A Werewolf to Call Her Own (Mystic Isle, Book 2) (2 page)

He must have felt her shaking, smelled her fear, because he pulled her forward a fraction. “Hi, sweetheart. Sorry I’m late,” he said loud enough for the demon to hear.

A wolfish grin lit his face, stealing her breath, and she realized that that’s exactly what he was. A wolf in human clothing. An insanely handsome one at that. Her heart stuttered and then jumpstarted. He was lying for her. Playing the part of her beau. And what a beau he was.
Talk about beginning on the right foot.

His gaze shifted down to where her fingers had closed over his forearm. Then he glanced over her head again and he took her hand between his. What was he—

He lifted her bloodstained fingers to his lips and stared into her eyes.
Oh my…
His tongue darted out, gathering the droplets as if they were the finest wine.
Ambrosia
. Her head tipped back on its own accord. As he sucked one, then another into the wet heat of his mouth to clean them,
she
sucked in a slow, deep breath.

“Sorry, dude. I didn’t know she was with you,” a deep voice said from somewhere behind her.

Ceara would have said she wasn’t
with
him, but she couldn’t form the words when
he
was nibbling on her fingertips like they were made of candy. A hot, delicious feeling took over her insides. Then again, something in his eyes told her that she could be with him if she wanted to be.

Nervousness was the furthest thing from her mind. And for the first time in her life, she wanted a man. Not just any man.
This man.
This ruggedly handsome werewolf with the wicked smile.

Only when he whispered, “Let’s get out of here,” and ushered her inside, did she realize that her friends had fallen silent. She dared a glance back and saw the four of them in the sand, sharing a worried glance.

But why would they be worried? Wasn’t this why they’d all come here? To “hookup” as it were? Not that she was going to—

“I’m Maxim,” the man at her side murmured when they were safely inside the dimly lit Tiki bar.

“Ceara.”

“Can I escort you somewhere? You seemed to be in a hurry.”

“I—yes…” She gave a self-depreciating laugh. “I was getting as far away from that demon as I could.”

“You know the island is only a mile wide,” he said with a smile. “He would have caught you eventually.”

“But you rescued me,” she murmured, her voice full of awe. She wasn’t sure why. A case of instant hero–worship, perhaps?

“I did,” he said matter-of-factly. There was a second-long pause before those shut-up-and-kiss-me lips curved up in a satisfied smile.

Good gods. He had no right to be that handsome. No one did. Tanned to perfection, tall, broad, perfectly sculpted muscles hidden beneath a midnight blue polo shirt… down to the leather thongs on his feet, he was right off the cover of a magazine.

“I should thank you.”

“You should.” His grin widened.

Chapter Two

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

Handsome and humble. Why didn’t he try to press her for something more? Push her to show her appreciation…

Maybe he was involved with someone already.

Ceara had to look away before she dissolved into what she could only describe as a puddle of hormones. Turning away from him, she glanced around the room, noticing the sprigs of mistletoe and boughs of evergreen. It was the most surreal experience of her life, standing so close to the most handsome man she’d ever seen, letting his glorious accent wash over her like warm honey, Christmas tunes playing softly throughout the resort.

Just as the brochures had promised, Mystic Isle was an equal opportunity holiday extravaganza, filled to capacity with beings of all kinds eager to celebrate the winter solstice… and pleasures of the flesh. The resort was transformed from tropical pleasure dome to winter wonderland by a smorgasbord of fake snow, evergreen boughs, Christmas trees and Kissing Balls packed with mistletoe.

It shouldn’t have surprised her how much mistletoe dotted every archway, doorframe and chandelier. Altogether, she mentally calculated they’d hauled in a ton and a half of the poisonous greenery. And it seemed to be working its magic. There was plenty of kissing going on. A blush blossomed in her cheeks and she turned away to admire a cone-shaped tree made of silver ornaments.

Ceara, like most vamps, celebrated the solstice – a time of rebirth, but she admired anything that glittered including shiny Christmas ornaments and shimmering candles. But even sparkles couldn’t compete with the magnetism the man at her side exuded.

