Marked by Moonlight (14 page)

“And I suppose you still think this change in appearance—” He waved a hand over her person. “—is just coincidental?”

Her eyes flared wide, the brilliant silver glowing even brighter. She jabbed a finger through the air accusingly. “You told me to dress provocatively!”

“You changed your looks before I made any suggestion about how you should dress tonight.”

Her knuckles whitened where they held her top together. “You got me to dress like this when you knew they would come after me.”

“I didn't know you were going to dress like Pamela Anderson. You're the one who sent that lycan into overload.”

“Oh,” she squeaked, face flushing a vivid red.

Before she could arrive at a more dignified answer, he hopped out of the Jeep. Heading toward the back door, he called over his shoulder, “That lycan was right. You want to give it up.”

Gideon bit the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from adding that he wanted to be the one to receive it.

A dog in season is subject to variances of mood; be sensitive to your pet.

—Man's Best Friend:
An Essential Guide to Dogs

C
laire stepped into the kitchen and let the door slam behind her. “You make it sound like I'm in heat,” she accused.

Propping her hands on her hips, she waited for him to assure her otherwise, waited for him to say she wasn't actually a dog, that she couldn't be ruled by base, primitive urges.

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he shrugged out of his jacket and removed his holster. She translated his look to mean,
if the shoe fits
.

All the ways in which she had recently changed flashed across her mind: heightened senses, quick temper, wardrobe, hair, makeup, renewed interest in men.

“Oh, my God.” She sank into a chair, propping her elbows on the kitchen table and burying her face in her hands. “I
am
in heat.”

“You're not in heat,” he said as he opened the refrigerator to peer inside.

She peered through her fingers, staring at him hopefully.

“Well,” he amended, “not exactly.”

She dropped her face back into her hands with a moan. Not only was she a werewolf, but a werewolf whose biological clock tolled for a litter of her own. “I'm not stepping outside this house ever again.”

“Yes. You will,” he countered with annoying certainty, head still inside the fridge, rear end displayed to full advantage in his well-worn denim.

Jamming her eyes shut against the sight, she fought back a wave of lust. Oh God. Did
he
drive her wild with need? Or was it simply an instinctive need to fornicate? She snuck another glimpse at his ass, refusing to believe that she had lost all dignity, all self-control—that sex, regardless of the partner, would suffice.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe it's not a good idea to flaunt myself all over town.”

“We're not any closer to finding the alpha of your pack. You're going out again. You have to.”

“My pack,” she snorted in contempt. “I don't have a pack, remember? That's why everything on four legs wants a piece of me.”

Gideon's lips twitched.

She glared at him and uncrossed her arms to wag a finger in warning. “Don't you dare laugh.”

“Believe me, I find no humor in the situation.” His mouth fell into an uncompromising line. His eyes dropped and he cleared his throat. “You can change clothes. Unless you enjoy exposing yourself to me.” His voice sounded tight and strangled.

She followed his gaze. Her top gaped open, revealing her black push-up bra. She felt her nipples tighten beneath the black silk and grabbed at the tattered fabric.

“Maybe I'm trying to seduce you,” she flung out with far more bravado than she felt. Face flaming, she scooted back in her chair back and added, “I am in heat, after all.”

Deciding it best to flee—before she made a fool of herself and succumbed to the base impulses tormenting her—she stormed out of the kitchen.

She was not an animal.
Not a dog in heat
. She alone controlled her body. Even if she did want to pick up where they left off at the lake house. Gideon was the only one to affect her that way. Only he made her forget that the two of them were a very bad idea.

Thankfully he had control enough for both of them.

 

Claire stared at the shadows flickering across the ceiling, thoughts of tonight and Gideon keeping her awake. The purr of a diesel engine growled in the night. Kicking back the covers, she hopped off the uncomfortable pullout and moved to the window.

Parting the curtains, she watched a man climb out of his truck and stride up the front walkway. Something about the purposeful way he carried himself, the quick way he canvassed the area, reminded her of Gideon.

