Werewolf in the North Woods (18 page)

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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

BOOK: Werewolf in the North Woods
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“What reason would I have to lie about this?”
She scooped up the last of her stew and paused before putting the spoon in her mouth. “Oh, gee, let me think. Because you neglected to bring condoms on this trip and you belatedly realized you’d like to get in my pants?”
“Okay, don’t believe me.” He shrugged. “You’re probably right that we shouldn’t have sex.”
“I am right.”
“Besides, it could turn out to be bad sex, and how awkward would that be? We’d still have to finish this Sasquatch project and hang out with each other while knowing we’d had bad sex. Better to have no sex than bad sex, don’t you think?”
She should know better than to debate anything with a man who obviously had an IQ that was off the charts. “I’ll make this one comment, and then I’ll suggest a new topic of conversation.”
“Okay.” He gazed at her with obvious amusement.
“Damn it, we wouldn’t have bad sex, Roarke, and you know it. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me and make me want to prove that sex between us would be exceptional. Which it would be.”
His green eyes gleamed with triumph. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Yet you’re willing to give it up because you doubt what I’ve told you. You once admitted that you know nothing about werewolves and want to learn, but now when I tell you something significant, you refuse to believe it’s true.”
Electricity hummed through her body and she had the urge to lean toward him. She imagined that if she did, she’d hear the buzzing sound of connections made and the snap of sparks generated. He was part magician, and she was in danger of falling under his spell.
“As promised, I’m introducing a new topic,” she said. “How was your run through the woods?”
“You really don’t want to talk about sex anymore?”
“No.”
He gazed into her eyes. “Abby, you’re right. You and I couldn’t have bad sex. It would be very, very good. Let’s try it.”
“No!” She put her hands over her ears. “Women are ruined every day by sweet-talking men. You may be a werewolf some of the time, but mostly you’re a guy blessed with the kind of body that makes women weep with longing. And I’m not going to fall victim to—”
“Weep with longing? Really?” He looked quite pleased about that comment. “Do you?”
“Not so you’d notice. I have my pride.”
“But if we were Trobriand Islanders . . .”
“All right, Roarke. If we were Trobriand Islanders, you could screw my brains out. Happy, now?”
“No, because we’re in a cave outside of Portland, which leaves me with nothing to do.”
“Not quite.” She grinned at him. “We could play Hangman.”
 
