Stranded with a Cajun Werewolf (4 page)

They’d be closing in fast, as they always did. No matter how fast she drove, no matter how far.

Anxiety crept through her slowly, like an all-consuming fog that threatened to strangle her.

No. She wasn’t going to let them win. Pushing herself up, she gritted her teeth and mentally recited the words from her favorite wall poster.
Keep calm and carry on.

Keep calm and
carry on
.

Keep calm and — ohmygod she was naked. In a stranger’s bed.

Had she—had they? She didn’t remember getting naked.

She tugged the sheet around herself.
Think. Think.
No, she definitely didn’t remember a night of hot sex. And something about the handsome man who’d towered over her, his sheer masculinity perhaps, told her she wasn’t likely to forget an evening in his arms no matter how comatose she was.

And she certainly wasn’t the type to sleep with a man whose name she didn’t even know. But…she did know his name. He’d told her sometime during those in-and-out moments. No, he’d told her as he’d been extracting a bullet from her shoulder.

Burke something. Burke… think, think, think.

The man had saved her life; the least she could do was remember his name.

Kendall closed her eyes and reined back another wave of panic. That’d been too close. A lucky shot, perhaps, but too close. All the more reason to keep moving and not involve nice strangers in the drama that was her life.

One step at a time. First, she needed to get dressed. Then go check on her car. Maybe Burke would help her get it out of the dune so she didn’t have to involve anyone else in town.

But she was already deep in his debt. A fruit basket wasn’t going to cut it. Not that she could even afford a fruit basket at this point.

Blinking against the glare, she glanced around the room for her clothes. And her host.

Her gaze fell on a large white button-up laying over the end of the bed. It’d have to do for now.

She reached forward, gritting her teeth as her bones protested.

Everything would all be so much easier if she could just shift. Her shoulder would heal, her head wouldn’t ache, and in general, she wouldn’t feel like a squashed bug on a windshield.

Putting the shirt on was somewhat harder than she’d expected thanks to her injured shoulder. She didn’t know how far she could push it. This was, after all, her first gunshot wound.

She’d just managed to slip the left sleeve on and tug it up over the bandage when she heard the masculine voice from her dreams. “Need some help?” The giant of a man who’d rescued her from the snow dune and certain frostbite stood in the doorway holding two steaming mugs. Coffee she prayed. With extra sugar. A girl could hope. Without waiting for her answer, he strode across the room, his long legs eating up the distance and set the mugs on the bedside table. She noticed her old cell phone laying there. He must have found it in her jeans pocket. “I should check your bandage before you button up,” he murmured. She almost melted beneath his dreamy accent.

Swallowing, she nodded her agreement. He leaned behind her on one knee. Warm hands smoothed the tape of her bandage and she greedily soaked in his touch.

Bad idea, Kendall. Get your mind out of the gutter and back to the problem at hand.

Not the fact that you haven’t had an orgasm in, oh, three years. Carl’s goons are out to bring
you home at any cost (or kill you.) Concentrate on that.

“Looks good. Not too much bleedin’. How ya’ feelin’? Any headaches?” She shook her head and expelled a quick sigh. “Like death warmed over.”

“I expect so. Do you remember what happened?”

She held the sheet tightly around herself as he helped her get her other arm in the sleeve.

She started buttoning the buttons as he pulled back. “Which part?” she asked ruefully.

Her life had certainly been full of adventure lately.

He took a long sip from his mug as he settled himself in the leather chair beside the bed.

She noticed he didn’t offer to help her button up the shirt. It was probably better that way. He’d probably already gotten an eyeful of her less than perfect figure and the farther away he was the easier it was for her to stop wondering if she’d been wearing her good underwear.

“You begged me not to let him take you. Who’s him?” he asked.

“Carl Steinhurst.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “And his posse.” The dog at her side stirred in his sleep, wagged his tail a few times and then settled again in a peaceful slumber. Oh to be like that again. Carefree. Taken care of.

But had she ever really been taken care of?

“Carl is…” he left the question dangling in the air between them.

