What a Wolf Wants (Black Hills Wolves Book 2) (3 page)

No sooner did her thought form than Saja’s teeth began to clack together. Either she was in shock or the warmth of the room was enough to make her body realize how cold it was. At the first snap of her teeth, Ryker spun around to look at her. Dark, dark eyes gleaming in the growing firelight arrested her attention.

Facts, Lyons. Just the facts. We’re in the middle of freaking nowhere, so either he’s a gruff Grizzly Adams kind of hermit or a Unabomber lunatic
.

“You’re cold.” The low, baritone growl sliding along the underside of the words was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. Hell, if he’d dipped the words in chocolate and fed them to her while lounging naked together in a sunny glade, she couldn’t have found them sexier.

Dipped his words in chocolate?
“What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t think in porn-filled metaphors.”

Ryker raked her with another look, leaving her panties even damper and her nipples stiffening so hard, they could probably crack ice themselves.
That’s the cold
. Kneeling down in front of her, he grabbed one of her legs then reached for her shoes.

“Oh, no you don’t.” She tried to jerk her foot out of his grasp but went nowhere. His large, broad hand shackled her ankle, keeping it exactly where it had been before.

Digging her hands into the arms of the chair, she grunted, pulling and pulling…nothing. Scowling, she jerked back her other leg in an attempt to kick him only to have her other ankle shackled as well.

As immovable as his grip seemed, he wasn’t hurting her. The weight of his stare held her as captive as the hands on her ankles, leaving her with no choice but to ask, “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he released the leg she’d tried to kick him with and stripped off her tennis shoe and, after it, the soaking-wet sock. Then he removed the other. Puzzled at the lack of feeling in her feet, she leaned forward, worrying less about the chipped condition of the nail polish, her utter lack of a recent pedicure, and more about the fact her skin was mottled and red.

Ryker squeezed her foot, but if she hadn’t seen his hands flexing, she wouldn’t have felt it.

“Um, I can’t really—” She choked off the rest as pins and needles the size of daggers thrust at her skin. “Ow. Ow.
Ow
!”

Yeah, she didn’t even bother to disguise the hurt. But he was relentless as he worked both her feet over until tears spilled down her face. When he finally released her, the respite was short-lived because he reached for the waistband of her jeans.

She slapped his hands. “Don’t you dare.”

The sniffling threat had little to no effect.

With an almost harried sigh, he gave her a long look. “You’re freezing and wet.”

“I’m also locked up in the crazy man’s cabin, thank you, Captain Obvious.” No sooner did she hurl the comment than she regretted it. Really, he hadn’t done anything threatening. “I’m sorry. I’d rather change my own clothes, though. So, if you’ll point me to your bathroom, I can do that.” Of course, he’d have to move because he took up all the space in front of her—unless he expected her to climb out of the chair.

“Warmer here.” He jerked a thumb toward the fire, which continued to burn merrily.

Once he’d mentioned the warmth, she realized she was leaning toward the fireplace because the rest of the place seemed almost as chilly as outside. It was also the only source of illumination in the room. Unlike her, Ryker wasn’t squinting.

“Fair enough, but you can excuse yourself. I’ll change without an audience. Then I’ll be a far more gracious guest.” If he’d give her five minutes, she’d call the state highway patrol to see if they could come get her. No need to wear out her welcome after all.

With a graceful shrug, Ryker rose. Once again, she was struck by his size. He circled the chair. She twisted to follow his progress. Instead of leaving the room, he merely walked into what looked like a kitchen, though the appliances were another anachronism. They looked like they belonged in the 1950s. He filled a kettle with water from a hand pump.

Hand pump
.

Correction, maybe the appliances were a lot older.

Don’t be a judgmental bitch, Saja. Maybe he’s one of those preppers. Living exactly within his means
. During her masters studies, she’d lived in an underground bunker for three months with a family who only “surfaced” every six months or so to add to their stock. They and several other families had developed a network of resources. They used the Internet to keep tabs on the “real world” while also educating their children, maintaining social interactions, and more. It had fascinated her—the social demands enforced by such isolation.

