The Wolf Prince by Karen Kelley Page A

but rather in life.” She brushed strands of loose hair behind her ear and shifted to a more comfortable position on the cushions.
    He nodded. “Then maybe that is who I am.”
    “They’re also celibate.” When he didn’t seem to recognize the word, she explained, “They have taken a vow of chastity. No sex.”
    Good Lord, could she have knocked a monk out cold? Maybe he’d been on a pilgrimage, giving up all worldly possessions, including his clothes. She was pretty sure lusting after a priest would get her a ticket to hell.
    Surlock’s eyes widened. “Why would they do something so crazy as to give up mating?”
    “Because of their religious beliefs,” she explained. Okay, he probably wasn’t a monk. Thank God.
    “I’m not a monk.” He squared his shoulders and sat straighter.
    “No, I didn’t really think you were.” Not the way he kissed. But who was he? “Let me see your hands.”
    He stuck them out and she took one. It was warm. His heatquickly transferred to her body. He had strong hands. Darcy could almost feel them caressing her, stroking.
    She cleared her throat and her thoughts. She was here to help him, not pounce on his body. It was a sexy body, though.
    She ran her hands over his, trying to act like a professional. They were a little rough in places, but the nails were manicured, smooth. His other hand was the same.
    “You weren’t raised by wolves,” she murmured.
    “Why would you think that?”
    When she looked up, she forgot what he had asked. For a moment, she lost herself in his warm whiskey eyes. The gold flecks sparkled in the sunlight. Very unusual. She mentally shook her head.
    What had he asked? Oh, yes, why she would think he was raised by wolves. “Because you were with a wolf. At least, there was one in the area when you stepped out from behind the tree. You also look sort of rugged.” In a very sexy way. “You didn’t have any clothes on, either, and you ate with your hands, and you growl at people.”
    His eyebrows drew together. “Because you were eating with your hands.” His frown darkened. “I don’t growl at people.”
    “The doctor? The tailor?”
    “I don’t like being probed, nor did I like the way the tailor measured. Maybe I did growl a few times,” he conceded.
    She chuckled. “You can see how I might come to that conclusion,” she said. “All the facts pointed in that direction.”
    “What changed your mind?”
    “You play the piano beautifully. If you had been raised by wolves, you wouldn’t have learned how to play. Besides, your nails are manicured, and it looks like a professional did them.” She let go of his hands and leaned back against the bench.
    “But I still don’t have a clue to who I am.”
    “You remember nothing?” When he hesitated, she knew he wasn’t telling her something. She leaned forward, willing him to meet her gaze, and he did, eventually. “How can I discover whoyou are or where you come from, if you don’t tell me everything?”
    “It’s not that I have anything solid. It’s more like a feeling.”
    “What?” Still, he didn’t say anything. “It won’t go any further than me.”
    He clasped his hands. “I think there’s someone I’m supposed to protect.”
    “And?”
    “I’m supposed to keep my identity a secret. But I can’t continue from day to day not knowing who I am.”
    She sat forward again. “Wow, that sounds very James Bond.”
    His eyes widened. “You have already discovered my identity? Is that who I am? This James Bond?”
    “I’m sorry,” she quickly told him. “James Bond is a fictional spy, but there are people like him—secret agents. Maybe that’s what you are.”
    She studied him for a moment. It actually did make sense. He had the build, the muscles. That was probably why he remembered that he would need to keep his identity a secret. She was pretty sure secret agents had that drilled into them. And, he’d said he needed to protect someone. Definitely secret-agent