Chapter
Twelve
Zoey finished the last bite of her chicken and
put the plate on the little table beside her, settling back into
her chair with a happy sigh. This was so
what she needed. Great food, a little relaxation, good company.
Normally she would have made the rounds, made sure she met
everyone, but her leg was bothering her and she was more tired than
she’d initially thought. To her delight, most of the party guests
wandered over to her and said hello or introduced themselves. For
someone who was new in town, she couldn’t have felt more welcomed.
Geoff and Melly Lassiter had invited her to their goat farm. Holt
LaLonde had offered to fly her over the Peace River valley in his
Cessna. Martin Beauchamp and René Ghostkeeper had brought over
samples from the dessert table, most of which they’d baked
themselves. Zoey grinned as she pulled a small notepad from her
purse and scribbled a couple of story tips she’d received from
Jeannie Rousseau, the bookstore owner. Her grin faded when Connor
appeared out of nowhere and sat in the chair next to
her.
“So,” he said, looking over at the
patio where some couples were dancing under bright lanterns. He was
pointedly not looking at her. “I was wanting
to tell you that I’m sorry for having left so abruptly the other
day, but I haven’t figured out how.”
She considered his words carefully.
“You were tired,” she offered at last.
“No excuse.”
“Okay, then you could have picked up
the phone.”
“I certainly should have. Birkie was
right.”
“I thought she was in Scotland. She
told you to call me?”
“No, no. She’s been warning me for
quite a while that I’ve been too wrapped up in my work and need to
make time for a life.”
That was something she could relate
to.“Seems to be the challenge of the twenty-first century. Most of
us have to learn how to do that. She sounds very
wise.”
“There’s an understatement. I should
pay more attention to what she says, a lot more and a lot sooner.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at her then. “You know,
I came here tonight hoping to get you alone long enough to
apologize, then Bill told me what that Helfren character did and I
just saw red. Then, in the kitchen, you saw
something . . . .” He let it hang.
“Jessie told you?”
“I twisted her arm.”
Zoey snorted. “Jessie? Try
again.”
“Okay, maybe I acted pathetic until she
felt sorry for me and told me what I wanted to know.”
She wasn’t sure she could picture that
either. “And what do you know?”
“That you thought you saw a wolf when
you looked at me.”
“That’s hardly your fault, Connor.
Jessie was right, I was tired and my blood sugar had sunk to my
shoes. I haven’t been sleeping well, so it’s not all that
surprising that I started seeing things. Pretty disturbing, mind
you, but not surprising.” She had decided to ignore the fact that
the vision had come through her psychic gift, since surely the gift
was influenced by her own physical and emotional condition, and
therefore suspect. She sighed and shared the conclusion she’d come
to. “I hope this doesn’t sound dramatic—I’m wondering if I might
have a mild case of post-traumatic stress after all.”
He nodded. “Makes perfect sense. The
wolf attack was a very intense and terrifying experience, and it’s
going to take some time to fade. But I sure don’t like the thought
of you being frightened by me.”
“It wasn’t really you. And besides,
I’ll have you know I wasn’t scared, I was
just startled.”
“Startled?” There was a pause. “Is that
your story?” His expression lightened considerably.
“And I’m sticking to it,” she said. She
slid her hand over his on the armrest. Heat radiated from his skin
and she caught her breath as her mind painted pictures of other
places she’d like to be touching.
“So things are okay between us?” he
asked. There was no mistaking the hopeful note in his
voice.
“Only if you dance with me.” She
grinned at him. “Cruel I know, but it’s a strict policy of mine.
Can’t accept an apology that doesn’t come with a dance.
Sorry.”
“What about your leg?”
“I’m light on my feet, and besides, I
was hoping for a slow dance.”
His hand seized hers at once, and she
was pulled from the chair and into his powerful arms in the blink
of an eye. The heat, the scent of him, surrounded her, filled her
senses, as they began to move together. Her sore leg cooperated to
the point that she could almost forget it.
“Hey, the dance floor’s way over
there.” Zoey said with a weak laugh. Every hormone she had was in
overdrive at the proximity of Connor’s powerful body. She
half-expected spontaneous combustion to claim her clothing as her
body brushed against his. And didn’t that
just paint a picture in her mind?