A cabin in the woods was hardly an underground bunker, but from what she could see, he lived with very little excess. Tools hung on a wall near the door. The living area had only two chairs—the one she sat in and another one across from it. In fact, most of the room seemed to be an extension of the hearth, which was effectively half of the outer wall. The fireplace construction had to be solid because the room was warming rapidly as the stone heated.

“You’re not changing.” Ryker stood over her again.

She had to swallow a startled scream. How the hell had he moved so quietly?
So fast?

“You didn’t leave the room,” she defended her lack of action. She’d actually missed his presence, which was another item for the weird list. “I’m not really the exhibitionist type, though I did spend some time with South American tribe where the women were topless regularly. I also spent six months working as a stripper to compare the nature of nurturing among women in a field where their value is strictly based on their sexual prowess. But those were controlled research situations. Okay, well, not all that controlled, but the point is, they were strangers—which you are, too—but I wasn’t locked in some cabin with them, and really, you haven’t been anything but nice except for the part where you slapped my ass. That wasn’t especially nice.”

She paused to take a breath. Ryker hung the kettle from a hook in the hearth she hadn’t noticed before. After, he added more wood to the already roaring fire. The firelight played across the broad planes of his face, giving his mahogany skin a burnished look. He really was the perfect specimen of alpha male, from the economy of movement to the powerful build to the sheer strength of his features.

Nothing about him said “pretty,” but her hormones didn’t give a damn about pretty. Dangerous, provocative, and appealing—he probably had no problems getting other women out of their pants. Hell, she wanted to shuck hers right now.

Which was exactly why she planned to keep them on. Water trickled down her leg, and she yelped at the freezing chill. Ryker pivoted. Her earlier comparison to danger had nothing on the near-predatory expression on his face.

He scanned the room then zeroed in on her. “Change.”

A whole wealth of information rang beneath the single command. Like, he probably wouldn’t bother saying it to her again. Since he’d had no trouble running flat out with her over his shoulder or keeping her legs captive when he’d stripped off her shoes, she believed him.

Rising abruptly, she fumbled with the snap and zipper of her jeans. The denim clung to her clammy, cold skin. She struggled to roll them down. When she nearly toppled, the only thing to save her was Ryker’s grip on her arm. Her brain short-circuited at the raw need ripping through her—of course, he nudged her back into the chair and tugged her jeans off with casual ease.

Curling her toes, she tried to drag her legs up before he got any more of a good look at the pink, lacy panties she wore—or the fact that, like her jeans, they were damp, and not from the snow.
This is what I get for not shaving my legs this morning
….

The utterly inane thought crashed through her. She wasn’t prepared for the tug on her jacket or her shirt, but suddenly, she was sitting in nothing but her pink panties because her bra was in her purse. She’d pulled it off while driving.

Oh, crap
. Folding her arms, she hunched forward.

A blanket enveloped her. It smelled just like him—winter pine, crushed leaves, and good.

“Thank you,” she managed to eek out past her embarrassment. A brush of his knuckles down her cheek had her stealing a look up.

“Warm then dress.” He nudged the whole chair closer to the fire before scooping up her damp clothes.

“Thanks.” She snuggled deeper into the blanket. It took everything she had not to just press it to her nose and breathe in the scent. As potential backwoodsmen kidnappers went, Ryker wasn’t so bad. He’d not laid a finger on her other than to help—well, except for slapping her ass. He also hadn’t apologized for his stinging blow yet either.

He returned a few moments later with a plate and some cups. Before she knew it, she held a steaming mug of hot tea in one hand while he held up a cookie to her.

Seriously, tea and cookies?
She was half-naked…okay, completely naked with a stranger. He thought she would eat or drink what he offered her? She’d seen that movie. She had no desire to wake up chained in some basement somewhere never to be seen or heard from again.

When she made no move to eat or drink, he sighed so heavily she almost felt bad for being such trouble. Taking the mug from her hand, he took a long drink then ate the cookie—every bite—before picking up another. He offered the second to her.

“Do you promise you’re not going to hurt me?”
Because I’m sure you’re a man of honor, and your word is your bond. Really, Saja? Maybe he’s used to taking poison? Or it’s a trick. The first meal is free, the second has the sleeping drugs in it?
Still, that didn’t feel right either.

