Desert Wolf. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

now. Paxton’s hands were on his zipper. Her fair hair curtained the sides of her face, contributing to that hint of wildness. Contained in the gleam of her golden eyes were flames that might have set his soul on fire.

      “To hell with it,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. “Question time is over.”

      Paxton’s breath whooshed out as he took her back to the bed with the kind of speed she should have questioned. As he stretched out beside her, Grant bristled with pleasure. His wolf silently called to hers, but the moon wasn’t full tonight, and that fact was in Grant’s favor. Man to woman was how this was going down. Paxton couldn’t shift without that moon, given that now was the time for her first transformation to happen. He didn’t have to worry about intimacy tonight, though tomorrow would be another matter.

      Slipping his hand between her thighs, he skimmed the black lace, seeking the soft feminine folds that lay beneath the filmy scrap of fabric. Paxton made another sound...a surprised, breathy, totally sexy sigh.

      He stroked her gently with his fingers, studying each reaction she made. Paxton clutched at the covers and arched her back. The light pressure of his fingers on her sex made her reach for him. In an attempt to hold on to whatever pleasure she was experiencing, she dug into him with her nails.

      “Go ahead,” Grant whispered to her, his voice hoarse with expectation. “Enjoy this. Hell, your father might have planned for things to happen this way.”

      Paxton’s lips parted as if she might challenge his remark. Grant’s mouth again found hers, sealing off any argument she might care to make.

      Her hands moved, sliding up his neck and into his hair to tug him closer. He didn’t need the extra invitation. His hardness, at the moment still tucked inside his jeans, pressed against her hips. She, in turn, writhed on the bed enticingly, seductively, as if she couldn’t wait much longer to accept everything he held back.

      But sliding his fingers over her arms made him hesitate. What he found there made him balk. Paxton had a birthmark on her left upper arm, a few inches down from her shoulder. Without having to see it up close, Grant knew exactly what that mark meant. Christ, he had one just like it.

      Paxton Hall had a moon mark—a special kind of birthmark that would look exactly like an old bite from a full set of wolf teeth. And moon marks were proof of Were heritage that went way back.

      What did she assume that mark was? Wouldn’t anyone question something like that?

      “Do you know?” he asked her with his lips moving over hers, hoping she was too caught up in the same sensations moving through him to understand what he was getting at. “Do you understand what this is, between us?”

      Realizing there was no way for Paxton to make sense of those words, and feeling way too wolfish all of a sudden, Grant took the fragile ivory skin beneath her right ear between his teeth and bit down lightly, as if teeth were part of the mating game.

      He brought his lips back to hers for more kisses, more connection, more fire, tasting Paxton’s heat and allowing the flames she gave off to sink in. Her body moved like liquid sin beneath his. Her mouth was a monstrous delight.

      The time had gone for adhering to rules governing wolf behavior. These moments were full and incredibly rich. Here she was. Paxton Hall. A she-wolf in human form. And she was waiting for the very thing he wanted most without realizing it could mean they would never again accept any other partners.

      The sting of her nails on his back kept Grant’s wolf tethered, so the man could have his fill of the woman beneath him without interference. Faint traces of the scent of blood filled the air. Her nails were going to leave welts.

      With his hands on her hips, Grant pressed his body against Paxton’s, tight to the spot that would soon open and accept him.

      She was ready.

      He was ready.

      To hell, he wanted to shout, with everything else.

      As he pressed her into the pillows, Paxton made another sound, one that abruptly brought Grant up from the world of dreams and rapidly fading willpower. It came from deep in her throat. Not a moan, a sigh or an argument against what they were about to do.

      No.

      Not this time.

      Paxton growled.

       Chapter 9

      Her cowboy drew back as if he’d been slapped. Paxton’s eyes flew open. What had happened? What was wrong?

      Grant had stopped moving. His eyes bored into hers as if searching out a reason for his sudden reluctance to go through with what they both wanted. His hand was wedged between her legs with his fingers splayed. He was hard as a rock inside those jeans he wore.

      The suddenness of his restraint was a shock to her searing, blistered senses. The room seemed to whirl.

      “What?” she demanded, her tone rough with leftover anticipation.

      “It’s nothing,” he replied in what was obviously a lie, since his body was still and only his gaze continued to probe.

      The interruption in whatever raw passion had brought them together was accompanied by a swift return of Paxton’s common sense. In that moment, she began to feel foolish and way too exposed. She was on a bed in a motel room, almost completely naked, with Grant Wade’s muscled body hovering over hers.

      Had she been hypnotized? Mesmerized? She didn’t know this man. Grant Wade was nothing more than a hiccup in her plans, and she had almost lost whatever dignity she’d had in their standoff by being caught like this, with his hand between her legs.

      Closing her eyes, she considered how she was going to get out of this situation gracefully and quickly realized there wasn’t any way to accomplish that. She pondered how to salvage what was left of her rapidly dissipating self-control. Clearly, something had caused the interruption in their plans to tear into each other, so wishing they hadn’t been on this bed in the first place was a total waste of time.

      Grant had merely come to his senses before she had. Did he expect a medal for that? Would he hold this little slipup over her tomorrow when paperwork crossed his desk? Embarrassment didn’t begin to describe what she was feeling as the man she’d been about to get down and dirty with sat back on his heels. She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she concentrated instead on the way his pulse beat softly beneath his right ear.

      Cool air flowed over her without Grant’s incredible body heat to block it. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Paxton finally glared at him.

      “You’re right,” she said. “This was a bad idea. I applaud your self-control.”

      Grant shook his head. “I wanted this. Wanted you.”

      Wanted. Past tense.

      “I’m flattered. Really. You’re...” Paxton let that remark dangle for several seconds. “Well, you are very strong, and I had a scare out there tonight.”

      She hated how that statement made it sound as though she had been about to use her body to thank him for being there when she needed somebody. Bodyguard sex.

      “Fact is, I’m no good for you right now,” Grant said in a low-toned, gravelly voice.

      Hardly able to speak after a remark like that, she said, “Thanks for the heads-up,” and shoved him away.

      Rolling sideways, she edged off the bed and stood. Any attempt to cover herself would have been absurd, so she planted her feet near the air conditioner wearing nothing but her fancy lingerie.

      Grant Wade stared at her for a long time before reaching for his shirt. There were, Paxton noticed, only a few buttons left.

      Having him stand there with his chest exposed and his six-pack visible made her uneasy all over again. This guy was one of the finest specimens of manhood she had