“We’ll get there. Eventually.” He
guided her subtly but unerringly through the crowd. She was amazed
at how smoothly he moved in spite of his size, and for a moment she
had a vivid impression of a powerful predator stalking silently in
the shadows—
“Zoey?”
“What?” The impression disappeared like
a soap bubble, and she shook her head a little to clear it. “Mind’s
wandering, I guess. Sorry.”
He laughed then, and she could feel the
rumble of it in his chest. Something deep and low within her
clenched delightfully at the vibration, and she gripped his broad
shoulder hard. Her bruised arm protested a little but she was too
busy watching Connor’s eyes go from gray to silver as he lowered
his head. Her arms traveled up of their own volition to circle his
neck.
Within two seconds she realized it
wasn’t going to be like the last time. There was no trading here,
no gentle testing, no give and take. And she was so not in control. Connor’s mouth was hot and soft yet
relentless all at the same time. Wrapped tightly in his powerful
arms, held against his well-muscled frame, her body was not her
own. Not hers at all. She was already pressed against him from chin
to toe but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. She wanted to wrap
herself in that luscious glowing heat that radiated from him.
Something between a whimper and a moan escaped her throat as his
large, strong hands massaged her back and shoulders, leaving that
delicious warmth behind. His heated hands moved lower to knead her
bottom. She wound her fingers in his long dark hair. Her breasts
felt strangely tight, almost tingly, and she wanted his mouth on
them. Needed it.
A burst of distant laughter snapped her
to her senses and Zoey pushed away from Connor. She didn’t get
far—she was pretty much caged in those arms. But frantic glances
around her revealed nothing but shadow. She could hear the party
somewhere off to her right but she couldn’t see much.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Side of the house. Behind the garden
shed to be exact.”
“I thought we were headed to the dance
floor.”
“We are,” he said as he nuzzled her
neck. “This is the scenic route.”
She breathed him in, felt her insides
melting. He pulled back for a moment and as she looked up into his
face, all she could think was damn fine
scenery. “Well, then”—she grinned—“sign me up for the full
tour.”
Moments later Zoey’s blouse was open
and she was thanking the lingerie gods for front-hooking bras.
Connor’s large hands were hot, one at the small of her back
pressing her to him and the other engulfing her breast. He was
trailing kisses along her collarbone, working his way lower and
lower with his lips and tongue. She could hardly breathe for the
anticipation. A low moan escaped her as he closed his questing lips
around a nipple.
Oh yes.
Yes-yes-yes. Her hands worked through Connor’s wavy hair,
twisting and tangling, as he worked her tender nipple with his
tongue, nibbled it delicately with his teeth. Drew her breast
strongly into his mouth, again and again, until answering pulls
from deep within her core had Zoey gasping for breath. He flicked
open her jeans then and slid them slowly down her hips, with his
mouth still working her breast. A hot burst of moisture dampened
her thong just before it went south and she wondered why the cool
evening air didn’t flash into steam as soon as it brushed her skin.
Then Connor’s mouth was on hers again. A picture blossomed in her
mind, showed her plainly how the subtle thrust of his tongue was
symbolic of another, more complete, possession.
And she wanted it. Needed it. Needed everything. Needed him. She parted her legs for his hand, rocked her pelvis
forward to meet his questing fingers. Moaned deep in her throat as
one slid inside her. She gripped his shoulders and rode first one
finger, then two. She was soaking wet, desperately hot to the point
of aching—and nearly cheered when he crooked his fingers
just so, dragging his fingertips across her
most sensitive spot as she moved. She could feel the approaching
storm now, bearing down on her like thunderheads on a hot summer
night. Oh geez, oh Connor, oh— He sealed his
lips over hers and she screamed into his mouth, as the violent
orgasm flashed through her like sheet lightning.
Tad Helfren was fuming by the time he
found Bernard Gervais. The old drunk was in a corner booth of the
Jersey Pub with half a dozen empty draft glasses in front of
him.
The investigator was in a rotten mood.
The huge lump on the back of his head ached like a bitch, and his
lip stung as he took a sip of his imported German beer. “Where the
hell have you been? I’m paying you for your help, not to drink
yourself into a stupor.”
“If I wanted a stupor, I’d have started
a hell of a lot earlier.” Bernie’s speech was intelligible, his
eyes reasonably clear. “What d’ya want, Helfren?”