“No one will hurt you here.”

Maybe it was the intensity in his gaze that seemed to see all the way to her soul, or maybe it was the emphasis he put on the words, or maybe she’d gone all Stockholm in under an hour, but damn if she didn’t believe him.

“Ryker?”

“Yes?”

“Can I believe you?”

Honestly, she didn’t care about the cookie or the tea. If he’d wanted to rape her…. Well, hell, he’d already taken her gun and stripped her naked. It wasn’t like she could stop him. Still, dangerous wasn’t the vibe she got from him. Nothing in his actions said he meant her harm. Could he mean someone harm? Oh, yeah, that she had no trouble believing.

His shrug surprised the hell out of her. “No one will hurt you whether you believe me or not. Eat. Drink. Warm up.” Setting the cookie back on the plate, he made a fresh mug of the tea while letting her watch each part of the process. The tea smelled like tea. The cookies were looking better by the moment.

So was Ryker.

Whether in the big city or isolated in a dark part of the country, people observed rituals. His making tea and offering her food—the manner in which he’d looked after her—suggested some kind of importance.
Fuck it
. She was a trained anthropologist, but one thing her education had shown her repeatedly was that no matter what she knew or learned, the best judge of character she possessed was her gut.

Her gut said Ryker could be believed.

With a remarkably steady hand, she took the mug this time then looked at the cookie. Her other hand was a little busy keeping the blanket fisted closed. “Um….”

As if sensing where her thoughts went, he held the cookie up to her lips. She took a bite. It was a snickerdoodle.
Oh, my God
. It tasted as good as it looked. She closed her eyes in bliss. Vanilla mixed with cinnamon. Perfect. Washing it down with a sip of what turned out to be regular black-orange pekoe tea, she sighed. She glanced over at him, and her heart stuttered.

His fierce, implacable expression had softened with a smile.

Holy hell on a Triscuit
…. The man was beautiful when he smiled.

After eating four cookies as well as drinking all of the tea, his guest settled into the chair with a sigh. “I should really call someone about the car,” she mumbled.

The only time she didn’t speak was when she ate, drank, or he caught her staring at him. Curiosity flared in her eyes, an emotion she would abruptly try to disguise whenever he met the open questions in her gaze. What she couldn’t hide was the scent of her arousal—the invitation to his senses had grown steadily since they’d arrived at his cabin.

Outside, the howling wind redoubled in force. He didn’t need to glance through a window to know the full weight of the storm had arrived. The first of the winter season, it would blanket everything in a heavy pelt of snow. No traffic, no movement—no outsiders.

Except the one already here
. Fortunately, his cabin was nowhere near the ragged remains of Los Lobos. Full moon was still more than a week away. The pack would button down inside their homes. By the time the snow cleared, Ryker would be able to get the woman on her way.

Her silence gathered his attention. He turned from checking the fire to find her sound asleep. She’d burrowed into the blanket, curled her bare legs up under her, and pillowed her head against one of the thick arm cushions. Taking advantage of her stillness, he studied the dark sweep of her lashes and the tumble of nearly blue-black hair. He’d thought it was short until he’d tugged the jacket and shirt off her.

Most of her hair had been gathered back into a single band at the nape of her neck. Tendrils escaped to curl against her skin. The contrast told him how pale she truly was, but at least the ruddiness of the cold chapping her cheeks had begun to fade. Padding closer, he touched a finger to the curve of her jaw.

Warm
.

Sleeping, she didn’t exude so much nervous energy. Following her jawline, he traced a finger up to the shell of her ear then to the silky smoothness of her hair. It was thick and soft. Saja shifted, letting out a soft sigh. He stilled. Even asleep, the musk of her arousal lingered. This close he’d have to be dead not to notice.

The last time a female had shown any kind of interest in him had been…. He frowned. He couldn’t remember when—years not worth counting. Not that he could blame them. The females in the pack had a rough time under Magnum. After his mate died, something had broken in the Alpha. It had taken some too long to notice. Longer still to be able to do anything about it.