After five games, Roarke was down three-two and had a growing respect for Abby’s word skills. His only excuse for losing involved his preoccupation with Abby’s breasts. And her mouth, and the nape of her neck, and her cute butt. And always, always, her special scent.
At times he’d catch her looking at him with undisguised lust in her eyes, and he’d imagine that he was wearing her down. She might deny that she wanted him, but the aroma of arousal swirled in the air, giving her away.
Then, just as he’d begin to think he had a chance, her jaw would firm and her eyes would flash, and he’d despair that she’d never get naked with him again. Sadly, she had nothing to fear, but he hadn’t told her that in the beginning, and now she thought he was playing her for a fool.
He wouldn’t ever do that. And he wanted her so desperately that he could taste it, and he could certainly smell it. Finally he decided to play dirty and make her think about sex whether she cared to or not. She wouldn’t want to guess the word
orgasm
, but unless she did, she’d lose the next game.
When she guessed the
a
, he had a feeling she knew what he’d chosen. The
o
pretty much clinched it.
She sent him a reproachful glance. “No fair.”
“All’s fair in sex and war.”
“You’re misquoting. It’s ‘All’s fair in love and war.’ ”
“Yeah, I know. I was trying to be cute.”
She faced him, her blue eyes accusing. “That’s the thing about you, Roarke. You twist things around to suit you, and then you expect me to trust what you tell me just because you say so.”
So much for being cute. He had an uphill battle and he wasn’t doing himself any favors, apparently. He decided on a more direct approach.
“Abby, if I made you pregnant, our baby might inherit my ability to shift. Because of that possibility, not to mention my duties as the father of our child, we’d be tied together for years even though we’d made no commitment to each other. Pregnancy without commitment violates Were law and it’s the very reason casual sex with a Were can’t result in pregnancy. It’s a survival mechanism.”
She took a deep breath. “Let’s finish this round.” She proceeded to guess the other letters and won the round. The word chalked on the wall in front of them blazed with unrealized potential.
Roarke took a chance and ran a finger lightly up and down her arm. It was the first time he’d touched her since coming back into the cave after his run. “I’m telling you the truth, Abby.”
She continued to face the wall where they’d been creating their Hangman games, but a slight tremble revealed that his touch had affected her. “You’re a complicated man, Roarke. Or I should say, a complicated
being
.” She turned to him. “You’re not exactly a man, are you?”
“I am at this moment. I’m a man who desperately wants to make love with you.”
Heat flashed in her blue eyes. “I’m not exactly immune to you, either, as you well know. But you came into town prepared to destroy my grandfather’s confidence in his sighting, even though you knew it was legitimate. You cherry-pick the information you give me about werewolves. The fact is, you don’t completely trust me, so why should I trust you?”
He sighed. “That’s a fair question.” He continued softly stroking her arm, unwilling to break that fragile connection. “Werewolves don’t trust easily. We’re taught to be suspicious of humans, and loyalty to the pack supersedes every consideration. Because we rise and fall together, that applies to any pack.”
“Including the Gentrys.” She said the name with distaste.
“Yes. The Dooleys’ presence has threatened the Gentrys with discovery from day one. There’s the overlook that provides an excellent view of their property, and then there’s been the preoccupation with Bigfoot. Earl’s sighting had the potential to destroy all hope of privacy for the Gentry pack and put them in grave danger of being exposed as werewolves.”
“I have a hard time working up any sympathy for them. They have money. They could move.”
“True, but once a werewolf family settles on a property, they truly take possession of it in the deepest sense. Uprooting a pack causes great distress. That’s why they’ve put their efforts into obtaining Dooley land.”
“By making Grandpa Earl out to be a doddering old fool.”
Roarke cleared his throat. “Sorry, but yes. And although I may disagree with their methods, I’m pledged to help as best I can. If the Gentrys are exposed, there will be a domino effect throughout the packs in North America, and eventually throughout the world.”
“So my grandfather, who’s never in his life intended to harm anyone or anything, unknowingly put every werewolf at risk?”
Roarke brushed her cheek with his thumb. “That pretty much sums it up.”
“Let me ask you again: Is he in any danger?”
“And let me say it again. He’s not in danger because he has no idea werewolves exist. In this case, there’s safety in ignorance.”
“But I know they exist.”
He held her gaze. “As I’ve mentioned before, I will protect you with my life.”
“And as I’ve said before, that’s impossible.”
He smiled and dared to cup her face in both hands. “You really don’t believe a thing I say, do you?”
Her voice softened. “I want to, Roarke.”
Hope stirred within him. “You do?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Believing you would mean I could feel safe.”
“That’s all you want? A feeling of safety?”
“Well, not
all.
”
Excitement thrummed in his veins. She was yielding. “Then believe me, Abby. Believe
in
me. Know that I would never cause you harm.”
She smiled, and her eyes spoke of surrender. “You’re a very persuasive guy, Professor Wallace.”
Slowly he drew nearer until his lips were almost touching hers. “Welcome to the Trobriand Islands,” he murmured. Then he kissed her.
She caught fire instantly, grasping his head in both hands and deepening the kiss. He wound both arms around her and hauled her into his lap. Wasting no time, she positioned her knees on either side of his hips and neatly aligned all her significant parts with his.
He groaned as she wiggled closer and rubbed against his cock. In response, it strained to be released from bondage. No doubt they could both come without removing a stitch of clothing. Rocking against each other would do the trick. But he wasn’t about to settle for that, especially when so little material separated them.
Foreplay had its place, but this wasn’t it. She welcomed the thrust of his tongue with a whimper that told him exactly what she wanted from him. And he was only too happy to comply.
When he began peeling down her stretchy Lycra pants and her underwear, she stretched out her leg and helped him with the process. After he’d worked one leg free, he didn’t worry about the rest of the undressing routine. He had what he needed—direct access.
Sliding his arm under her bottom, he urged her to lift up so he could shove down the elastic waist of both his sweats and his briefs. His erect cock stood at attention, ready to seek her heat.
Cupping her bottom in both hands, he guided her into position and then . . .
ahh
. Heavenly contact. Grasping her hips, he kept the descent gradual so he could savor her slick, tight welcome, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils, and her low moan of pleasure filling his ears. A moment so long anticipated shouldn’t be rushed.
And she felt so damned right to him. He should be worried about that, because she wasn’t right for him at all. But this glorious sensation of sliding toward her womb was too wonderful for him to be worried about anything. His heart beat joyously, flooding him with a sense of homecoming. Unwarranted, obviously, but he would enjoy now and question later.
When her thighs rested on his and she’d taken all of him, when they were as intimately joined as any two creatures could be, he lifted his lips from hers and drew back to look into her eyes. He knew what he wanted to see there, but he might be asking for too much.
She gazed back at him, her eyes dark with sexual excitement. He’d expected that, but his heart filled with joy when he saw more than excitement in those blue depths. He saw trust.
If that trust had been missing, they still would have had sex. He wasn’t that noble. But if he’d won her on sexual magnetism alone, he would have felt more like a seducer than a lover.
Her soft breath caressed his face, and he closed his eyes to better enjoy being surrounded by her body and her scent.
“You look happy,” she murmured.
He opened his eyes. “I can’t imagine being happier.”
“Oh, I can.” Rising up a fraction, she settled back down while holding his gaze. Then she tightened around him.
The easy friction and brief squeeze sent shock waves through his system. “I stand corrected.” He stroked her hips and thighs. “You can do that again if you want.”
“Oh, I want.” Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she initiated a slow rhythm, all the while keeping her attention on his face. “Do you like that?”
“You have no idea how much.” His hands loosely bracketed her hips because he loved feeling her move beneath his fingertips, but he didn’t want to control those movements. He wanted her to direct the action. He suspected when she was finished with this directing job, he’d want to give her an Oscar for it.
“How about this?” Instead of pumping up and down, she rotated her pelvis.
It was a wonder his eyes didn’t roll back in his head. They might have except he was concentrating on watching her eyes, which had become heavy-lidded with banked passion. Under her shirt, her breasts quivered with her rapid breathing.
He wanted to see. “Lift up your arms.” When she complied, he pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it away. One flick of his fingers unhooked the back fastening of her bra, and that was quickly gone, too.
“Your turn.”
He put his arms up and she yanked off his T-shirt. Then she flattened her palms against his chest. He realized at that moment that although he’d touched her quite a bit, she hadn’t spent much time touching him. And he liked the way she touched him.

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