Beneath a Rising Moon Read online

  tablet into your coffee this afternoon. I want to see if she

  left the cup lying around.”

  “I put it down beside my chair, so she could have

  missed it.” She frowned. “But why would she bother? Even

  if she’s decided she doesn’t like sharing you, what point

  would there be in drugging me?”

  “For the last time, she and I have never exchanged

  promises, nor did I have more than one dance with her.”

  His voice was tight, and anger flicked briefly behind the

  shutters. “And you could have died if I hadn’t found you

  so quickly.”

  His anger burned her skin and made her throat go

  dry. Lord, it would be so easy to believe he actually cared.

  Which was ridiculous. He was a lone wolf—a man who

  enjoyed the dance and wanted nothing more from a

  relationship. “So how did you find me?”

  “I was lucky.” He pointed his fork at her barely touched

  meal. “Now eat, before it gets cold.”

  She ate, but could only get halfway through the huge

  bowl he’d given her. She pushed the rest of it away and

  leaned back with a sigh. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and rose, collecting both bowls and taking

  them over to the sink. She watched him walk away,

  admiring the way his faded jeans clung to his butt and

  wishing she had the courage to actually admit out loud

  what she really wanted right now. The wolf within might

  be free, but she wasn’t totally courageous. Not yet.

  “What else do you hope to find at the hair salon?” she

  asked, more out of a need to fill the heated silence than

  any real curiosity. “Because if she did drop sleeping tablets

  in my drink, they probably came from her handbag. I doubt

  she’d keep something like that at the salon.”

  “No. Which is why I want to head on over to her house

  afterwards.” He handed her a cup of coffee and sat back

  down.

  She wrapped her fingers around the mug and frowned.

  “I think her mother is living with her. I doubt she’d leave

  to head up to the mansion, even if Betise does.”

  “No. But she might head out to a dinner invitation

  with an old friend.”

  Neva raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Iyona had any

  friends—old or new.”

  “According to Neeson Jones, she has two. Neeson’s

  helped me arrange a little get together tonight at the Blue

  Moon.”

  The Blue Moon was the bigger of Ripple Creek’s two

  bars and usually packed with partygoers when the full

  moon was rising. “You were lucky to get a table.”

  “Called in a favor. The owner’s an old friend of mine.”

  She leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee.

  His gaze drifted down her body, lingering on the folds of

  silk covering her breasts. Anticipation tingled across her

  skin, and the deep down ache sprang to life.

  And all because of a look. It was almost scary just

  how attuned she was to this man.

  “Why do you want to search Betise’s house? What do

  you hope to find?” She stretched out her legs, her feet

  touching his. Warmth sprung between them, prickling up

  her leg.

  “I don’t know. Something strange is going on with that

  pair, not the least of which are the lies she’s spreading

  about me. A clandestine search might uncover a few handy

  secrets.”

  “You don’t think she’s linked to the murders, do you?”

  She ran her toes up the long lean length of his foot. She’d

  never found feet arousing before, but just touching his

  was doing strange things to her breathing. As was the

  sexy smile that tugged at his lips, daring her to be bolder.

  “At this point, no, though Iyona obviously hates my

  pack. It’s always possible she does know something.”

  She slipped her foot up his leg, enjoying the contrasts

  of soft denim and taut muscle under her toes and half

  wishing those powerful legs were entwined around her.

  She reached as far as his muscular thighs but couldn’t go

  any further without slipping off the chair. “Have you asked

  her about the Bitterroot incident?”

  “Yes.”

  He reached under the table and began to knead her

  instep with his thumb. A tremor shot up her leg, jumping

  her pulse into a triple-time dance.

  “She claims she wasn’t there,” he continued, his rich

  voice deeper by several notches, and as seductive as the

  moon itself.

  She closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle but insistent

  press of his hand against her skin. “You don’t believe her?”

  “No.”

  “I could get Savannah to check it out, if you want.”

  “I already have a friend checking it out. He should be

  calling back soon.” He wrapped his hand around her foot,

  his fingers so warm against her flesh it felt like she was

  being held by hot iron. “Are you ticklish?”

  Her eyes flashed open. His grin radiated enough heat

  to melt the snow drifting past the kitchen window, and

  devilment shone in his dark eyes. Her heart did an odd

  tumble. She had a feeling she was seeing a side of him so

  very few did. “No, I’m not.” She tried to jerk her foot away,

  but he held her tight.

  “Really?” His ran a finger lightly down the sole of her

  foot, and she bit her bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh.

  “Really. Now let go.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He flicked a fingernail across her instep and the laugh

  escaped. She squirmed on the chair, an odd flush of

  trepidation and desire running through her.