“There were a bunch of cattle killed
tonight, just west of town. I picked it up on the scanner and the
police are saying it was an animal attack. Fish and Wildlife are
going out first thing in the morning.” Helfren leaned over the
table, his voice dropping. “I know they’re going to find wolf
prints. It’s werewolves, isn’t it?”
Bernie’s scarred face stretched
uncomfortably with a slow deliberate smile. “Yeah, must be. Natural
killers, those things. The vet’s not home tonight
either.”
“You still think Macleod’s the one?
I’ve had his office under surveillance for three stinking weeks but
so far I haven’t got a thing on him. And that little gift you
suggested we leave in his office hasn’t been touched
yet.”
“He’s the one. And the newspaper bitch
is out tonight too. I’m betting the two of them went after the
cattle just for fun.”
“But it isn’t the full moon yet—would
she turn so soon?”
“He’s her sire, he can make it happen
whenever he likes. You can bet he’s initiating her to the kill.
Just like he made her cut my face.”
Helfren refrained from mentioning that
Little Miss Editor had nearly cracked his own skull and Macleod had
been nowhere in sight. Gingerly, he fingered the fresh stitches in
the midst of the swelling. “But she will
turn when the moon’s full? ’Cause, dammit, I want those photos. You
called me, remember? Got me to come all the
way up here to the middle of nowhere, claiming there would be proof
that werewolves exist.”
“You said you’d pay for it.” Gervais
finished his glass.
“When I get proof, you’ll get your
money. That’s the agreement.”
“You’d best be prepared to make a down
payment then. You still have that equipment set up where I told
you? It’s turned on?”
“For all the good it’s doing,” Helfren
snorted.
“Make sure you check it in the
morning.” The old man got to his feet.
“Where the hell do you think
you’re going?”
Gervais chuckled low in his throat, but
it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Just going to stir the pot a little.
And the next time you see me, you better have your fucking
checkbook.”
As Zoey’s senses returned she found
herself draped against Connor like a wet beach towel, and his
talented mouth was doing wonderful things to her neck. Her body was
weightless, boneless, breathless, a hollowed-out shell blasted
clean by the sheer force of release. She was strangely ravenous in
spite of the meal she’d had, but that could wait. There were other
hungers to be satisfied, she thought and smiled as her fingers
worked the buttons of Connor’s shirt. She spread the material
aside, running her hands over his chest, exploring the dusting of
dark hair that accentuated the powerful muscles. God, the man was
built, and she couldn’t help grinning as she leaned forward to
circle her tongue around a nipple. A sudden craving to cover that
chest with soft, openmouthed kisses surfaced but was deflected as
Connor’s big hands drew her close, pressing her skin firmly against
his. She’d just experienced the best orgasm of her life, yet the
heat of his body seemed to incite a whole new level of languor in
her. She just wanted to bask in it, melt into it, become one with
it. . . .
Zoey was just starting to fiddle with
the zipper of his obviously straining jeans when he stiffened and
seized her hands. “What? What is it?” Her hands were still captive
but he wasn’t paying attention to her, wasn’t even looking at her.
Instead every fiber of him seemed to be alert. Watching. Listening.
She glanced around him frantically. “Is someone coming?” Holy crap,
that was all she needed—to be caught with her pants down
literally in a very small town. Ha, and
she’d been worried about werewolf rumors. The post office gossips
would have a field day with—
Connor released her so abruptly that
she lost her balance and had to grab the side of the house for
support. “Hey!” She yanked her clothes together. “What the hell’s
the matter with you?”
She buttoned frantically as she watched
him take a couple of steps forward, all his attention focused
outward. Certainly not on her. Zoey listened hard yet heard nothing
but the party carrying on in the yard beyond. Saw nothing either,
since there were no lights on this side of the house. Her psychic
gift also failed to make an appearance but she wasn’t surprised by
that. After, all, it hadn’t warned her of the wolf attack either.
When she didn’t want the gift, it crowded in on her senses. When
she could really use it, it couldn’t be found. She wondered crossly
what was the point of having a psychic talent if it was going to be
so damn unreliable. Wondered with even more annoyance what was the
point of trying to be close to Connor—then sudden agony seared
through her injured leg like hot metal through butter.
In every novel she’d read, things went
black at times like these. Instead the world had gone white.
Brilliant, blinding white. She hovered in the heart of the sun for
long moments, until the pain released her as abruptly as it had
seized her.