“According to my father, Carl is my fiancé.”

She could tell by the way Burke’s eyebrows inched upward that her admission surprised him. Did he not think she would have a fiancé? Wasn’t pretty enough or old enough?

“And you would run away from this man you’re supposed to marry?” There was a wealth of icy pain in his question. Almost as if he himself had suffered a runaway bride.

“You don’t think a woman has the right to change her mind?” she countered, surprised at how hurt her heart felt. She barely knew this man. His opinion of her shouldn’t matter at all.

But for some reason it did. And she didn’t like the idea that he thought poorly of her, no matter the reason.

Which was just stupid.

“I think if you accept a marriage proposal then you should be sure you want to marry the person. In fact, you should be willing to marry them immediately.”

“So yours was a long engagement then?” She couldn’t help prodding him. It didn’t feel good to have her wounds opened and inspected, much less by a man who obviously thought so little of her at this point.

His gaze jerked from the fire to her and she could swear that a blaze burned there, barely banked. Her query obviously upset him. His jaw worked back and forth as he regarded her.

“We’re not discussing me.”

And just like that he erected an impenetrable wall between them. That shouldn’t have hurt either. She couldn’t bear to sit in his bed, having him look at her like that. He didn’t know the whole story.

“I need to use the restroom…then I’ll get out of your hair.” He huffed out a sigh, gazing back at the fire. She could see the emotions humming through him, memories alive in his eyes.

“Blizzard hasn’t let up yet. Doubt you’d make it ten feet.” The rough appraisal set her teeth on edge. She’d made it from Florida to New Hampshire, almost fifteen hundred miles. By herself. Without a man, fiancé or otherwise.

“Bathroom’s through there.” He nodded toward the door to her left.

Kendall stayed in the safety of the bathroom for longer than necessary, despite the cool tile floor. Why did it bug her so much that a total stranger thought she was running away from her commitments? If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t just annoyed, she was deeply hurt too.

He’d based his character appraisal off of one sentence. One freaking sentence.

What was she going to do now? She was trapped. And though the beautiful house was better than her car or a hotel or God forbid, Carl’s mansion, she didn’t know how she was going to stay cooped up with a man who thought so little of her.

Whoever the woman was that had injured him so badly, she’d done a bang-up job of it.

He wasn’t wearing a ring. Had they married?

She opened the door to the bedroom and found him staring at the fire, his massive chest rising and falling in a steady pattern. Licking her lips she found herself telling him “for what it’s worth, Carl’s men want to take me back. To them I'm property to be returned to my owner.”

“Your owner?” His keen gaze flicked to her.

She twirled a strand of hot pink hair around her forefinger and nodded. “I barely know the guy. He gives me the creeps.”

“Then why would you consent to marry him?” He sounded shocked and she could tell by the way he’d turned toward her that she had his full attention.

“I didn’t.”

He frowned.

“My father ordered me to do it.” Tired, she settled back in the bed, trying not to jar her injuries. “My dad is a gambler. It’s amazing he has anything left, but he was pretty good at it when he was younger. Lately, let’s just say he drinks more than he wins.

“I’m sure Carl knew it. Neither of them know that I know what happened at that game.” She shrugged. “Dad wouldn’t put his property on the table.” Burke leaned forward, shaking his head as if he were trying to settle the pieces of a puzzle into place, trying desperately to understand her.

“He put
you
on the table.”

“Marriage to Nelson Carver’s daughter. I’m the oldest.”

“So you’ll inherit what’s left of your father’s wealth.” She nodded.

“And if you marry Carl…”

No, she didn’t want to think it much less speak it. She licked her lips and glanced around the room.

“Got it in one.”

“So you ran away…”

“Fat lot of good it did me. Carl’s goons are pretty good at tracking people. And I’m not exactly an expert at evasion.”

“Do you remember your accident?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I remember my head hurting like hell. And I remember...” She stared straight at him. “I remember you. A dog barking.” She wouldn't tell him that she'd felt safe for the first time ever. Warm for the first time in months. That there was something about him, something she'd recognized through the dreams, the fog of unconsciousness. She trusted him.

