Secret of the Wolf by Cynthia Garner Page A

lived for almost a hundred and fifty years, so he knew she’d had lovers before. Hell, it wasn’t as if he himself had lived like a monk. But damned if he wasn’t green-eyed over every single faceless man who’d ever touched her.
    This was not the mind-set to have in order to keep his thoughts off having a relationship with her.
    “He’s nobody, huh?” he said, his voice gruff with aggravation directed at himself. If he were honest, the gruffness was because of hard-fought control. That red dress she had on was smoking hot. The front dipped down nearly to her navel, and when he’d first seen her she’d turned and headed in the opposite direction, almost giving him a heart attack when he saw the way the back was cut all the way down to the dip at the base of her spine. It was a dress that just begged for a man to put his hands on the revealed expanse of silky, tanned skin. He shoved his hands into his pockets to try to disguise the growing interest his cock was showing, and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
    She frowned, obviously taken aback by his abrupt tone. “I hang out here sometimes.” She started to turn away. “Yeah, well, anyway, I thought I’d say hi. Have a good night.”
    Dante could almost hear the muttered “jerk” he was sure she wanted to add. He couldn’t let her leave like that. “Wait.” He put a hand on her shoulder and resisted the urge to stroke his fingers across her soft skin. “Tori…Look, I’m sorry.” He could barely hear himself over the loud rock music blaring from the speakers. “Can we get a booth and sit down?” Just as he added, “I’d like to talk to you,” the music stopped and his last words came out loud and clear, turning heads toward them and eliciting a few snickers from those around them.
    Tori smiled. Slow, sensuous music started up. “Forget about talking. You can dance with me,” she said and held out her hand.
    Even as his rational brain told him to walk away, his pulse picked up speed. Here was a chance to hold her, to feel her softness against him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that getting her in his arms would be a very bad idea, but to leave her standing there would be beyond rude, and he didn’t want to embarrass her.
    At least, that’s what he told himself as he drew her onto the dance floor. He put his hands on her waist, then slid them lower to curvaceous hips. Tori was a pret. A werewolf. Her body transformed whenever she wanted it to. She was built for speed and meant to take down prey larger than herself. He knew she had a lot of strength, but it was packaged in silky softness.
    She clasped her hands behind his neck, and he felt her fingers sift through his hair. Her eyes fluttered closed, face wearing a mask of contentment. For a few moments they danced in silence. She swayed to the music, her pelvis bumping against his every few seconds, her fingers stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. She sighed and opened her eyes. “So, you wanted to talk?” That voice was the definition of sultry.
    There were too many people on the crowded dance floor to talk about what he wanted to. The rift device. Plus, he wasn’t sure he could keep his mind focused on the conversation while she was plastered against him like she was. “Not here,” he murmured close to her ear.
    Dante felt the shiver that went through her. She turned her face so that their lips were less than an inch apart. Amber flickered in her eyes and her breath tickled across his cheek. The slight curve of her belly brushed against his groin again, eliciting a resulting hardness to his lower body.
    Before he could talk himself out of it, he dropped his mouth onto hers. His entire focus centered on the woman in his arms. Everything else—all the noise, the smells of the club—faded away. His heart thundered in his ears, pulsed in his cock. Her tongue, tasting slightly of chocolate and amaretto and wholly of hot, sensual woman, twined with