Wolfe Wedding (4 page)

Sandra was exhausted. Every muscle and nerve in her body quivered. She could hardly breathe. She felt drained, hot and wet. Cameron’s weight crushed her, pressing her into the damp sheet beneath her.

It was wonderful.

“Now…that’s. what I call…a greeting,” he said, between harsh gasps for breath. His tongue swept over her nipple, sending a shiver cascading through her. “And one spectacular way to begin a vacation.”

Startled by the instant response of her body to the caress of his lips, Sandra gasped and wriggled her
hips; his response was just as instantaneous. She felt the leap of life deep within her.

“Again?” Awe colored her tone, and surprise widened her eyes as she met the glittering gaze he fixed on her.

“Amazing, ain’t it?” Laughter, and more than a hint of masculine pride, threaded his voice. “Are you game for another gallop?”

“That depends on the inducements offered to me to ride,” she rejoined, laughing along with him.

“Suppose I say please?” he asked, but without giving her time to answer, he heaved himself up and over, hauling her with him.

Sandra found herself in the saddle—so to speak. “Please would be nice,” she said, drawing a moan from him by settling onto his hair-roughened thighs, and settling him firmly inside her.

“Please, Sandra,” he said, retaliating by arching high off the bed, thrusting deeply into her. “Ride with me into the fires of ecstasy.”

Before many more moments elapsed, it was Sandra who was crying “Please” and “More” and “Hurry” and then “Oh, Cameron, Cameron!”

S
andra surfaced from a light doze to the tingling sensation of long fingers combing through her hair.

She curled closer to the man beside her, to press her lips to his chest.

The combing fingers stilled. The chest beneath her parted lips expanded.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Cameron’s warm breath ruffled her hair, and her pulse.

“S’okay,” she mumbled, in a voice still slurred by sleep. She yawned, and felt a tremor ripple through him from the movement of her mouth against his skin. “It’s chilly in here.” Sandra shivered,
then frowned. “Where is that cool air coming from?”

“I’m afraid we left the front door wide open,” he said, moving away from her to first pull the comforter over her trembling body, then roll off the bed. “I guess I’d better go shut it before we find ourselves sharing the place with little forest critters.”

The possibility held very little appeal for Sandra. “Critters?” she yelped, tossing back the comforter and springing to her feet. “What kind of critters?” she cried, scurrying about to find her robe.

“Oh, squirrels, andraccoons, and skunks, and. maybe a snake or two.”

Turned away from him, she didn’t see the devilish gleam in his eyes, but she couldn’t miss the laughter threaded through his voice. Even so, she responded to his teasing bait.

“Snakes!” She whipped around to stare at him in abject horror. “Do you really think—?”

“No, of course not,” Cameron quickly interrupted to reassure her. “I was only teasing.”

“Teasing? You, you—” She burst out laughing, while trying to sound angry. Unsuccessful at her attempt to appear incensed, she threw her robe at him.

Laughing with her, and nimbly stepping out of the line of fire, Cameron made a hasty retreat from the room.

He should have looked ludicrous, trotting through the doorway as naked as a newborn, Sandra mused, staring after him. But he didn’t. Quite the contrary, she realized. To her eyes, he appeared utterly natural, in his element, breathtaking and magnificent.

The Lone Wolfe.

Sandra shivered; her reaction owed nothing to the chill in the spring air.

“Is it safe for me to come in?” Cameron called from the hallway. “Or are you clothing-armed and to be assumed dangerous?”

“I’m unarmed, Officer,” she called back, suppressing an urge to giggle like a teenager. She felt good—wonderful. No, glorious, more vibrantly alive than she had ever felt before. “And I’m escaping into the shower,” she went on in sudden inspiration. “You won’t catch me, Copper.”

Cameron burst into the room like a member of a SWAT team on a raid, immediately assuming the position, legs apart, knees slightly bent, arms extended straight out in front of him, hands clasped, as if around the butt of a revolver.

Sandra’s expression of wide-eyed surprise was unfeigned; Cameron’s appearance, buck naked, in that familiar stance, was more than surprising, it
was flat-out hilarious. She clapped a hand over her lips to contain her laughter.

“Don’t move, lady,” he ordered, in a low, menacing voice. “I’ve got you covered.”

“Not yet,” she responded, laughing through her spread fingers. “But I do have hopes in that regard.”

Cameron’s blue eyes glittered with sheer devilment. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into protective custody.” He indicated the bathroom with a quick movement of his head. “In there, lady.”

“Whatever you say, Officer.” Tossing aside the nightshirt she’d pulled from a drawer along with her robe, which she’d been holding in front of her nude body, Sandra started toward the bathroom in a sashaying stroll. Glancing back over her shoulder, she gave him a smoldering look and a throaty invitation. “Walk this way.”

