Her Kilted Wolf by Tabitha Conall Page B

understand once she explained. Finding your mate was everything.
    Who would he be? A wolf, hopefully. But if he was a wolf, why hadn’t he scented her?
    Mattie jogged up some stone stairs, still following the delicious smell. With just the scent in her nose, she already felt like melting. She wanted to find her mate and drag him to the nearest bed where they could wallow in each other until their scents were so mixed no one could tell them apart.
    What if he wasn’t a wolf? Other species didn’t necessarily know when they’d found their mates. Sometimes they had to be convinced, and it wasn’t always a fun experience.
    The scent trail suddenly dead-ended at a tall wooden door, the fifth such door on that hall. Worse, the door was closed. What should she do? Should she knock? She shifted from one foot to the other, trying to decide what to do.
    The door in front of her jerked open and a tall, half-naked male stood in front of her, a towel tied around his waist and his wet hair sticking up. “You came.” He grinned, his blue eyes lighting up.
    Before she could say anything, he grabbed her around the waist and yanked her against him, covering her mouth with his.
    Oh, mama.
    He was a wolf, definitely a wolf. And very glad to see her.
    He pulled her backward into the room. A few seconds later, she heard the door slam shut. Still kissing her, he swung her up into his arms.
    Mattie put a hand between them and pulled away just far enough to say, “Wait—where are we going?”
    He grinned again, his gorgeous blue eyes sparkling. “To bed, of course.” He leaned into her to kiss her again but she evaded him. From the few words he’d said, and what appeared to be a permanent apartment he was hauling her through, she could easily tell he was one of the Scottish wolves.
    “Shouldn’t we talk or something first?”
    He pressed his lips to her shoulder instead. “What’s there to talk about? We’re mates. We should be in bed.”
    One part of her agreed wholeheartedly, but another felt like they were moving too fast. She didn’t do this. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had sex. “How about exchanging names, at least?” Her voice sounded high.
    He stopped short. “Good point. I’m Colin. Colin MacPherson.”
    “Mattie Sloane.”
    His forehead creased. “Mattie? Like, short for Matthew?”
    Oh, heavens. That was the last thing she wanted to discuss. “No, not short for Matthew. Could you put me down?”
    His roguish smile came back. “What for? You feel verra good right where you are.” He squeezed her tighter and nuzzled his face against her throat. “I can’t wait to mark you.”
    With his words, his mouth against her skin, and his hard body pressed against her side, she lost her reticence, awash in the desire to make him hers forever.
    ***
    Whatever disappointment he’d felt about leaving his wild oats behind fled as soon as he saw his mate. While not the kind of woman he’d pursued–not buxom, not soft, not sensual–she was exactly the kind of woman he could see as his partner and equal. In spite of her long brown hair and warm brown eyes, she looked nearly as tough as he was, strong, tall, lean, and serious.
    That last part he’d have to do something about–at least in bed.
    And that’s where they were headed, whether she wanted to talk or not. They could damn well talk naked if they had to.
    Colin took a few more steps and rounded the partial wall that led into his bed chamber. An odd mixture of a very old castle and very recent amenities, the Stronghold–and his apartment—had stone walls with the occasional drywall partition thrown in. Around the corner, his bed sat on a thick rug that beat back the ever-present chill.
    His knee on the bed, he laid Mattie down and slid over her in one motion, settling himself on top of her with a groan. He ran one hand down her taut body while he captured her lips with his own. Her small breast fit neatly in his palm; when he squeezed, she moaned