Wild Wolf Claiming Read online

  He took another deep breath, shoving the lust down so hard it made both him and the animal flinch, and then he looked at her, smiling just a little. “Sorry. I was about two seconds away from kissing the hell out of you, and I wasn’t sure you were ready for it.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she slowly blinked. “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” he said unsteadily, focusing on the eggs that needed to be whipped. He desperately tried to come up with a new topic, because God only knew he needed the distraction—and then one finally managed to claw its way through the lust and into his brain. “So, uh, I’m taking it you grew up a city girl. Is that where you lived with your family?”

  “Yeah, but...I don’t really like to talk about them.”

  “All right.” He fought to keep his thoughts from showing on his face, those protective instincts she sent into overdrive not liking the things that lay beyond those halting words.

  “What...what about yours?” she asked, and he felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders ease. Finally, a question he could answer without having to fudge the truth for her.

  Getting the omelets cooking on the stove, he said, “I haven’t seen my family in years. But when I was seventeen, I was kinda adopted by another one, and now they’re more my family than my birth parents ever were.”

  “Wow. You’re...lucky.”

  “Trust me, I know,” he murmured, flashing her a quick grin.

  “Do you enjoy your job?”

  Well, shit. He licked his lips, feeling that invisible noose tightening around his throat all over again. Choosing his words with care, he focused on the pan as he said, “Yeah. It’s...the best thing that could have ever happened to me.” Until now. Until you.

  “And it must feel good to be doing something meaningful. I mean, look at me. You’re not much older than I am, and I’m just a waitress in a crappy diner. I’ve done nothing my entire life except scrape by.”

  Elliot’s natural instinct was to argue that she had that all wrong, but one look at her face, and he could tell that this wasn’t the time. Instead, he said, “You mentioned a business savings account. What’s that about?”

  “Oh, um, nothing really.” She seemed flustered that he’d remembered her even mentioning it. “Just some dream I have of owning my own business one day.”

  “Yeah? What kind?”

  She tilted her head a bit to the side again, studying him in a way that made him think she was trying to decide if he was genuinely interested or just being nice. Since he figured there was no hiding the fact that everything about her interested the hell out of him, he wasn’t all that surprised when she seemed to realize he wasn’t just being polite. “Well, I still need to take some online classes to learn about small business management. But I would love to have my own gift shop one day. Someplace where I could sell things like scented candles, unique pieces of jewelry, and these painted shelves and tables that I love to make.”

  “Like the ones you had in your apartment?”

  She blinked, looking a little shell-shocked that he’d noticed, considering the pieces had been, well, literally in pieces. “Yeah, like those.”

  “That would be awesome. I know my friend Sayre would go crazy for that stuff. Torry, too.” When he suddenly realized he’d started talking about other women without explaining who they were, he awkwardly added, “They’re both like family to me. And I, uh, work with their husbands.”

  Thankfully, the food saved him from saying anything more on the topic. Dishing up the two veggie-and-cheese omelets that he’d made, he carried the plates over to the round dining table that sat in a little nook, and Skye grabbed them two bottles of water from the fridge.

  “Ohmygod,” she moaned, after taking her first bite. “This is really good.”

  “You didn’t think I’d offer to make you an omelet if I sucked at it, did you?” he asked with a smirk.

  She snuffled a soft laugh under her breath, shaking her head no, and Elliot couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face, relieved that he’d gotten at least one fucking thing right that night. They kept the conversation light while they ate, and when his plate was empty, he wiped his mouth with one of the paper napkins that sat in a basket in the center of the table and leaned back in his chair. His gaze slid toward the bay window that surrounded the table on three sides, and he caught sight of the moon hanging just above the tops of the trees that edged the property, thick forest spreading out beyond. It was only a quarter moon, but the silvery crescent still called to the most primal, instinctive parts of him. He felt like he could pull its power in through his eyes and nose and mouth, breathing the moonbeams into his lungs like a surge of adrenaline.

  It made him feel almost whole in a way that it never had before.

