Wolf at the Door (12 page)

Couldn’t he smell the arousal in the air? She
sure as hell could. Then his eyes darkened to a rich mocha and his
nostrils flared. Aware. A grin tugged at her lips when he froze, as
if suddenly unsure of himself or what to do. But there was no
getting around what she wanted to do.

“Can’t sleep.” Her voice was husky, a low
vibration she couldn’t ever remember making before. She hadn’t been
a virgin when Charles found her, but she couldn’t remember ever
wanting someone with the intensity that burned through her every
time she looked at Brandt on her couch.

His chest rose, slow and steady, but she
could feel his restraint across the room. She took a step toward
him, and when he didn’t move, she took another, and another. Her
legs were wobbly, but it didn’t stop her from crossing the distance
between them until she was standing next to him, her body close
enough that all he had to do was reach out and touch her.

“Timber.” Her name was nothing more than soft
breath, barely audible, but she sank to her knees next to him.

The muscles in his chest jumped under her
hand when she touched him. One kiss hadn’t been nearly enough. She
wanted his lips on hers again, wanted to feel his hands gripping
her and dragging her on top of him, but she couldn’t bring herself
to ask. Her hand skimmed over his chest, and she leaned in and
pressed her lips to his. A soft, subtle touch, more a plea than
anything else. Please.

***

Jesus
. Brandt groaned when Timber
leaned into him, her hands cupping his shoulders, holding him
close. Shit, he knew he needed to pull away, to restore the
vanishing distance between them. He was supposed to protect her,
not sleep with her. But when the tip of her tongue touched the seam
of his lips, he wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her
half on top of him.

Her right breast pressed against his chest,
only the thin, flimsy fabric of her night shirt between her skin
and his. Her right nipple was a hard, tight little bud, and
whatever logic Brandt had left drained right out of his head. He
grabbed her hair with one hand and kissed her back. The need to
taste every inch of her, consume her, roared through him. His
tongue stroked deeper, exploring, conquering. It went from sweet
and seductive to possessive in an instant.

There was no backing down, no letting her go.
He tightened his grip on her and nipped at her bottom lip, only to
feel her squirm against him. Eager. Responding. She wanted him. He
could smell the arousal on her skin, taste her desire, feel it in
the heat that warmed him. And, damn, but he wasn’t a strong enough
man to stop.

Curling one hand under the curve of her butt,
he hefted her up until she was sitting on him, her thighs
straddling his hips. The sweet heat of her pressed against his
erection, and Brandt broke the kiss on a strangled gasp.

“Timber?”

“Please.” She leaned in to kiss him again,
and Brandt slid his fingers through her hair to cup the edge of her
jaw, holding her there. He wanted this. Wanted
her
. Once
they started, nothing could stop them. But it had to be Timber in
his arms, willing and eager, wanting him for
him
, not
wanting to escape a nightmare or a memory.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be used, but
if he was going to complicate things further, he needed all of her,
not just the part who wanted to forget.

She arched her hips, sliding her seam along
his erection and Brandt clasped her thigh, doing his best to hold
her still. “Are you sure?”

A hint of a smile toyed around her lips. It
wasn’t sad, not like when she was fighting back a memory. No, the
hint of amusement that coaxed its way across her face was soft.
“Oh, yeah,” she said softly. “You game?”

She slid the flat of her hand down his
stomach only to dip her fingers between them, encountering the tip
of his erection now poking out of his boxers. Brandt hissed at the
contact.

Shit. Brandt damn near bucked as she stroked
lightly between them, her hand riding up to rub herself, then down
to roll her knuckles against the hard length of his dick.

“We shouldn’t,” he ground out, voice
rough.

In answer she pulled away and for a moment
Brandt thought she was giving in. Fuck, he didn’t think he was
strong enough for that. If she walked away now he wasn’t sure he’d
make it until morning. Then her hands wrapped around the hem of her
shirt and she began to pull it up. It rode up over her thighs
giving him a look at the thin blue panties she wore, then higher,
exposing the smooth expanse of her belly, the small dimple of her
belly button.