Unsure of what to say or do next, she was thankful when Charles Latham, Mystic Isle’s owner, strode up to them and slapped Maxim on the back. “How’s it going, Max?”

Maxim kept his left arm loosely around her waist but shifted slightly away from her to shake the Adonis’s hand. Ceara was starting to think that there was a beauty requirement to make it onto the island. Latham, as Valencia called him (Adonis was the name the rest of the girls referred to him as), had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, but she didn’t make eye contact. He carried himself like a god, and unlike most of the guests she’d seen, he wore impeccably tailored slacks in a medium gray. The crisp white shirt made his tan seem darker.

“Latham. Doing well.”

“If you don’t have plans for the night, let me suggest the rooftop deck. A family of dolphins have been spotted in the bay.”

Maxim would never get used to Latham playing the part of the consummate host. He was a god for heaven’s sake. There’d been times in the past when he’d shoot lightning bolts from his fingertips just for kicks. Seeing him now, in a suit no less, mixing with beachgoers… it was just…
newage
.

The beautiful woman at Maxim’s side shifted her attention, her features coming to life. “Oh, how delightful.” She sounded genuinely interested and he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. The latte-skinned vamp was as unique as she was innocent, and the combination was driving him mad.

“Why don’t we go see if we can spot them…” he suggested, not wanting his time with her to end.

“Okay.” She nodded, a wave of dark hair slipping forward.

“Have a good evening,” Latham said formally.

Maxim loved the way her body moved beneath his hand as he ushered her across the bar and down the wide hallway. She was the only vamp he’d ever met who wasn’t completely comfortable in her own skin. He got the feeling the skimpy gym shorts didn’t belong to her.

He’d counted the number of times she’d tucked her hair behind her ears while she and her girlfriends had waited for drinks.
Four
. And the number of times she’d shifted from one foot to another.
Seven
. Also, the number of times she’d licked her lips.
Two
.

Every time that pink tongue had emerged, his gut had tightened and he’d been unable to tear his gaze away.

And the moment his keen ears had detected the acceleration of her heart and he’d seen that big bruiser of a demon lock his sights on her, Maxim had vaulted from his chair in the corner, beer forgotten.

Truth be told, he’d willed her into his arms.

She was silent as they stepped onto the elevator, but she didn’t move away from him. Thankfully, she’d stopped trembling. A woman, as far as he was concerned, should never have cause to tremble with fear. Only with desire.

He pushed the button for the top floor and glanced up at the glowing red numbers. The boxy car soared skyward and he spread his legs to steady himself. Her heady scent spiraled around him, filling the small space, driving him crazy with desire. How was he going to control himself? There was no way he’d ever force himself on a woman, but good God, she was so lovely, achingly beautiful, with innocent violet eyes that stared up at him like he’d just handed her the moon.

If he could, he would.

And it was that sort of crazy thinking that would get his ass into major trouble. He was the beta of his pack and his Alpha, Danya, counted on him to keep his head in the game and out of his slacks. He was only here for the long weekend to burn off a little steam, get in some waves, before heading back to pack business.

“I know it’s irrational,” she murmured, “being afraid of demons.”

He glanced down to find her staring straight ahead, looking at herself in the mirror-like doors, almost as if she was giving herself a talking to.

“Demons are not all bad,” he replied carefully.

“I know that,” she said sharply. But then her mouth softened. “I do. It’s just a reflex, I guess.”

Her fangs peeked over her bottom lip, bright white in contrast with the rosy lip-gloss. He’d never been so turned on by vamps before, so what was it about this one? The way her heartbeat quickened whenever he touched her? Or the way her eyes had gone impossibly wide when he’d licked her fingers? Perhaps it was the way she’d played along with his charade, her breath catching like they were long-time lovers. She had no problem following his lead.

Despite his position as beta of the pack, werewolves were known for their stubbornness and having a mind of their own. His people were tough, forged from long hard winters. The Shewolves, more often than not, were outspoken, some would even say brash. Confident to the core. They did not need a man and they made sure all the males of the pack knew it.

Having someone who let him lead was refreshing. It was nice to be needed.

