile of clothes she hadn’t noticed before.

To her relief, his focus remained on the beach whenever he turned his head to take a breath of air. She was afraid that if she backed into the woods, he would notice her movement and,
God forbid
, realize she’d been a voyeur spying on him. Not that spying on him bothered her overly much. If he was going to run around naked at a closed park, it was
his
fault that she caught him at it. She still didn’t want him catching
her
spying on him. Especially, if the man
was
Leidolf.

So the plan was that as soon as he concentrated on dressing, she’d slip away.

Upon reaching the shallows, he stood, and she swallowed hard. He looked different naked, his hair dripping wet. It
was
Leidolf.

His strong legs plowing through the water, he waded toward the shore. The lake rippled at his navel, water droplets raised like translucent pearls all over his golden skin, his nipples crisply pebbled.
Beautiful, powerful, tantalizing.
Poseidon in the flesh, just as masculine and intriguing to women as the god who had exerted his power over them, just like his brother, Zeus.

At least that’s the effect Leidolf had on her. And she wasn’t easily swayed by men’s appearances. In or out of their clothes.

“But you truly believe otherwise,” Ryan finally said.

This time Carol’s smile was bright and true to her feelings. She couldn’t help liking Ryan, despite his denial of her abilities. He had an easy but determined manner about him, not brusque like Darien or teasing like Jake or afraid to make waves like Tom. His determination was matched only by her own.

She glanced at the men standing about, including both Tom and Jake. Which made the situation worse. Why couldn’t any of the alpha males show any real interest in her? She was not a beta kind of girl. She supposed that was because her father had become so downtrodden by her mother’s treatment of him. She couldn’t see being married, um, mated to someone like that.

“Carol?” Ryan said, his deep baritone voice again yanking her from her faraway thoughts.

She really needed to get more sleep. She turned her attention back to Ryan. He thought
she
wasn’t being honest with him about her abilities, when
he
wasn’t honest about why he had been lurking in the woods last night, watching her window. She didn’t have to be psychic to know something more was going on between them. Time to turn the tables. Throw him off balance.

Trying to look like this was a perfectly natural way for her to act, she smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned into the soft sweater covering his hard body, which instantly reminded her just how hard his body was when he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothes. She only meant to give him a slow kiss on the mouth, just to prove to him that he had another agenda that he wouldn’t admit to. Or if not, then maybe Tom or Jake would finally show some interest in her. But more than anything, she wanted to get Ryan off the subject of her abilities before she said something in anger that she shouldn’t.

To her surprise, he eagerly captured her mouth with his. Not cautiously, building up the desire in slow careful increments, but judiciously, as if he had been starved for affection for a very long time. His hand cupped the back of her head, his free hand drifting lower on her back and holding her in place.

She hadn’t meant to respond so fully to the kiss either, but his unbridled need fed into hers. Forgetting they had an audience, she parted her lips to accept him, to open an intimate path between them, their tongues dancing, touching, exploring. Her hands fisted in his soft sweater at the back of his neck and held him even tighter. She pressed her body against his hard muscles, and shamelessly she wanted more.

But then he released her and unwrapped her arms from around his neck, his eyes smoky and dark, his expression otherwise unreadable, his hands still securely holding her wrists. Their breaths came quickly as their hearts thundered at a runner’s pace. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but she didn’t want to hear the apology she figured he would offer or another word about her abilities, if that’s what he had in mind.

She quickly spoke instead. “I accept. Come pick me up for a date at six o’clock. Promptly.”

She’d show him he wasn’t as much in control of the situation as he might think.

Then she winked, pulled free, and stalked off toward the house without a backward glance, her blood sizzling with arousal and irritation.

She harrumphed under her breath. All the idiotic romantic notions she had been harboring for Ryan McKinley… and all he really wanted was for her to confess she wasn’t psychic?

She doubted Ryan would take her on a date, and she doubted even more that Darien would allow it. But if the date did come to pass, she would get out of the gathering of bachelor males tonight, and she’d give Ryan McKinley a piece of her mind.

“A warm bath will do you a world of good, lass. But I wondered what you’ll be doing during the filming.”

Julia loved his brogue. She could soak it up all day long as she listened to the way he rolled his
r
’s and twisted his tongue around in ways she couldn’t even imagine, her gaze focused on his sensuous mouth all the while.

Ian touched a piece of her hair tickling her cheek and moved it behind her ear. “Lass?”

“You asked?”

He chuckled. “Either you’re too tired to think straight, having been through too much in the last several hours, or…” He smiled, and the intimation was that she was too wrapped up in him to think clearly. “Water should be ready.” He rose from the sofa, and without waiting for her to say she could walk, he scooped her up and headed for the bathroom.

She didn’t need blankets or hot baths or anything of the sort to heat her up. His body did the trick—his hot, hard body pressing against hers, his arm securely around her waist, his hand resting beneath her breast, his other arm cupped under her legs. She was feeling incredibly warm.

“It’s jet lag,” she finally said, looking up at him, her head tilted back, her hair tumbling backward. “You’re right. I’m exhausted, and I’m not thinking clearly.” It had nothing to do with Ian being an incredibly hunky Highlander. Or that she was imagining the virile warrior wearing a kilt and a sword as he carried her into the bathroom instead of the wet clinging trousers that showed just how hot and sexy and intrigued he was with her.

He hesitated to set her down on the floor or the edge of the bathtub, staring into her eyes as if she had mesmerized him and momentarily made him forget his mission. But then he did the unexpected and set her on the marble sink countertop. She thought he meant to offer to help her further with undressing and intended to quickly decline his generous offer. Instead, he leaned his face down to meet hers and kissed her! Full on the mouth with a sensuous, hot-blooded kiss that would have knocked her stockings off if she’d still been wearing them.

She didn’t even object or pull away like she should have done. What would the Scotsman think of American women if she didn’t? But she couldn’t, not when his lips were caressing hers in such a sexually charged way, warm and soft and needy and in control.
Very
much in control. She loved the feel of his mouth on hers, the desire sparking between them, the heat that chased away the chill.

Enjoying the feel of his masculine lips on hers, she wanted more. She wrapped her hands around his neck and parted her lips just enough to give a hint that she wanted him to deepen the kiss, but not too much to make it seem she was desperate for more.
Even if she was.

His mouth smiled against hers as his eyes grew smokier with desire. And then he obliged. His hands shifted to her hair, stroking and grasping handfuls as he poked his tongue between her lips, drew her body closer to his, and then pressed deeply into her mouth with his tongue.

She gave as good as she got, shifting her hands from around his neck to his hips and pulling him in even closer, settling him against the heat between her legs. Felt his rigid erection against her. Rolled her tongue around his in a lover’s intimate dance.

But he suddenly went very still and then groaned, pulling his mouth from hers. He wanted more. She could tell from the way his body was still pressed against hers, the way he was fighting with himself to let go, and damn if she didn’t want him to keep kissing her. A wolf had never kissed her before, and she wondered if it was just Ian or if all wolves were this hot.

He gazed into her eyes, his own filled with lust, his body hard and ready for more, but he cleared his throat and said, “Welcome to Scotland, lass.”