  Then again, that was far more likely the beautiful woman studying him from the other side of the table.

  “I get the feeling you enjoy being in the woods,” she murmured, no doubt picking up on the ease he felt at no longer being surrounded by so many people. Like most of the Runners, towns and cities were something he endured, but never enjoyed.

  “Hell, yeah,” he rumbled, bringing his gaze back to hers. “I love it. It’s where I’m from.”

  She looked intrigued, chin resting on her palm, elbow braced on the table. “You’re from the woods?”

  “In a way. Max and I both live in the mountains down in Maryland.”

  “Well, no wonder you seem so comfortable up here,” she murmured, sliding her gaze toward the window. “I’m kinda jealous.”

  Voice pitched low, he told her, “You know, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Her lips twitched, and she rolled her eyes. “Only wild animals that can hunt and kill you, making you their dinner.”

  Elliot knew it might rattle her, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “They’d have to get through me first. Like hell am I letting anyone touch you, much less hurt you.”

  She blushed like she could sense the deeper meaning behind those husky words, her head turning until she was practically hidden by the fall of all that long, wavy hair. And he could’ve sworn she was biting that fucking beautiful lip again. He wanted to violate it just as desperately as he wanted to worship it. Lick it. Claim it. Nip it with his teeth. He wanted to bend her back over his arm and kiss her so hard she’d feel the pressure of his lips for days, the taste and shape of his tongue imprinted on her senses so deeply she couldn’t cut him out.

  Not the time, idiot. Not the time...or you’re going to lose it.

  Lifting his arms, he let them fall back as he stretched, his muscles still cramped from the long drive, not to mention the strain from walking around in a constant state of mounting hunger, and when he snuck another look at Skye from under his lashes, he caught her staring at his abdomen. His shirt had lifted enough to show a tanned strip of skin, his muscles hardening to stone beneath the searing heat of her gaze. There was lust there in those gorgeous green eyes, as well as need, and as he pulled in a sharp breath, the heady scent of her arousal had him choking back a deep, guttural groan.

  God, he wanted her. So fucking bad it was killing him. So bad he knew he needed to give himself some relief, and soon, or there was a good chance he’d go out of his goddamn mind.

  Pushing back from the table, Elliot grabbed his plate, then reached for hers. “You sleepy?”

  “Not just yet.”

  He flicked her a careful look, hoping she couldn’t read the raging, primitive need on his face. “Then make yourself at home and see if you can find a good movie on or something. The place has satellite TV, so we should get some decent channels. I’m just gonna grab a quick shower.”

  If she seemed startled by his abrupt departure, she was good at hiding it. He left her washing up the dishes, since she all but pushed him out of the kitchen when he said he’d handle them, and he pulled his phone from his pocket to check his email as he made his way back to the bathroom. He swore under his breath when he saw that Mason had contacted him, wanting to know why he a
nd Max hadn’t checked in. Even though they were both adults, the others worried about them like they were two of their kids. It would have irritated the hell out of Elliot, if the fact that they cared about him enough to worry didn’t mean so damn much to him.

  He took a moment to call Mason and bring him up to speed on everything that had happened, with the exception of the part about Skye being his life-mate. That wasn’t something he wanted to get into over the phone, and he knew Mase would pretty much give him the same advice he would have heard from Max: Tell her. All of it. Now!

  Choking back another guttural groan, Elliot left the phone on the countertop by the sink, in case Max tried to get in touch with him, turned the shower on hot, stripped and climbed in. He stood under the stinging spray, welcoming the burn, and then he reached for the soap.

  With one hand braced against the tiled shower wall, he lowered his head, closed his eyes and wrapped his other hand around his granite-hard shaft, wishing it were Skye’s soft hand that was holding him...squeezing him...stroking him. That it was her sweet scent filling his head, making him dizzy. Her warm blood coating his tongue, slipping down his throat like the sweetest sin he’d ever tasted as he marked her.

  Claimed her.

  And made her his own.

