designed as the ultimate predator. And yet, when she sensed rather than saw his head dip down towards her, she made a sound of welcome.
She didn’t want to deny him.
His hands slid up her arms, cupping her shoulders and pulling her into his warmth. “Your scent drives me crazy, chère .” His husky voice drove her crazy.
“Rafer—” She wasn’t sure what she needed to tell him, but his thumb pressed against her lips, demanding her attention.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Maybe we need to talk less.”
And do what? This was good, though, this being alone with a man who’d intrigued her from the moment he landed on her boat dock. Just him and her, the bed a luscious promise at her back. When his mouth covered hers, she wanted to keep that contact forever, freeze these seconds in time. How could such a hard man, a fighter and a predator, kiss that gently? Full of warmth and so damned alive, his lips moved over hers with exquisite pressure. She was tired, but she had the energy for this, these drowsy, undemanding caresses.
Kissing this good should be illegal.
His mouth took hers, slow and deep, the wet sound of skin on skin uncompromisingly erotic in her darkened bedroom. His tongue stroked along the closed seam of her lips and in. Sure. Taking and giving pleasure. Licking along the edge, coaxing her to come out and play with his wolf.
“We talk like this, chère .” His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. “This is me tellin’ you how very pretty this part of you is. How good you taste.”
Oh, God. She wasn’t putting words together now. No, she was thinking about the feel of his mouth on hers and about how very close he was. When she inhaled, her breasts rubbed gently against his bare chest, only the cotton chemise between them. With each sensual rub of his tongue, she relaxed into the mattress, into him. Getting comfortable.
Her mouth opened on a sigh and his tongue slid in, playing a lazy game of chase-me-catch-me with hers. He tasted wild and sweet, and kissing him was too good.
When his mouth moved away, his lips leaving hers, she heard her own sleepy protest before she could bite back the sound.
“Shhh,” he whispered. He turned her around in his arms, wrapping himself around her. Draping one leg over hers and tucking his face into her neck. For the first time in years, she felt safe. Protected. Loved . Sleep beckoned, rising up to meet her.
“Go to sleep, chère .” His satisfaction rumbled through her, penetrating her defenses. “See, this I got right. This is good.”
The words slipped out of her mouth right before she tumbled into sleep. “Thank you.”
“Whatever you need, chère .” His promise followed her into her dreams. “I give you that.”
Chapter Nine
Disaster struck the next night. The shit storm wasn’t unexpected—not unexpected at all—but Rafer had still hoped. Wanted to believe that, this time, the Pack wasn’t facing yet another skin-hunter attack. But no, that eternal war was banging on his front door, yelling loud and clear that time was up, motherfucker. Before Fate had yippee-ki-yayed the last grains of sand in its hourglass, he’d thought the choice was his mate or his Pack. The reality storming the farmyard made the choice far more basic. Living or dying. That’s what it all came down to tonight.
Rafer knew the skin hunters were out there waiting for the sun to go down. The Pack could have made a run for the bayou and their base, but they had an hour tops before the natural light went. There wasn’t enough time to make it to a city big enough that the vamps couldn’t shut down the power grid. He bet they’d already killed the power to half the parish and that Lark’s farm wasn’t the only blackout.
Lark had a generator, which was an unexpected bonus. Luc had ordered two dozen, but it would be another week before the truck brought them up here to Lark’s farm. He’d had to keep the order on the down low, because the Pack had learned years ago that
She didn’t want to deny him.
His hands slid up her arms, cupping her shoulders and pulling her into his warmth. “Your scent drives me crazy, chère .” His husky voice drove her crazy.
“Rafer—” She wasn’t sure what she needed to tell him, but his thumb pressed against her lips, demanding her attention.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Maybe we need to talk less.”
And do what? This was good, though, this being alone with a man who’d intrigued her from the moment he landed on her boat dock. Just him and her, the bed a luscious promise at her back. When his mouth covered hers, she wanted to keep that contact forever, freeze these seconds in time. How could such a hard man, a fighter and a predator, kiss that gently? Full of warmth and so damned alive, his lips moved over hers with exquisite pressure. She was tired, but she had the energy for this, these drowsy, undemanding caresses.
Kissing this good should be illegal.
His mouth took hers, slow and deep, the wet sound of skin on skin uncompromisingly erotic in her darkened bedroom. His tongue stroked along the closed seam of her lips and in. Sure. Taking and giving pleasure. Licking along the edge, coaxing her to come out and play with his wolf.
“We talk like this, chère .” His teeth nipped at her bottom lip. “This is me tellin’ you how very pretty this part of you is. How good you taste.”
Oh, God. She wasn’t putting words together now. No, she was thinking about the feel of his mouth on hers and about how very close he was. When she inhaled, her breasts rubbed gently against his bare chest, only the cotton chemise between them. With each sensual rub of his tongue, she relaxed into the mattress, into him. Getting comfortable.
Her mouth opened on a sigh and his tongue slid in, playing a lazy game of chase-me-catch-me with hers. He tasted wild and sweet, and kissing him was too good.
When his mouth moved away, his lips leaving hers, she heard her own sleepy protest before she could bite back the sound.
“Shhh,” he whispered. He turned her around in his arms, wrapping himself around her. Draping one leg over hers and tucking his face into her neck. For the first time in years, she felt safe. Protected. Loved . Sleep beckoned, rising up to meet her.
“Go to sleep, chère .” His satisfaction rumbled through her, penetrating her defenses. “See, this I got right. This is good.”
The words slipped out of her mouth right before she tumbled into sleep. “Thank you.”
“Whatever you need, chère .” His promise followed her into her dreams. “I give you that.”
Chapter Nine
Disaster struck the next night. The shit storm wasn’t unexpected—not unexpected at all—but Rafer had still hoped. Wanted to believe that, this time, the Pack wasn’t facing yet another skin-hunter attack. But no, that eternal war was banging on his front door, yelling loud and clear that time was up, motherfucker. Before Fate had yippee-ki-yayed the last grains of sand in its hourglass, he’d thought the choice was his mate or his Pack. The reality storming the farmyard made the choice far more basic. Living or dying. That’s what it all came down to tonight.
Rafer knew the skin hunters were out there waiting for the sun to go down. The Pack could have made a run for the bayou and their base, but they had an hour tops before the natural light went. There wasn’t enough time to make it to a city big enough that the vamps couldn’t shut down the power grid. He bet they’d already killed the power to half the parish and that Lark’s farm wasn’t the only blackout.
Lark had a generator, which was an unexpected bonus. Luc had ordered two dozen, but it would be another week before the truck brought them up here to Lark’s farm. He’d had to keep the order on the down low, because the Pack had learned years ago that
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