Zoey didn’t feel herself hit the
ground. She was much too busy gasping in great lungfuls of air. She
was vaguely aware of Connor kneeling beside her, holding her by the
shoulders, his face near hers. A hard shake jarred her senses, made
her eyes fly open and her temper flare. “Quit that! I’m okay,
goddammit. Let go.”
“I thought you were passing
out.”
“Sorry, I’m not the fainting type. Go
find a princess.” She sat and rested her arms on her knees, content
to just practice breathing for a while. A sudden burst of laughter
from the party reached her ears and she looked up to find that
Connor was gone. “Hey, I didn’t mean now!”
She’d heard of men who ignored their
partner’s need for foreplay in favor of their own satisfaction, but
she’d never heard of a man totally satisfying, then abandoning, his
partner. It made no sense. It was too much like what had
happened—or rather, not happened, in her
apartment. At least she had had an orgasm this time, but even
though it was definitely the best one she’d ever had, she was still
pissed off. What was Connor Macleod’s problem? He wasn’t shy by any
stretch of the imagination. Nor was he hesitant about touching
her—and boy, oh boy, did he know how to
touch her. Impotence wasn’t a factor either. He’d had a hell of an
impressive erection that made her core clench just thinking about
it.
“So why the goddamn disappearing act?”
she muttered crossly, rubbing her throbbing leg as she struggled to
think. If Connor wasn’t interested in her, then why seek her out to
apologize in the first place? Or why be so angry at the bruise on
her arm from that asshole reporter? For that matter, why would he
be upset that she’d briefly imagined a wolf’s face when she looked
at him? If he really wasn’t into her, that should have been the
perfect excuse to back away. Just leave the crazy
lady alone. . . .
No, he’d had ample opportunity to walk
away and he hadn’t. Zoey didn’t need any psychic gifts to tell her
that Connor cared, that he had feelings for her. She was sure of it
and sure of what she’d seen in his face when she’d suggested the
dance, sure of what she’d felt in his touch. She didn’t know what
Connor’s problem was, but she was so going
to hunt him down and find out!
Her leg still hurt like hell—and just
what was that all about?—but she managed to
limp around the house to the backyard. She leaned on a planting
bench and scanned the crowd for Connor under the glowing strings of
patio lanterns that crisscrossed the yard. Instead she caught sight
of an enormous canine shape as it made an impossible leap over the
wall of lilacs. Terror jammed her heart into her throat and she
couldn’t have shouted a warning if there’d been time. Tumult
erupted as the creature landed inside the yard and ran through the
party. Someone screamed. People turned to look, some tripped trying
to get out of the way and others were knocked down as the huge wolf
raced around the yard with snarling, snapping jaws. Jessie’s
normally placid dog exploded with primal rage and lunged for the
intruder, but the wolf was far too fast.
She knew, knew,
it was coming for her but running had suddenly become impossible.
The pain in her leg was now overriding everything, even adrenaline.
Slowly she sank to the ground, fighting to stay conscious above the
agony, fighting even to draw a breath, yet her fingers walked along
the grass and closed over a fallen garden trowel just as the wolf
reached the end of the far walkway. It wheeled and headed straight
toward her.
Her vision faltered, grayed as she
struggled to kneel on her good leg, holding the trowel in front of
her with both hands. Then the sudden clarity of the doomed kicked
in and she could see everything in vivid detail. The hellish green
light in the creature’s eyes, the grizzled and scarred muzzle, the
gleam on its long pointed teeth—
Just as she expected the wolf to leap
and sink those terrible teeth into her, something knocked her flat.
For a moment she couldn’t see, then realized something dark and
massive was blocking her view. Her eyes gradually made out a
pattern, a familiar pattern, black on silver . . . . She couldn’t
even scream as the realization hit her. The saddleback wolf from
her dreams was standing over her.
With nerveless fingers she felt for the
trowel, even though she knew she’d be dead before she could raise
it, but the new wolf didn’t even glance at her. All its attention
was on its gray opponent, and its black lips peeled back from long
white teeth. Zoey’s own teeth began to chatter as a deep warning
growl resonated from the creature and vibrated into her very bones.
Without warning it sprang forward with a horrific roar. The gray
wolf wheeled and ran.
The crowd dove out of the way of the
pursued and the pursuer. Zoey saw the wolves clear the back gate
and disappear into the darkness as strong hands slipped beneath her
and lifted her from the grass.