afraid.”
"Yes, I am," she said quickly. She'd be stupid not to be afraid, and she was not stupid. She had run. He had chased her down. He intended to ... to screw her here and now, and she knew without a doubt that no matter what argument she made or how loud she screamed, he would have her.
Then he let go of her hand.
She found she couldn't—didn't want to?—take it away and be righteously indignant. Instead, she used her thumb to find a silky bead of semen at the tip and spread it in a small circle.
His breath hissed between his teeth, and for a second she feared she'd driven him to wolfish shape again.
But no. He was still human.
And his body was still fascinating.
He leaned his head close and spoke softly into her ear. "Do you know that a wolf can smell arousal in a female?"
Snatching her hand away, she turned to stare into his eyes. "No, you can't."
He sniffed her hair, behind her ear. He laughed, a deep, husky, wolfish laugh. "I know your scent as well as I know my own. I know your moods. I know your cycle. I even know your cat."
"No." He couldn't know that she wanted him all the time every day. That was too humiliating.
"Yes. And I know when I do this"—once again his hand slid into her panties—"the smell of fear retreats, and the scent of sweet arousal rises from you to fill my head and drive me half-mad."
"I've been aroused before, and you've always seemed sane enough to me," she said tartly.
"But never for me. It wasn't truly me who aroused you." He chuckled again, and his finger stirred the dusting of hair above her clit.
She closed her eyes, trapping the sensation inside her. Her brief burst of good sense faded, and her lips barely moved as she said, "Who else?"
"For a dream man that didn't exist. Because I'm not your dream man." As he had threatened, his finger slid all the way inside her. "I'm your worst nightmare."
Chapter 6
How did Jasha know Ann had thought exactly that? He was part wolf, part man—did he read minds, too?
Then he rubbed strongly with the heel of his hand. He stroked her inside and out, and as surely as he had transformed, she changed, too. She became a creature composed of passion and lit by an inner fire.
She dug her heels into the ground. Her back arched. She lifted herself, pressed herself against him, grinding her hips against his hand.
Abruptly, he took his finger away and stripped off her panties. Rising to his knees, he moved close between her legs. His eyes dosed, his neck corded with strain, and his expression was exquisite agony. He held her thighs in his palms, and pressed the length of his erection to the softest part of her. As he rocked back and forth, he grew damp. Not from the rain, but rather from the torturous pleasure he forced on her.
Then-—oh God—his penis probed, and he almost slipped inside. Except he didn't slip—her body resisted. Resisted and informed her, far too clearly, how painful their joining would be.
She whimpered. She couldn't help it. She was a born coward, and he ... he was a wolf.
He shuddered. Opened his eyes and glared. "Virgin," he whispered.
"So?" She glowered back at him.
"So." He lowered her to the ground. "I'm a barbarian, the son of barbarians, a predator—"
"A killer." She flung the words as a challenge, hoping he would deny them.
Deep in his golden eyes, she saw a flare of murderous red. "Yes. A killer."
Lightning flashed and thunder blasted, reminding her—as if she could forget—where she was, and why. Vividly she recalled the yellow-eyed wolf, the terrifying chase . . . the blood on his mouth. He'd chased her down through a storm that roared around them, striking down great trees and shaking the earth. She'd left the trappings of civilization far behind, and her first time would be in the woods on the ground with a man who might at any moment turn on her and kill her—or who might give her the greatest pleasure a woman had ever known.
Her teeth chattered with sudden chill, and she tried to
"Yes, I am," she said quickly. She'd be stupid not to be afraid, and she was not stupid. She had run. He had chased her down. He intended to ... to screw her here and now, and she knew without a doubt that no matter what argument she made or how loud she screamed, he would have her.
Then he let go of her hand.
She found she couldn't—didn't want to?—take it away and be righteously indignant. Instead, she used her thumb to find a silky bead of semen at the tip and spread it in a small circle.
His breath hissed between his teeth, and for a second she feared she'd driven him to wolfish shape again.
But no. He was still human.
And his body was still fascinating.
He leaned his head close and spoke softly into her ear. "Do you know that a wolf can smell arousal in a female?"
Snatching her hand away, she turned to stare into his eyes. "No, you can't."
He sniffed her hair, behind her ear. He laughed, a deep, husky, wolfish laugh. "I know your scent as well as I know my own. I know your moods. I know your cycle. I even know your cat."
"No." He couldn't know that she wanted him all the time every day. That was too humiliating.
"Yes. And I know when I do this"—once again his hand slid into her panties—"the smell of fear retreats, and the scent of sweet arousal rises from you to fill my head and drive me half-mad."
"I've been aroused before, and you've always seemed sane enough to me," she said tartly.
"But never for me. It wasn't truly me who aroused you." He chuckled again, and his finger stirred the dusting of hair above her clit.
She closed her eyes, trapping the sensation inside her. Her brief burst of good sense faded, and her lips barely moved as she said, "Who else?"
"For a dream man that didn't exist. Because I'm not your dream man." As he had threatened, his finger slid all the way inside her. "I'm your worst nightmare."
Chapter 6
How did Jasha know Ann had thought exactly that? He was part wolf, part man—did he read minds, too?
Then he rubbed strongly with the heel of his hand. He stroked her inside and out, and as surely as he had transformed, she changed, too. She became a creature composed of passion and lit by an inner fire.
She dug her heels into the ground. Her back arched. She lifted herself, pressed herself against him, grinding her hips against his hand.
Abruptly, he took his finger away and stripped off her panties. Rising to his knees, he moved close between her legs. His eyes dosed, his neck corded with strain, and his expression was exquisite agony. He held her thighs in his palms, and pressed the length of his erection to the softest part of her. As he rocked back and forth, he grew damp. Not from the rain, but rather from the torturous pleasure he forced on her.
Then-—oh God—his penis probed, and he almost slipped inside. Except he didn't slip—her body resisted. Resisted and informed her, far too clearly, how painful their joining would be.
She whimpered. She couldn't help it. She was a born coward, and he ... he was a wolf.
He shuddered. Opened his eyes and glared. "Virgin," he whispered.
"So?" She glowered back at him.
"So." He lowered her to the ground. "I'm a barbarian, the son of barbarians, a predator—"
"A killer." She flung the words as a challenge, hoping he would deny them.
Deep in his golden eyes, she saw a flare of murderous red. "Yes. A killer."
Lightning flashed and thunder blasted, reminding her—as if she could forget—where she was, and why. Vividly she recalled the yellow-eyed wolf, the terrifying chase . . . the blood on his mouth. He'd chased her down through a storm that roared around them, striking down great trees and shaking the earth. She'd left the trappings of civilization far behind, and her first time would be in the woods on the ground with a man who might at any moment turn on her and kill her—or who might give her the greatest pleasure a woman had ever known.
Her teeth chattered with sudden chill, and she tried to
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