The elevator slowed to a stop. Such a marvelous invention, he still wasn’t used to them. Then the doors opened to reveal a glass wall that offered an amazing view of the ocean.

“Wow.” Her voice was quiet, but full of awe. She stepped off the elevator, the rubber soles of her hot pink thongs flopping against the tile floor.

He pushed open one of the tall glass doors and waited for her to pass by, fighting the urge to sweep her up into his arms and step back onto the elevator and hustle her back to his room. His palms itched to do just that when she placed a hand at the center of his chest, glancing up at him briefly to give a breathy, “Thank you.”

Everything about her, from her nervous tics to the clothes she wore, shouted her inner conflict. Her innocence was at war with a more confident, eager-to-experience-life woman. She seemed painfully young, and yet, oh so curious. Hips swaying, she strode past a line of lounge chairs to the deck railing. Maxim didn’t miss the interested glances from several of the men populating the rooftop bar.

“For?” he asked, rushing to catch up.

“Being a gentleman.” She did that hair tuck thing again that made his fingers twitch to take over.

He almost snorted. If she knew what he was thinking and feeling, how he wanted to shield her from all the prying eyes, whisk her away and strip off those clothes… she wouldn’t call him a gentleman. In fact, he’d be willing to bet that she’d go wide-eyed, then turn tail and run.

No, he didn’t feel particularly gentlemanly right now. She made his inner wolf sit up and take notice. It was all he could do to keep the damn beast calm. “No one’s ever called me a gentleman before.”

He wouldn’t tell her the list of things he had been called. Some good. Some, not so good. Cagey, crazy, brilliant, moody, self-reliant, even selfish. No, he wasn’t about to tell her and ruin her first impression of him.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

As for the men watching her as she strode past the bar, he shot them all a proprietary glance as he joined her at the rail. “See them yet?”

Hands on the banister, she leaned forward, her gaze sweeping right, and then far left. The breeze caught her hair, whipping it away to reveal the column of her throat. Suddenly she wasn’t standing on the rooftop bar, but rather on the back deck of his home, looking out over the valley. And instead of short gym shorts and a T-shirt, she wore a sleeveless dress that showed off her shoulders to perfection. The wind carried her silky hair around in a riotous mess. That profile. So familiar. So perfect.

“No,” she said, pulling him from the daydream.

“Keep looking. I’ll look this way.”

She glanced over at him and smiled. It was a small smile, not the least bit sexual, but he felt it all the way to his toes.

Needing a bit of distance to clear his head, he stepped around her and made his way to the end of the observation deck. Soft holiday music and ceaseless chatter carried on the breeze. The deck offered a three hundred and sixty degree view of the island and the dark ocean waters beyond. From here, the stars looked within reach. The moon, a marshmallow to be plucked from the sky and devoured.

A newly familiar scent swirled beneath his nose and he shifted to make space for her.

“There,” she said simply, lifting a long, elegant arm to point at the ocean.

He followed her finger, the same finger he’d recently had in his mouth, and saw the school of dolphins swimming through the moon-streaked sea. Wordlessly, they stood and watched until the dolphins swam out of sight.

She turned to him then, grinning shyly. “That was amazing. I love dolphins.”

“You should try a swimming excursion,” he suggested, trying to keep his cock calm.

“Oh—” Her excitement dimmed quickly as she digested the idea. Then, “I can’t.”

He started to ask why not but a burst of red light halted the words on his lips. Behind them, fireworks exploded in the night sky. The party-goers on the deck all shuffled to the far side of the roof, oohing and ahhing.

He didn’t miss the way the woman at his side flinched when the enormous boom shook the air around them, reverberating through his bones.

“You all right?” he asked, sliding a hand across her back to give her shoulder a squeeze.

She nodded quickly. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“Fireworks?”

“In real life, I mean.”

Ahh
.

“The boom is much louder,” she added.

“Yes.”

She stayed rooted to the spot, her hand gripping the railing tightly. Too tightly. She might be young, but like all vamps she was strong. The wood splintered beneath her fingernails.

He trailed a hand down her arm, felt her shiver, and laced his fingers through hers. “Why don’t you hold on to me? I’m indestructible.”