“Well, if you insist,” he said doubtfully. “But I’m going to look pretty silly.” Lowering his arms, he straightened and crossed the room to her, mimicking her hip-swaying stroll.

Sandra lost it.

So did Cameron.

Roaring in laughter, he swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom, there to indulge in what she would later decide was probably
the longest shower on record, possibly in history.

She reveled in every minute of it.

“That was wonderful.” Sandra patted her lips with a paper napkin, then dropped it onto her empty plate.

Several hours had elapsed since their showerlovemaking marathon. Long spears of lateafternoon sunlight lent a mellow glow to the room.

After an energy-restoring nap, they had dressed, picked up their clothing from the living room floor, unloaded and unpacked his gear, then headed for the kitchen for much-needed sustenance.

Cameron had insisted on preparing the repast.

“Thank you, ma’am. I aim to please.” He grinned at her over the rim of his coffee cup.

“No, I’m serious,” she said. “That western omelet was perfect, golden brown outside, creamy inside. You really are a very good cook.”

“Thanks again,” he said quietly, setting the cup on the table. “But I owe it all to my teacher.”

Sandra’s eyes widened in surprise. “You went to a cooking school?”

“No.” Cameron shook his head, dislodging a lock of hair as golden brown as the omelet had been. “My teacher was a mother who firmly believed that being born a male did not excuse a child from lessons in the basics of domesticity.” His
quick, soft chuckle was threaded with loving remembrance. “She insisted that her sons be housebroken.”

“Sons?” Sandra asked, suddenly realizing how very little she knew about him, this Lone Wolfe who was now her lover. “How many are there?”

“Four.” He pushed back his chair and got up to walk to the countertop. Sliding the glass carafe from the heating plate of the coffeemaker, he returned to refill their cups. “I’m the eldest.”

“Four sons,” she murmured in awe, absently lifting her cup to take a careful sip of the hot liquid. “The mere thought of raising four boys is daunting.”

Cameron laughed, and began collecting dishes and cutlery. “Believe me, it would have taken a lot more than us kids to daunt my mother.”

Sounds formidable, Sandra mused—a veritable shining example of the traditional wife and mother, old-fashioned and outdated now, but fondly recalled, if Cameron’s expression was anything to judge by. The total opposite of her own mother, she ruminated, rising to help him clear the table. Her mother had been a career woman to the oval tips of her fingernails. She’d been forced into an early retirement a few years ago, due to a heart condition—which, thankfully, was not life-threatening-and probably would have gone into a decline if
faced with the very thought of taking on the role of housewife and mother to four children.

“At present, she’s eagerly looking forward to whipping her grandchildren into shape.”

Cameron’s laconic remark ended Sandra’s introspective reverie.

“How many grandchildren are there?” she asked, looking away from the flow of water churning the detergent into a mound of bubbles in the sink.

“None.” He moved his shoulders in a light shrug, then grabbed a dish towel from a wall-mounted hook in readiness. “That’s why she’s so eager. But she believes that now, at long last, she has reason to hope.” He took the dripping plate she handed him and applied the towel as if he were an old hand at the chore.

Sandra finished rinsing the second plate and frowned as she handed it to him. “Why?” She shook her head, confused. “I mean, why does your mother now believe there’s reason to hope for grandchildren?”

“Because my youngest brother, Jake, is getting married in June.” He laughed. “It’s kinda funny. The lastborn of Maddy’s sons will be the first one to marry.”

“All four of you are still single?” The dishes done, she moved to wipe the table.

“Yes, at least for a little while yet.” He tossed the damp towel adroitly onto the hook. “I may be reading it all wrong, but something tells me things are heating up between my other two brothers, Eric and Royce, and their respective ladies.” He grinned at her; she felt the effects to the tingling soles of her bare feet. “I believe my mother’s thinking along the same lines,” he explained. “She sounded suspiciously smug when I talked to her early this morning.”

“Do you talk to your mother often?” she asked, thinking about her twice-monthly, insubstantial telephone chats with her own mother.

“At least once a week.” He paused, then shrugged. “When I can.”

Sandra didn’t require further explanation; she understood the demands of his profession.

“That’s nice,” she murmured, meaning it. But then she flashed a teasing smile at him. “You’re a good and considerate son.”

His own smile flashed; it had a wolfish look. “I’m good at a lot of things.” Appearing deceptively lazy, he strolled to her. “Exciting things.”

“Really?” Concealing a sizzling inner response behind an expression of wide-eyed innocence, Sandra watched with mounting anticipation as he closed in on her.