She paused at her ribs and for a moment he
saw the flicker of unease in her eyes. It was her hesitation that
nearly broke him. As much as he wanted her, Brandt didn’t want this
without getting everything. She had to be with him a hundred
percent, or this wouldn’t be worth it. Maybe it wasn’t just about
the job...fuck, he didn’t know. All he knew was, if he was going to
have Timber, he was going to have all of her.

She’d be his. Completely.

“I need you to be sure, Timber,” he
murmured.

There was that flicker of a smile again. “I
am.”

Brandt skimmed his hands up her sides and
watched her shiver. Beautiful. Everything about her was exquisite,
perfect.

“Then why are you hesitating?” Her tongue
danced out over her lips, leaving them moist, and Brandt wanted to
drag her down for another kiss, but they had to finish this first.
“If you were sure—”

Timber shook her head. “I haven’t...” Her jaw
tightened for a moment. “Since Charles. No one has seen—” She broke
off and leaned down to press her lips against his, her shirt
dropped back down along her sides. Her hands found his and she slid
them under her shirt. One hand bumped the soft underside of her
breast, the other found the small, ridged bump of an old scar. “I’m
not perfect, remember?”

Understanding and empathy swamped him, along
with the anger. He wanted Wolfe to pay for that, would make sure he
did, but right now the only thing that mattered was making sure
Timber saw her beauty the same way he did. A missing breast didn’t
matter to him. Scars didn’t faze him. Brandt moved slowly, cradling
her until he pressed her back into the couch, his body stretched
out on top of hers.

“I’ve never met anyone more perfect.” He
nudged her shirt up, exposing her belly again. There was a slight
roundness to it, a sensual curve made to tempt a man’s hands. He
stroked her skin, then nuzzled and licked gently around her navel.
“You’re strong.”

Her shirt rode higher and he kissed her ribs,
his teeth nipping over the sensitive skin. Her body tensed beneath
him, arching with desire, but he could feel the reluctance there,
too. She was braced, just waiting for him to pull back or to
flinch.

His hands slid higher, and her right breast
came into view at the same time as the thin white scar across the
left side of her chest. Brandt stared down at her. Soft and full on
one side, a beautiful, flat memory of her strength on the other.
“Brave,” he whispered and leaned down to kiss the scar. He felt her
jump at the touch, her breath suddenly shaky. His tongue stroked
over the hard line, tasting the salt of her skin, and he hoped like
hell it was driving away her fear. He tilted his head back so that
he could look her in the eye. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Then his hand found the swell of her right
breast, his thumb rolling over the hard point of her nipple while
he kissed the scar again. “Two breasts don’t make someone perfect,
Timber. What’s in their heart, their soul, that’s what does
it.”

He rose up to capture her lips with his,
their tongues tangling. Her hands framed his face, holding him
tight, and she kissed him back. There was an openness in the way
her tongue sparred with his, a relief, and Brandt found himself
grinning while he kissed her, and her lips curved in a sensual
smile in return. “Thank you,” she whispered when she pulled
away.

“I didn’t lie, Timber. Nothing Charles or
anyone else could ever do to you would make you less than who you
are. Not to me. You dragged yourself from the ashes and believe me,
there’s nothing more beautiful than a phoenix rising.”

He gazed down at her, his eyes exploring
every inch of the woman beneath him. A phoenix. Timber burned more
brightly, more beautifully, than anyone he’d ever known. She’d been
through hell and she’d broken free. A part of her had shattered,
and now she was re-finding herself, re-making herself. That took
strength, and a courage he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Chapter Twelve

Timber
stared up at him, her heart aching. There was such kindness in his
eyes, such honesty, she knew he wasn’t lying and yet, to know he
saw her as beautiful, even with an ugly gash across her chest,
wasn’t something she’d even considered. She hadn’t thought about it
at all until she began to strip and all her fears came clawing back
to the surface.

In minutes Brandt had managed to erase every
one of them.

Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, but
she didn’t want to ruin this precious moment. She didn’t want to
stop. He was right, they probably shouldn’t do it, but it didn’t
change the fact that she wanted him. Not just the body, she wanted
the man who saw further into her than she saw into herself. Timber
skimmed her fingers down the edge of his cheeks. “Then stop
stalling.” She rose up and nipped his jaw. Her lips brushed the
edge of his ear. “Fuck me.”