  He raised an eyebrow. “For someone who’s not ticklish,

  that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.”

  “Well, maybe I am a little ticklish.”

  He ran his finger across her foot again. Laughter

  bubbled through her and broke free. He stopped, dark

  eyes a heated mix of desire and amusement.

  “Okay,” she said breathlessly. “Maybe I’m a lot

  ticklish.”

  “Just on the foot?” His fingers slid enticingly up her

  calf, and pinpricks of desire fled across her skin, leaving

  her hotter than she’d ever thought possible.

  “Yes.” Her reply was little more than a pant of air.

  “You sure about that?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “So you’re definitely not ticklish behind your knee?”

  His fingers teased her skin as he spoke, and she

  couldn’t contain her laughter. He stopped again, his grin

  as delicious as the look in his eyes. “Shall we explore where

  else you might be ticklish?”

  “Not in my lifetime.” Grinning, she ripped her leg from

  his grasp and jumped up from the table, bolting for the

  stairs.

  He caught her in the hall and she laughed,

  halfheartedly fighting his hold on her. He pressed her back

  against the wall, his hands on either side of her body,

  neatly corralling her. His masculine odor filled her every

  breath, and the desire that scorched the air between them

  left her bre
athless and aching.

  He leaned close, his gaze all but devouring her. “I never

  could resist a challenge.”

  His mouth brushed hers, a tender caress that left her

  lips tingling and her wanting more. But before she could

  react in any way, his hands had slipped to her waist and

  she was being tickled unmercifully.

  She laughed, long and loud. Laughed until her knees

  felt as if they were going to give way and tears were

  streaming down her face.

  “Stop, stop,” she begged between gasps for air.

  He did, bracing his hands on either side of her again.

  “I think we can safely say you’re ticklish all over.” His grin

  was boyishly cheeky.

  “You think?” she managed to say.

  “I think.” He leaned a little closer, and his cheeky grin

  melted into something far more dangerous, far more

  luscious. “We can’t risk heading out to Betise’s for another

  hour or so. Any idea what we should do until then?”

  She hesitated, her pulse zooming, the need to give in

  to desire warring with the instinct to keep safe and keep

  her distance—emotionally, if not physically—from this

  man.

  “We could go back to the kitchen and finish our coffee.”

  But her voice came out with a betraying huskiness, and

  the heat singeing the air became a tempest that blasted

  them both.

  His smile faded, but his dark eyes burned bright in

  the hall’s semidarkness. “We could. Or you could tell me

  what you really want.”

  She could. But she wouldn’t. The wolf within might

  be free, and it might want him with a fierceness she’d

  never felt before, but she suspected if she openly admitted

  that, she might also be forced to admit other things. Like

  how much she didn’t hate him. Or, how she was beginning

  to fear the thought of him walking away at the end of this

  moon phase.

  “Tell me.” He dropped one hand and began undoing

  the knot at her waist.

  A tremor of anticipation ran through her. “No.”

  “I can taste your desire on the air, little wolf. What

  harm is there in admitting it?”

  “Plenty.”

  The knot fell away and her gown slipped apart. The

  warm air caressed her even warmer skin, and her breath

  caught, then quickened. But he didn’t touch her. Instead,

  he caught the left edge of the gown and gently flicked it

  back and forth across one erect nipple. The sensation was

  like nothing she’d ever felt before—erotic, arousing,

  torturous.

  “Tell me,” he said softly.

  She swallowed, but it didn’t seem to ease the dryness

  in her throat or the trembling in her belly. “Why do you

  care? I’m yours for this phase, no matter what I do or

  don’t admit.”

  “Is that what you want? For me to just take you any

  time I want? Right here and now?”

  She licked her lips, and his gaze jumped to her mouth.

  Pinpricks of sweat danced across her skin. She needed

  him so badly she ached to scream, Yes. But she’d sworn

  not so long ago never to admit her needs to this man, and

  for the sake of sanity, for the sake of her heart, she had to

  stick to that vow.

  “Does it really matter what I want?”

  “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” He switched his attentions to her right

  nipple. She all but moaned at the sweet sensuality of the

  silk snapping across her skin.

  “Because it’s just another game. Just another way to

  destroy me.”

  His pause was brief, but nevertheless there. “Would it

  make any difference if I apologize?”

  She briefly closed her eyes. He sounded sincere, and

  she so desperately wanted to believe that he was. But in

  the end, it didn’t really matter, because he was still leaving

  once the murderer was caught, and she’d still be left here

  alone to clean up the mess. “An apology won’t rectify the

  damage you’ve done.”