“Hmmm.” Cameron came to a halt with his chest just brushing her already tingling breasts. His
eyes were dark, hooded, sultry. “You need more proof?”

“Much more proof and I’ll probably die from intense ecstasy,” she said breathlessly.

“Yeah, but, as the old saying claims,” he whispered, slowly rubbing his chest against the hardening tips of her breasts, “what a way to go.”

Sandra could barely breathe; she couldn’t think of anything at all—except for the riot of erotic images seducing her mind and thoughts.

“Wanna go with me?” His voice was so low, she could hardly hear him, but still she understood, understood and responded, almost violently, to the sexy intonation in his voice.

“To…to the bed?” Silly question.

“The bed. The couch. The floor.” He made a quick hand gesture. “The kitchen table.”

She blinked. “I’ve never made love on a kitchen table. I’ve heard of it, of cour—Oh!” she softly exclaimed as he deposited her on top of the table.

“I’ll be happy to expand your experience,” he said, unfastening her jeans and tugging them down, over her hips. Within seconds, her jeans and panties were lying in a heap on the floor, and his jeans and briefs were bunched somewhere around his knees.

Sandra sucked in a breath as Cameron moved into position between her thighs; in comparison to
his aroused body, the table didn’t seem nearly as hard as it had moments before.

Bending over her, he tormented her into readiness for him with his body and his mouth.

Sandra moaned, deep in her throat, when his teeth gently raked her aching nipple and the tip of his manhood nudged against her mound.

Hot and moist, eager to again experience the thrill of feeling him inside her, filling her, Sandra raised her hips, inviting his possession.

There was an instant’s pause, the rustle of clothes as he kicked free of his jeans, the sound of tearing foil, then a murmured curse from Cameron.

Reaching out, Sandra stroked his hips, his tautly muscled buttocks and thighs.

Cameron shuddered in response, then plunged, deep, straight to the core of her desire.

It was fast, and furious, and utterly satisfying. In unison, they cried out in joyous release.

The purple shadows of encroaching evening dimmed the interior of the cabin as Cameron gently cradled Sandra in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Pearly pink dawn revealed a tangle of bedclothes and bodies sprawled across the bed.

The softly creeping light bathed Cameron’s face, waking him. In turn, he woke Sandra with a creeping
series of soft kisses, to her face and neck and breasts.

She stirred, stretched, and languidly wound her arms around his neck.

“You missed my mouth,” she scolded, pouting.

“You’re right,” he agreed, kissing his way to her lips. “I missed it all night.”

His morning kiss was cool, gentle, heartwrenchingly tender. A warm moisture stung her eyes.

“That was lovely,” she murmured on a sigh when he raised his head to gaze into her misty eyes.

“And so are you,” he said, swooping to brush his lips over her sparkling wet lashes. “I could continue kissing you all day…” He lifted his head again, and gave her a teasing smile. “But you’d soon get tired of the growling demand for food from my stomach.”

Sandra smiled back at him. “Is this your way of telling me that you’re hungry?”

“Famished.” Startling her with the sudden swiftness of his movement, Cameron swept back the covers and literally leaped from the bed. “I’ll cook,” he offered, striding for the bathroom. “Why don’t you go back to sleep until breakfast is ready?”

“Wait!” Her cry brought him to a stop, hand extended for the doorknob. “I’m slept out.” Scrambling from the bed, she slanted a twinkling
glance at him. “Besides, I’d much rather shower with you.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m not sure I can trust you. Do you promise to be good?”

Her smile mirrored the one he had given her in the kitchen last evening.

“I promise to be terrific.”

Laughing and kissing, Sandra and Cameron lathered, and bathed, and satisfied each other’s bodies.

Cameron cooked steaks on the outside grill for breakfast. Firmly refusing to even consider fat and calorie content, Sandra prepared fried potatoes and scrambled eggs on the side.

The meal was every bit as satisfying as their romp in the shower, if in a different manner.

After the meal was finished and the dishes were cleared away, they donned jackets and hiking boots and left the cabin to explore the terrain surrounding the building nestled in the foothills.

Their laughter ringing on the crisp spring air, they trudged hand in hand, stepping with care on the squishy ground and the patches of lingering snow along a steep mountain trail.

The outing was both exhilarating and exhausting. Sandra was panting from the exertion when they returned to the cabin.

“Time for lunch,” Cameron said, after making a trip into the bedroom to hang up their jackets.

“Past time.” She glanced pointedly at the clock; it read 1:45.

“And then a nap?” He leered at her.

“You’re insatiable!” Laughing, she went to the cabinet to take out a can of soup.

“Hungry, too,” he drawled, turning to the fridge. “You want a sandwich with your soup?”