  Chapter 7

  When Skye had first gotten up from the comfy sofa—she’d curled up there to wait for Elliot after finishing with the dishes—and gone into the hallway, it’d been because she’d thought she heard him call out. But after nearly a minute of waiting for the sound of his voice, she realized that was no longer what she was listening for.

  No, now she was listening for the sound of the water hitting his gorgeous body. Straining for it, actually. For anything that could help her visualize what he looked like at that moment. With her breaths shallow in her chest, and her cheeks flushed with heat, she felt like the biggest perv on the planet, but she couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t even find the strength to walk away, and it made her wonder what was wrong with her. Her best friend was on the run from some psycho group of kidnappers, their apartment had been completely trashed and she’d been involved in an attempted robbery, all in one night—and there she was stalking the poor guy’s shower time, getting turned on by the thought of his naked body beneath the warm spray of water, when she should have been having a category five breakdown.

  Seriously, what was she doing? Because this...this way she was feeling, this wasn’t her. She didn’t get flustered and twisted up over guys. Didn’t really ever give them much thought at all, because they were never all that important to her, compared to the other things going on in her narrow existence. Things like simply surviving, and trying so hard to make plans for her future. Any romantic notions of some happily-ever-after that would change any of that had been pretty much doused with gasoline and set on fire after the whole Derek debacle. Not because she’d been desperately in love with him or anything, but more that she’d felt like such a naive fool for putting her trust in a guy who was so completely playing her.

  And yet, given all that, she was honestly crushing on Elliot Connors so hard it had her feeling almost electric, like she’d been plugged into a circuit, her heart pumping and her senses tingling, when she should have been dragging with exhaustion. All she could think about as she stood there in the hallway, softly panting and flushed with need, was the way he’d gripped her waist and pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth during that charged moment when he’d been cooking. She’d completely shocked herself when she’d turned her head and pressed her sensitive lips against his strong, tanned throat. But even more surprising was the fact that she’d been a nanosecond away from flicking her tongue against his hot flesh, before he’d quickly pulled back from her.

  Skye couldn’t even imagine how embarrassing that would have been, if she’d actually done it, because she honestly didn’t know how he would have reacted. The guy had her freaking head spinning, casting hot-as-sin looks at her one moment, like he wanted to devour her, and then deliberately backing off the next, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. Did he honestly want her? Or was he just a hopeless flirt with all the women who ended up under his protection?

  God, she wished she knew. Wished she had a Magic 8 Ball to give her some answers here, because she was only getting in deeper with this beautiful, rugged, heroic stranger with every second that went by. She’d never thought someone like Elliot Connors would even look twice at a girl like her—and now that he had, there didn’t seem to be any way to slow herself down.

  I’m losing it, she thought, snuffling a soft laugh under her breath. And what’s really crazy is that I’m not even sure that I care.

  Realizing it was probably far past time to take her crazy, obviously traumatized ass to bed, before she started fantasizing a bunch of X-rated, breathtakingly erotic scenarios that probably never had a chance in hell of happening, she forced herself to walk past the closed bathroom door and headed straight into the bedroom. With her gaze focused on the gleaming hardwood floor, she was trying to recall what she’d packed to sleep in, hoping it wasn’t too skimpy to wear in front of him without getting embarrassed, when she looked up and suddenly found herself standing no more than a yard away from his damn-near-naked, mouthwatering, I-think-I-just-saw-Jesus body.

  “Ohmygod!” she gasped, pressing her hands to her hot cheeks, her shocked-wide eyes practically eating up the sight of him. She’d been so lost in her spiraling thoughts out in the hallway, she hadn’t even noticed that the shower had stopped. “I’m so freaking sorry! I didn’t realize the rooms were connected. I thought you were still in the bathroom.”

  He didn’t say anything in response—just stood there like he was frozen in place by the side of the bed, the small towel barely managing to cover his junk, leaving nearly every inch of him on display. And, God, what a freaking amazing display it was.

