Midnight Moon: A Paranormal Werewolf Romance (Roadside Angels Motorcycle Club Book 2) by Kathryn Thomas

did, she would not be able to accept him, and he would be a broken creature.  So he tucked her in instead, and watched her settle herself till she was comfortable enough to fall asleep again.
     
    Down the hall in his bedroom, he thought about the way they met, the moment he knew she was his mate, the feelings he had been battling since the first time he had laid eyes on her.  And since he’d marked her with his scent, being anywhere near her was exquisite torture.  A torture that could only be relieved by claiming her fully, and leaving his mark on her.  He walked into the ensuite bathroom, dumping his clothes in the hamper while the water temperature adjusted to his liking.  Then he washed himself quickly and walked back into his bedroom naked and wet, letting the cooling desert air dry his skin as he stood by the picture window staring into the pitch black night. 
     
    Eventually, he threw himself onto his bed, wishing for sleep to take him.  But his wolf was restless, knowing its mate was in the same house with him, and still unclaimed.  He remembered how they had been wild for each other, how he had taken her over and over, how she had made him lose all control as he took her and she took him.  He remembered how he had almost shifted each time he came.  She was the spark to the flame that never went out inside him.  He resisted the urge to go to her, and lay with her all night, because he hadn’t told her that she was more than just a passing affair to him.  He wanted her safe, but he knew the deeper she got under his skin, the less safe she would be.
     
    Eventually he must have dozed off, but he didn’t sleep soundly, and something woke him soon after.  Hearing a noise, he sprang out of bed, dragged on a pair of sweats, and cautiously made his way along the hall, listening and scenting the air.  No sounds emanated from anywhere outside, and the only scent, aside from his own, was his mate’s.  He found her in his kitchen, making hot chocolate. 
     
    Watching her for a moment, her small body draped in a long, loose gray sleep t-shirt that missed her knees by a few inches, stopping at mid-thigh, his hunger for her rose like a wave inside him.  Her scent perfumed the air, innocently seductive, endlessly arousing.  To stop himself from growling with need, he spoke, giving his vocal chords a much more mundane task.
     
    “Are you okay, Tamara?  Is everything all right?”
     
    She turned slowly, as though she had known he was standing there and was not surprised.
     
    “Yes, I’m fine,” she answered with a quick smile.  “I’m sorry, Lex, I didn’t mean to wake you.  I just needed something to help me go back to sleep.”
     
    “You didn’t wake me,” he demurred, watching her pour hot water from the kettle.  He wanted to be the one to look after her, to see to her comfort.  The growl escaped this time, a mixture of desire and frustration, and she heard it.
     
    “What was that?” she asked, turning startled eyes up to his face.  “Do you have a dog?”
     
    “I have two,” he answered, glad of the distraction her question provided.  “A Rhodesian ridgeback and a wolfdog.  But they’re both at the vet’s overnight.  I’ll take you with me when I go to get them later, okay?”
     
    She nodded, but didn’t rise to the bait.  Sometimes, for a split second, he forgot she was a journalist. 
     
    “So what was that sound I heard?” she persisted.
     
    “I don’t know.  I didn’t hear any sound,” he lied, and turned to walk away, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
     
    “Wait.” 
     
    Her voice stopped him in his tracks.  It was full of need and hunger, and it stoked the fire in his gut.  She wanted him as much as he did her.  The knowledge was a brand in his heart, keeping him where he was, making him turn back to her.
     
    “What’s up?” he asked, striving for casual, hoping that was how it sounded to her.  It sounded like hunger