Desert Wolf. Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

about this connection and be able to manage the passions accompanying it. He preferred that to be later, because what he intended to do to and with Paxton was going to take some time.

      Paxton’s curious expression told him she wasn’t going to stop this madness, either. Not yet, anyway. Whatever was taking place between them was seriously spiraling out of control. Not just for him, but for both of them.

      She climbed into the truck when he opened the door. Grant was already mulling over the added difficulty of getting her out of the jeans she now wore.

      All women should wear skirts, he thought. Black silk, preferably.

      His passenger sat silently as he drove, her focus glued to the windshield. She was all legs—long, slim legs encased in dark blue denim. Her shirt was tight enough to show off curves he wouldn’t have anticipated, given the leanness of her overall silhouette.

      She didn’t know what do with her hands, so they fluttered in much the same way his insides were fluttering, as she tried to rest them in her lap.

      Are you pondering what might happen when we reach the motel?

      Why didn’t she look at him?

      Grant’s body and mind were at war with each other over those rampant desires. Emotions usually reserved for after a shape-shift were hitting him hard. Each of his fingertips stung as if his claws were going to make an unexpected appearance...all because of his sudden need for the woman across from him.

      Back off, Grant said to his inner wolf.

      Keep cool.

      Neither he nor Paxton said anything, because what was there to say when she was in the dark about so many things? Strangers had a certain level of anonymity where one-night stands were concerned, she might have been thinking. But they’d have to deal with each other tomorrow.

      Will you pack up and go away if we hit that bed together, Paxton? Will shame taint our business dealings after a night in the sack?

      She might give up, he supposed, and give in, if shame played a part in a day-after scenario.

      He had vowed to stay away from her for so many reasons, and look how that had turned out. The last of his willpower was fleeing because of a woman he’d just met.

      All right, he wanted to say to Paxton. You can have it all, and to hell with your dad.

      Of course, there was no way he could let Desperado go. Not now. Not ever. As alpha, he had responsibilities that lay beyond Paxton Hall, responsibilities to his pack and any other werewolf looking for help and direction.

      How could he tell Paxton how easy it was for him to read her, or how much he shared her discomfort over this whole ordeal?

      Pulling into the motel’s parking lot, Grant figured he could change the outcome here. He could drop Paxton off and say good-night. He was close to promising himself to do exactly that, in spite of his urges. Maybe, though, he should walk her to the door. Make sure she got safely inside.

      She was out of the truck before he could get around it and coming straight at him. Grant thought she might finally raise a hand and slap him for that kiss. But she didn’t.

      Stopping a few feet away from him, she stared. Seconds later, as though pulled by forces beyond her control, her body impacted with his.

      So much for vows...

      She was in his arms and looking up at him. There was only one thing to do in reaction to that.

      Their mouths joined in a kiss that was hungry, angry, deep, and a heady surprise in a growing list of surprises. Touching Paxton’s hot, damp tongue with his was a torment. She nipped at him like an animal with its desire unleashed, as though her wolf was already partially in control of her actions. As if the longings of man and woman, wolf and she-wolf, had joined up, making lust a priority that could not be ignored.

      Her breath, in his mouth, was hot. Her skin felt hotter. Was he supposed to brush this off and leave? Put a stop to it?

      Was there actually a way to do that?

      They wouldn’t get anywhere in the parking lot. Pulling back to catch a breath, Grant again took Paxton’s hand and made for the stairs, still vowing not to let the strength of his insatiable ardor take the lead. He didn’t kick in the door to her room but waited for her to open it with the key she had taken from a pocket.

      Then they were inside. Two consenting adults who weren’t quite human, although one of them hadn’t realized that yet.

      Maybe he could do this. Possibly Paxton’s wolf wouldn’t respond to his wolf, and it would be all right to indulge in some mind-blowing sex. She’d go away tomorrow and the chains he feared would go with her.

      Telling himself that was a lie, of course, and Grant knew it.

      He unbuttoned his shirt quickly, studying Paxton for any sign that she was going to change her mind. When she removed her T-shirt, silky blond hair brushed the tops of her shoulders, sending him a drift of that fragrant, woodsy perfume.

      She stood by the window in her jeans and a filmy lace bra that would be no barrier whatsoever to the deliciousness beneath it. He could have looked at her like this forever, staring, thankful, ravenous. His body pulsed with longing. His temperature spiked dramatically. His inner wolf, caught up in these new emotions, wanted to get in on the fun.

      Without knowing how he got there, he had Paxton on the bed, on her back, and was leaning over her with his hands on the mattress. Her face was serious, sober. She was quiet.

      Kissing her again, briefly, teasingly, he drew in her breath and played with her lower lip, backing off seconds later to look into her eyes. The corners of her lips quirked to show him she was on board. Her scent already saturated his face and his skin with she-wolf pheromones that were exotic and intoxicating.

      Paxton was gloriously beautiful, and also so very small when pitted against the sheer force of his desire for her. Having her for himself had become necessary. Grant felt truly possessive as he got down to the business of removing her shoes. He then rested a hand on her zipper, testing his willpower by waiting out several harsh breaths, counting each tick of passing time through the strong pulses in his neck.

      The zipper hummed a siren’s tune as it slid downward. There was still time for Paxton to stop this. Once her jeans came off, it would be too late.

      All you have to do is whisper one word, Paxton, and I’ll be gone.

      That word didn’t come.

      Fragile lace underwear, a deep midnight black, peeked out from behind the zipper, barely covering a taut belly that stretched between sharp-bladed hip bones. Grant stared at those things as if temporarily transfixed until Paxton made an impatient sound that made him glance up.

      “What are you?” she asked when their eyes met.

      “Hungry,” he replied.

      Paxton’s amber eyes were bright. She wasn’t smiling now. He knew she couldn’t possibly have seen the wolf lurking behind the man’s facade, because she wasn’t yet in a position to recognize it. So he waited for her to back up her question.

      “I’m not sure what this means,” she said.

      She was confessing to being as confused as he was about ending up on this bed with a stranger. Grant supposed she thought men were often more lax about casual sex than women were.

      “Does it have to mean anything?” he asked.

      “I have a feeling it does.”

      “Yes,” he admitted, while knowing Paxton couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of wolf needs, even though her comment showed that she was trying to find a reason for putting herself in this situation. “I have that same feeling.”

      Her face was smooth and expressionless. “If I think about it, I won’t want this to happen,” she confessed.

      “Should I go?”

      She