The words should have sounded dirty, but they
didn’t. Instead they lit every nerve of hers on fire. Delicious
heat unfurled low and her body throbbed, aching for his touch. But
just in case he hesitated, still worrying that she might not be
sure, Timber reached down and trailed her fingertips along his
stomach, following the thin line of hair to the waist of his
boxers.

Brandt’s breath hissed out of him as she
found the tip of his dick. His hips jerked, and Brandt bent his
head to rest against her neck, sucking in a hard breath. “Not
fair,” he whispered.

Timber kissed his shoulder. “You want this or
not?”

“God, yes.” He pulled back, reached for the
boxers still clinging to his hips when he froze.

Timber made a low, frustrated sound in her
throat, right before she heard it too. A thin, distant howl split
through the night silence outside. Quiet at first, but it was
building, growing louder. Closer? Her body went cold, icy panic
whirling through her, eating right through the desire that had been
there a moment ago. She jerked up, but her eyes sought Brandt. He
was already moving, hauling on a pair of jeans. He winced as he
shoved his erection inside and pulled up the zipper. He reached for
his gun and locked his gaze with hers, jaw hard. “Stay here.”

Charles. Timber squeezed her eyes closed. A
scream built in her throat, frustrated and angry, until she felt
Brandt’s hand brush her temple. She looked up at him. The man
staring down at her wasn’t the soft lover he’d been a moment ago. A
cold edge had invaded his eyes, all Hound. All business.

No doubt kicking himself for overstepping his
bounds.

But as he pulled away, Timber still wanted
him.

Brandt checked his gun. “Lock yourself
somewhere safe and stay here. Understood?”

“Yes.” The word came out hoarse, uneasy.
Desire and fear warred within her. Her body couldn’t decide what it
wanted more—to finish what they’d started, or to fall into the
familiar panic attack that struck her every time her nightmares
resurfaced.

Then Brandt was gone, the door closing behind
him, and Timber was alone. This time the fear didn’t overcome her
and drive her to her knees. This time she sprang into action. She
lunged for the door, locking it after him. Then she scooped her
clothes off the floor and dressed. Warm air grazed her thighs, a
distant memory of his touch, and a growl snaked out of her
then.

Damn Charles. He couldn’t even let her alone
for one fucking night.

As if the nightmares he’d left behind weren’t
enough, he’d found her again. And now, for the first time, she’d
felt normal again, and the bastard had ruined that, too.

Timber snatched Brandt’s sweats from the top
of his duffel bag and pulled them on. She refused to wander the
house without pants right now, but she didn’t want to go upstairs.
The house felt exposed, empty, and she wanted to keep her escape
options open. If Charles came for her, she wanted to be able to run
and fight, not have to jump out a two-story window.

Not only that, she wanted a weapon in her
hand, in case he managed to get in while Brandt was out there
looking for him. Her palms itched with the memory of their target
practice, longing to have a gun back in their grasp.

She swallowed.

A knife just didn’t do. It let Charles get
too close and, as much as she could hold her own against Brandt
now, she didn’t for a moment think she could stay so calm with
Charles on top of her.

“No. No! We’re not having these thoughts
right now.” She yanked a pair of knives out of the knife block in
her kitchen and gulped down a breath of air. “You are not going to
let him win.”

When she spoke, she sounded foreign, calm,
but it stopped the roar of panic that threatened to overtake her.
Everything up until now had been about running. About making sure
Charles couldn’t find her again—both in reality and in her
nightmares. Running hadn’t worked. Hiding hadn’t worked. It was
time to fight.

Because she’d be damned if she’d allow him to
keep ruining her life.

Her phone rang, vibrating across the kitchen
table while she stared at it. Numb again.

She didn’t have to look at the screen to know
who it was. Closing her eyes for a brief second, she set one knife
on the table and picked up the phone. Her stomach twisted. She
could ignore it, but that’d be hiding, especially when he might say
something she could use. Say something Brandt could use.