No, she couldn't tell him all that. He'd think she was a loon. And maybe she was. Why else would she stay with a family that put their debts above her welfare?

Why else would Burke’s assessment of her sting so much?

She straightened her spine a little. It might have taken her a while to grow a backbone but she was never going to be someone’s trophy wife and she certainly wasn’t going to be a wallflower. Yes, she’d colored her hair pink and purple to try get out of a stupid ancient mating ritual. So what if it seemed a little…

Desperate.

She’d run. From the loony Dirk Brothers and the even crazier Carl.

“I think you had every right to be desperate.” The tenderness in his voice was new.

Okay, spooky. “You think I’m desperate?”

His eyebrows inched upward. “You just said you were.” Her eyes widened. Trust her, Kendall “Babble-Mouth” Carver to speak out loud when she thought she was merely thinking.

She sighed. Unfortunately, she was used to embarrassing herself by now. Just not in front of handsome, hunky men who made everything feminine inside of her sit up and take notice.

“I think I’m more desperate than ever,” she whispered, twirling her hair again.

“Imagine a group of small beady eyed guys with fake Jersey accents, half animal, half human.

That’s the Dirk brothers. Carl thinks he’s God’s gift. Tall, dark. Not that handsome though.” She frowned. Nowhere near as handsome as Burke. “And he’s got very specific ideals on a woman's role in life.”

“Half animal you say,” he said, standing. He probably thought she was crazy. She had to remember he was human, not
were
. But he certainly could be, as large and strong and drop-dead-handsome as he was.

He wouldn’t be a vampire. No. A
werelion
perhaps, though they were usually blond from what she understood. She’d never met one.

Maybe a werewolf. Yes. Tall, dark, dangerously-handsome. That description suited him to a tee.

In the light of day, his eyes were dark and filled with dangerous secrets. She cocked her head to the right, watching him as he hoisted a large log onto the fire. Definitely dangerous.

And yet, she felt so at ease with him…when he wasn’t castigating her.

“How tall are you?” she asked, figuring he was at least a head taller than Carl.

Again with the eyebrow, but he stared down at his feet. She followed his gaze, and gulped. Big feet...

“Six foot seven.”

Wow.

She wasn't exactly short herself. Five foot nine was huge for
were-coyots
though. And her size had always made her stand out like the elephant in the room. Most days she felt like a giraffe. And her father, he was the first in line to poke fun. She was the family joke.

“Why do you ask?”

“Most of the people I know are short. Shorter than me.” He nodded in silent understanding. He probably
did
know what it felt like to be the tallest person in any room. And the strongest, if those biceps beneath that sweater were any indication.

Kneeling before the fire with a wrought iron poker in his hand, he was the epitome of masculine grace. The scene was straight out of an L.L. Bean catalog, totally idyllic.

He glanced back at her over his shoulder and her breath stalled in her lungs. Perhaps he was a male model. That would suit him perfectly.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“I know better than to make snap judgments.” He glanced back at the pile of logs stacked next to the fireplace. “I know better than to judge people at all.”

“It’s okay. We all have our hot button issues.”

He nodded. “But I should have asked more questions before jumping to conclusions.”

“Well, now you know the truth.” Some of it anyway.

He nodded again and pushed to his feet. After putting the poker away he wiped his palms down his thighs. Such powerful thighs…

She really shouldn't be thinking about that. She should be planning her next move, an escape route. But the big man staring back at her was solid and strong like an anchor in a storm. He admitted when he was wrong. Apologized. She searched her memory. Her father and brothers never admitted when they were wrong.

Admitting they were wrong or misinformed was a weakness in their eyes. To a certain extent, her mother had believed the same thing.

And what sort of man stuck up for a guy he’d never met? Was outraged that she’d turn her back on her fiancé? She dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting the sheet. He really was larger than life, and for a brief moment she wanted to soak up the calm.

She shouldn’t though. “I guess I should drink my coffee before it gets cold,” she murmured and reached for her mug.