Owls hooted and cicadas warbled, adding their contributions to the night’s song. A mellow breeze teased the drapes framing the open windows.
She shifted.
Her cheek grazed his ribs. Her lips, still swollen and reddened from his passionate kisses, pursed. She lifted a shoulder, the gesture oddly familiar considering the length of time they’d spent together. Unable to resist, he kissed the cusp, sniffed her hair, and the recognizable lemony tang had him smiling. He’d branded her skin with his scent and her hair with his shampoo.
It was only when the moonlight danced a shimmery jig over the three foil packets on the bedside table that he realized the enormity of what he’d neglected to do.
Fuck. He hadn’t used a condom.
The metal circles on the bedside table leered at him. He never went bareback.
Joe made a practice of never lying to himself. In three months he turned thirty-one.
His first fuck had occurred on his sixteenth birthday, and that had been the last time he hadn’t used a rubber. Even with Flora, his one long-term relationship—and she had been on the pill—he’d always suited up. It had been a bone of contention between them.
Susie was just another woman. There was nothing special about her.
Crap. Who was he kidding?
From the second he’d spied her, some part of him had known but refused to acknowledge that Susie Elizabeth White was no throwaway. Nope, she was a keeper. And damned if the ancients hadn’t been fricking right about mates and mate-recognition. It happened in the snap of a finger, in the blink of an eye, in the first glimpse of a fat, pink nipple.
No more internal palavering.
He might have been a total skeptic about the wolf-mate shtick, but he’d just become a believer.
He’d found his mate.
Jesus.
And that subconscious recognition had fueled another intuitive primitive craving—the fierce urge to procreate. Total selfishness on his part and his gut told him Susie’d be liable to brain him when he confessed to not using a rubber.
Years ago he’d accepted his half-breed status. Sure, his unnatural strength, speed, and heightened senses gave him a significant edge over normal males. Even the ex-SEALs he worked with were in awe of his skills, but he couldn’t shift like a full wolf. So he’d always assumed only true wolves had mate instincts. No way could he rationalize his overwhelming possessiveness for this woman from the very first second their eyes met.
How to make this work? Tell her everything up front? Yeah. He grimaced as he imagined her reaction to the words, Babe, I’m a wolf. My eyes glow in the dark. I run fast enough to be a blur to most humans, and I can literally tear a man apart.
Scratch that approach. She’d take out a restraining order. Any sane person would. He could pursue only one strategy. Make her fall in love with him and then break the news.
The decision allowed him to nap off and on.
He woke often—the need to check on his mate, touch her, and smell her hair too overpowering to resist.
Joe stared out the window when the sun and moon traded places and the horizon brightened in a soft peachy-pink smudge of color. The wolf in him relished the tween times. The faint half-light of dawn before the day blossomed, the burgeoning shadows of dusk as the sun waned, the predator and hunter reflexes buried deep inside his psyche instinctively aware these were the moments his prey were most vulnerable.
He surrendered to an overpowering internal yearning and let his gaze roam over her features, committing each facet to memory. The black fringe of lashes flickered, her pinky moved, and warm toes curled into his calf. He fisted one hand and fought the insane urge to cuddle her on his lap and keep her naked and sated.
Dust particles skimmed a thick band of golden rays streaking across the room. The acrid aroma of seared wood and leaves tangled with the pungent smell of burned plastic. In the distance he spotted the charred remains of the once-proud
She shifted.
Her cheek grazed his ribs. Her lips, still swollen and reddened from his passionate kisses, pursed. She lifted a shoulder, the gesture oddly familiar considering the length of time they’d spent together. Unable to resist, he kissed the cusp, sniffed her hair, and the recognizable lemony tang had him smiling. He’d branded her skin with his scent and her hair with his shampoo.
It was only when the moonlight danced a shimmery jig over the three foil packets on the bedside table that he realized the enormity of what he’d neglected to do.
Fuck. He hadn’t used a condom.
The metal circles on the bedside table leered at him. He never went bareback.
Joe made a practice of never lying to himself. In three months he turned thirty-one.
His first fuck had occurred on his sixteenth birthday, and that had been the last time he hadn’t used a rubber. Even with Flora, his one long-term relationship—and she had been on the pill—he’d always suited up. It had been a bone of contention between them.
Susie was just another woman. There was nothing special about her.
Crap. Who was he kidding?
From the second he’d spied her, some part of him had known but refused to acknowledge that Susie Elizabeth White was no throwaway. Nope, she was a keeper. And damned if the ancients hadn’t been fricking right about mates and mate-recognition. It happened in the snap of a finger, in the blink of an eye, in the first glimpse of a fat, pink nipple.
No more internal palavering.
He might have been a total skeptic about the wolf-mate shtick, but he’d just become a believer.
He’d found his mate.
Jesus.
And that subconscious recognition had fueled another intuitive primitive craving—the fierce urge to procreate. Total selfishness on his part and his gut told him Susie’d be liable to brain him when he confessed to not using a rubber.
Years ago he’d accepted his half-breed status. Sure, his unnatural strength, speed, and heightened senses gave him a significant edge over normal males. Even the ex-SEALs he worked with were in awe of his skills, but he couldn’t shift like a full wolf. So he’d always assumed only true wolves had mate instincts. No way could he rationalize his overwhelming possessiveness for this woman from the very first second their eyes met.
How to make this work? Tell her everything up front? Yeah. He grimaced as he imagined her reaction to the words, Babe, I’m a wolf. My eyes glow in the dark. I run fast enough to be a blur to most humans, and I can literally tear a man apart.
Scratch that approach. She’d take out a restraining order. Any sane person would. He could pursue only one strategy. Make her fall in love with him and then break the news.
The decision allowed him to nap off and on.
He woke often—the need to check on his mate, touch her, and smell her hair too overpowering to resist.
Joe stared out the window when the sun and moon traded places and the horizon brightened in a soft peachy-pink smudge of color. The wolf in him relished the tween times. The faint half-light of dawn before the day blossomed, the burgeoning shadows of dusk as the sun waned, the predator and hunter reflexes buried deep inside his psyche instinctively aware these were the moments his prey were most vulnerable.
He surrendered to an overpowering internal yearning and let his gaze roam over her features, committing each facet to memory. The black fringe of lashes flickered, her pinky moved, and warm toes curled into his calf. He fisted one hand and fought the insane urge to cuddle her on his lap and keep her naked and sated.
Dust particles skimmed a thick band of golden rays streaking across the room. The acrid aroma of seared wood and leaves tangled with the pungent smell of burned plastic. In the distance he spotted the charred remains of the once-proud
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