Wolfe Wanting by Joan Hohl

he had worked for. She was so damned appealing when she laughed. Come to that, she was damned appealing when she didn't laugh. Like earlier this morning, he reflected, sensation stirring at the memory of Megan, her enticing form barely covered by that oversize nightshirt.
    Not that she wasn't alluring in the soft jeans and baggy sweatshirt she had “thrown on” after beating her hasty retreat into the bedroom, Royce allowed, surreptitiously caressing the outline of the breasts concealed beneath the shirt. But, oh, her long, long legs... Megan's legs were the stuff of his wildest erotic fantasies.
    Smothering a yearning sigh, and a leap of life in the lower section of his body, Royce took another sip of coffee...in reality, a big gulp.
    “It is rather ironic, isn't it?” she said, her tone as wry as his expression. She was apparently innocently oblivious of his lascivious mental meanderings. “The older we grow, the less we know. Kinda like that old Pennsylvania Dutch saying—The faster I go, the behinder I get.”
    “Yeah.” Royce chuckled, finished off his coffee in two long swallows, then, drawing back his legs, jackknifed to his feet. “I'm headed for home and bed.” He leveled a questioning look at her. “You'll be all right now, on your own?”
    “Yes, thank you.” Megan gave him a bright and brave smile. “At the risk of sounding trite, I suppose things always do look brighter in the light of day, don't they?” She returned his questioning look.
    “Trite, maybe, but true,” Royce agreed, bending over the table to collect his plate, cup and utensils.
    “No!” Megan ordered, reaching across the table to place a staying hand over his. “I'll do that.”
    “You cooked,” he reminded her unnecessarily, feeling his skin begin to prickle and grow warm beneath her palm. “I don't mind clearing up.”
    “I appreciate the thought,” Megan said, flexing her hand over his in a reassuring squeeze. “But you've done enough. Go home, Royce. Get some sleep. You have to work tonight.”
    “Yeah.” Royce nodded, and stifled a yawn, along with a responsive groan at her touch. “Okay, I'm outa here.” He straightened, dislodging her hand from atop his. His flesh immediately felt cooler, robbed of warmth. “Is my jacket in the foyer closet?”
    “Uh, yes!” Unfastening her gaze from her now-empty hand, Megan jerked around and made a beeline for the hallway. “I'll get it for you.”
    Sauntering after her, Royce pondered the significance of the fleeting, almost bereft, expression that had flickered over Megan's face as she stared at her empty hand. A curl of hopeful excitement unwound inside him. Could it be possible? he wondered, catching his breath as the excitement ribboned along his nervous system. Could Megan possibly be feeling as strong an attraction to him as he felt for her?
    Heady stuff, thoughts like that, Royce told himself, feeling suddenly revived, alert, not at all sleepy. His eyes sought hers as he came to a halt. Megan met his questioning stare for an instant, then lowered her eyes and thrust her hand forward, nearly tossing his jacket at him.
    Without taking his contemplative gaze off her, Royce caught the garment and shucked into it. Why couldn't she look at him? he mused, absently fastening the jacket. The curl of excitement inside him flared into full-blown desire when the only reasonable answer sprang to mind.
    Megan was attracted to him, maybe even strongly attracted to him. A thrill skittered down Royce's spine; hope sprouted in his mind like a spring blossom.
    Him and Megan. Together.
    An image rose in his imagination, complete in every sensuous, body-tormenting detail, of him and Megan, naked, entwined, together. Maybe. Someday.
    Royce's chest muscles contracted, cutting off his breath. His arms ached with the longing to hold her. His palms burned with the need to touch, caress, every inch of her. His mouth tingled with the yearning to kiss her. The rest of his hurting body didn't