  “Perhaps if I explained—”

  “Oh yeah, that’ll work.” Her voice was sharp with

  sarcasm. “Tell my dad I went to the moon dance for the

  sole purpose of seducing you to gain entry into the

  mansion. That’ll surely make everything all right.”

  He leaned forward, brushing another sweet kiss across

  her mouth. “I wasn’t intending to tell him that.”

  His warm breath tingled across her lips. She breathed

  in as he breathed out, until it seemed as if the spicy taste

  of him was filling every pore. She swallowed heavily. “I

  wouldn’t tell him anything. If he sees you right now, he’s

  likely to run for the nearest gun.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “I didn’t think your dad

  believed in that sort of thing.”

  “He’s a wolf, and I’m his little girl.”

  “And I’m nothing but trash taking advantage of you.”

  There was a hint of bitterness in his voice that suggested

  he’d heard that sentiment more than once.

  Part of her ached to deny the words, to tell him that

  he was so much more than his reputation had led her to

  believe. But she didn’t. Salvation and survival lay in

  silence. He was a lone wolf who didn’t want anything more

  than this moon dance. Except, perhaps, for an admission

  that she did need, just as badly as anyone else at the

  mansion, despite all the high ideals of her pack.

  “It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” she said softly.

  “No,” he agreed after a moment. “But it matters what

  you think.”

  Why? That’s what she ached to ask. Especially when

  he had already admitted he wanted nothing from her but

  the next few nights. “Right now, I don’t want to think.”

  She just needed his touch—on her skin, and deep inside.

  “Then tell me what you do want,” he whispered,

  bringing them right back to square one.

  He stopped teasing her breasts with the silk, but before

  she could murmur her disappointment, he dipped his

  head, his tongue circling the dark ring of one nipple,

  teasing but not touching the oversensitive center.

  Every inch of her trembled—ached—with expectation.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the

  wall, enjoying his touch and the sensations storming

  through her.

  “Not that,” she said after a moment. Because as much

  as she was enjoying it, the moon and she both knew she

  wanted a whole lot more.

  “No?”

  The liquid touch left her skin as he shifted his attention

  to her other breast. This time, he nipped, drawing her

  nipple deep into his mouth, sucking on it hard. She gasped,

  her knees almost collapsing at the rush of unexpected

  pleasure.

  “Nor that,” she somehow said.

  “Then perhaps this?” His tongue teased her skin again,

  and slowly, tormentingly, he worked his way down her

  belly. Goose bumps scurried across her sweat-beaded skin,

  an
d her heart hammered so loudly its beat seemed to echo

  through the silence.

  When his tongue finally delved into her moistness,

  she moaned, and had to fight to keep her knees locked

  and her body upright. His fingers pressed against her

  thighs. Trembling, she widened her stance, allowing him

  greater access. His tongue delved deeper, and pleasure

  flowed like liquid fire through her veins, until her whole

  body quivered and throbbed to the tune of that gentle yet

  insistent touch. A touch that quickly created a tide

  threatening to overload her senses.

  But at the precise moment she needed that touch the

  most, it left her. She groaned and opened her eyes,

  wondering what weird, tortuous game he was playing now.

  His gaze caught hers, seeming to delve deep into her soul.

  The intent, the hunger, so evident in his dark gaze assured

  her this was no game, but a carefully controlled seduction.

  Not only of her senses, but of her mind.

  And perhaps, if she wasn’t very careful, her heart.

  Holding her gaze, he slowly, almost leisurely, stripped

  off his jeans and shorts and tossed them to one side. He

  was as hard as she was wet, and the sight of him made

  her throat go dry. Moons, how she ached to feel that

  hardness deep inside.

  Placing his hands on either side of her again, he leaned

  forward and claimed her mouth. He tasted of lust, of love,

  and of her, and it stirred her in ways she never thought

  possible. When he finally pulled away, she could barely

  even breathe, and the throbbing ache was so fierce she

  thought she’d die.

  “Tell me what you want,” he said, voice soft but as

  fierce as his gaze.

  She swallowed but could no longer deny the need

  pounding through her veins. “You.”

  Elation winged through the darkness of his eyes. “How

  do you want me?”

  His touch slid through her slickness and delved deep.

  She moaned, arching into his hand but wanting so much

  more.

  “Like this?” he asked, his voice little more than a husky

  growl.

  She shook her head, too consumed by the sensations

  of pleasure shooting through her to do anything more.

  “Then perhaps we’ll try this.” The heat of his flesh, the

  heaviness of his desire, pressed hard against her, until all

  she could smell was the spicy mix of man and lust, and