Highland Wolf Pact: Blood Reign: A Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance by Selena Kitt Page A

him. There had never been a man, or wulver, here to take her maidenhead. That flash of red in his eyes, and the way his gaze raked her now nude body, his hands moving over her skin, sliding the thin, wet, completely see-through material of her robe down her shoulders, all told her what he wanted.
    And she wanted it too.
    Her thighs gripped him, hips rocking all on their own. Griff gasped when he felt her shift in his lap, the seam of her sex rubbing against his erection. Bridget gave a little cry, biting her lip, the feel of her breasts flattened hard into his chest reminding her of their sparring that afternoon. This was sparring too, of sorts, wasn’t it?
    She swiped a strand of wet hair out of her face, trying to regain her composure, which was simply impossible in this situation.
    “Well, lass…” Griff’s face spread into a grin, hands settling on her hips. “I s’pose all is as it should be now, eh?”
    “Yer insufferable.” She rolled her eyes, putting her hands against his chest and pushing hard. She would have been too fast for him, if the weight of her wet robe, and the bath sheet that had tangled around her legs, hadn’t restrained her. Griff managed to wrap his big arms around her waist, trapping her against him.
    “Y’were meant t’fall into m’arms like this, lass,” he teased. “It’s fate. Destiny, y’ken?”
    “M’knee in yer stones is goin’ t’be yer destiny in a moment,” she snapped and he laughed. But he let her go, and Bridget climbed slowly out of the tub, taking her wet robe and the soaking wet bath sheet with her. The whole room was a mess, water all over the floor.
    She shivered, digging another bath sheet out of the bureau and wrapping herself in it. It wasn’t fire-warm, but it would do.
    “D’ye ’ave another one of those, lass?” Griff called, climbing out of the tub too.
    “’Ere…” She tossed it over her shoulder at him, not caring if it fell into all the water on the floor.
    “Thank ye.” He chuckled.
    Bridget glanced back at Griff. He clearly had no qualms about being naked around her, even with an erection the size of Stonehenge. She watched him dry himself in the light of the fire, his back to her, to give her privacy. She found another robe tucked way in the back of the bureau, one of her mother’s, and dropped the bath sheet to the floor, slipping the dry robe on and cinching it closed.
    Watching Griff dry off—he was far less concerned about exposing himself, and water ran down his back and sides in rivulets as he toweled his long, dark hair—she found herself fascinated by his body. How different from her own. He was lean and muscled, a truly stunning sight. And the way he felt, pressed against her…
    Finally, Griff wrapped the sheet around his waist, tucking the material into itself, and asked, “Are ye decent, lass?”
    “Aye.” She was shivering now, although she didn’t feel cold at all. “I did’na mean t’fall in.”
    “No, I don’t expect ye did.” He chuckled, surveying the wet floor. “Yer a’righ’?”
    “Aye. But I should go change.” She sighed, looking at the mess. “I’ll come back t’clean up.”
    “Do’na worry ’bout it, lass.” He half-sat on the mattress.
    “Are ye sure?” She frowned, nodding at the bed. “Aleesa left ye a tunic t’wear, and a plaid—one of Alaric’s. I’ll take yer clothes an’ we’ll wash ‘em.”
    “Ye do’na hafta do that,” he said, watching as she made her way through the water. It was already starting to dry in patches, from the heat of the fire. She reached down and picked up her robe, wringing it out over the tub.
    “I hafta wash these, anyway,” she said with a sigh, wringing out the wet bath sheets too.
    “Well, thank ye.” He glanced back at the mattress he was leaning against. “T’will be nice t’sleep in a bed tonight.”
    “Tis Alaric and Aleesa’s,” she told him, regretting it the moment she said so, seeing the startled look on his face. “They