  His body was just...magnificent. From head to toe, he was pure perfection, and not in one of those pretty-boy ways, though he was definitely beautiful. But he was also one hundred percent male, battle-hardened and rugged, the silvery scars that marked certain parts of his golden skin only adding to his beauty. Broad-shouldered and tall, he was covered in lean, ripped muscles, from his upper body to his abs, and that crazily sexy V of muscle just above his groin. Then there were those long, athletic legs. All night long, she’d noticed the way the denim of his jeans had hugged the powerful muscles in his thighs, hinting at what lay beneath. But she was still unprepared for how those muscular legs looked in the flesh.

  Unable to help herself, Skye drank in the sight of him like someone dying of thirst. It took everything she had to fight the instinctive urge to cross the space between them, until she was close enough to feel his heat, and then lean in even closer, until she could touch her mouth to that gleaming, hair-dusted skin and taste him with her tongue. Until she could sink her nails into those broad, muscular shoulders and hold him to her, begging with the silent demands of her body for him to want her, even if it was only a fraction of how badly she wanted him.

  And then it suddenly dawned on her that she was still just standing there, hands on her hot cheeks, eating the poor guy up with her eyes!

  “S-sorry,” she choked out, and in her panic, she grabbed her backpack off the top of the dresser and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She set the bag on the counter by the sink, trying to avoid her reflection in the mirror as she ripped it open and started searching for something to sleep in.

  “I’m such a pathetic dolt,” she muttered under her breath, knowing she’d just acted like an idiot. An idiot who, judging by what she’d found so far in the backpack, was going to be stuck going back out there dressed in nothing more than a skimpy tank-and-shorts set. One that was going to showcase her huge boobs and hips and backside. Ugh! She was tempted to just throw on one of the T-shirts and pairs of jeans that she’d packed, but if she came out wearing something like that to sleep in, she was going to look like an even bigger idiot than sh
e already did. Especially if he’d noticed her packing the pajamas when they’d been in her bedroom at the apartment.

  Biting her bottom lip, she kept searching through her clothes, and nearly cried with relief when she found the robe Viv had given her for her last birthday at the bottom of the bag. Soft and silky, it was by far one of the prettiest things she owned, and would at least give her a bit of cover as she made her way from the bathroom to the bed.

  By the time she was finished changing and finally opened the door, stepping back into the bedroom, Elliot had the cot set up on the far side of the room, by the window, and was already lying down on it under a light blanket, his big feet nearly hanging off the end. He’d left the light on in the hallway, the door cracked open just enough that she could easily make her way to the bed. But she didn’t move.

  No, she was still just standing there like a statue, with her bag and work clothes clutched against her chest—her heart getting all warm and fuzzy as she wondered if he’d kept the light on so she wouldn’t be scared—when he turned his head on the pillow to look at her, their gazes locking so hard it gave her a physical jolt. A slow, barely there smile touched his wide mouth, and then he curved one of those powerful arms behind him, resting his head in his open palm. He had big hands, like the rest of him, and she couldn’t keep from imagining what it would be like to feel them on her body, gripping with enough strength that she could actually feel how badly he needed to touch her.

  Then he lowered that dark, hooded gaze, taking in what he could see of the light gray robe behind everything she was holding, down to her dimpled knees that peeked beneath the hem, before slowly making his way back up to her eyes. “I’ve locked up for the night and set the alarm,” he said in a hushed, deliciously husky tone, “so we shouldn’t get any surprises.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured, unable to look directly at him for too long, since she was afraid she might start to drool or something. Forcing herself into motion, she quickly set her dirty work uniform in a neat pile on the floor beside the dresser, glad to not be wearing the damn thing anymore, even if it had covered more skin than her jammies and robe. With her long hair falling like a shield around her flushed face, she quickly spun toward the bed, her breath quickening as she felt the heat and weight of his attention stay on her the entire time as she crossed the room. With trembling hands, she set her phone on the bedside table, in case Vivian tried to call her in the night, then pulled the robe off so quickly she was surprised it didn’t rip, before climbing under the covers, the cold sheets making her gasp.