Footsteps pounded down the hall—the smack of Gideon's bare feet on the house's old wood floors. Apparently, she wasn't the only one awake and aware of their late-night visitor.

The door to her room flung open. Gideon stood there bare-chested. She devoured the sight of him, the stranger outside forgotten. His eyes settled on her with an intensity that sent heat rushing to her face. His jeans hung loose and unbuttoned on his waist. The enticing line of hair disappearing below his navel made her throat constrict. Tousled hair, dark in the room's shadows, brushed his naked shoulders. She felt herself take a step forward, fingers twitching at her side, itching to touch that hair, recalling its softness in her hands.

She froze, rooting her feet to the floor, telling herself to get a grip.

He pointed an imperious finger at her. “Stay here.”

The back door opened and slammed shut below.

“Gideon,” a voice boomed out.

Gideon gave the smallest flinch.

Goosebumps sprang to life over her skin. “Who is it?” she whispered.

“My boss. Don't make a sound,” he cautioned, his eyes glowing bottle green in the shadows. “Not unless you want it all to end right here, tonight.”

His meaning left no doubt. Shivering, she nodded.

He turned and walked back out of her room, closing the door behind him.

For a long moment, she held her breath, almost afraid the sound would carry downstairs and give her presence away.

His boss?
The low rumble of their voices barely carried from the bottom floor. The drumming pulse at her neck gradually slowed. They couldn't hear her from up here.

Easing the door open, she stuck her head out into the hall. The voices were no clearer, still a faint murmur on the air. She crept down the hallway on silent feet and lowered herself to the top step, well out of sight but in perfect hearing range.

“Two dead lycans and no one's claiming them. Know anything about it?”

“Why would I?” Gideon's voice rang out.

“The whole thing smacks of a rogue hunter. You know I won't tolerate that. Not in my town.”

“Yes. I'm well aware of our policy regarding non-sanctioned hunters.”

She bit her lip. What would happen if his boss realized he lied? Worse yet, what would happen if it were discovered that Gideon sheltered her? She could guess at her fate, but what about him? Until that moment, Claire hadn't realized just how much he was putting on the line for her.

A long pause followed Gideon's flip response. She strained forward on the step, waiting.

“Seen your sister lately?”

Biting her bottom lip between her teeth, Claire hugged her knees to her chest.

“Not much. She's busy with school and work.”

“Right.”

Even from her position high on the stairs, she detected the man's skepticism.

“You know what I think?” he continued.

“I'm sure you're going to tell me,” Gideon retorted.

“Your sister's been trying to get into NODEAL for as long as I can remember.”

“So?”

“So, maybe she's decided to do a little freelancing.”

Gideon's rich laughter rippled through the air. “I don't think so. Between classes and tending bar, she's pretty busy.”

“I want to talk to your sister—”

“Then talk to her. You don't need my permission.”

Even from where she sat, Claire could picture his lips curving in that mocking smile.

“Oh, I'll do that. But if I find out she's involved in this—”

“You'll what, Cooper? Slap her on the wrist. So what if she did the world a favor and took out two lycans? Big deal.”

Cooper? Her gaze darted back to her room, remembering the inscription in the book tucked away in the drawer.

“You know the rules, Gid. We don't let women in.”

Interesting. Werewolf hunters were sexist. Guess they didn't have to worry about the ACLU filing suit. Not when the world was ignorant of their existence.

“And she's not,” Gideon returned. His voice sounded closer. The soft fall of footsteps signaled their advance into the living room. Her heart jumped and she cautiously rose to her feet, hands pressing flat against the wall on either side of her. If Cooper departed through the front door he would pass the stairs. One glance up and he would see her.

“I know
you
understand, Gideon. Just make sure your sister does, too.”

The step groaned beneath her shifting foot. Panicked, she dropped back down—and the step creaked in protest a second time. Her heart froze.

“What was that?” Cooper asked.

She bit the knuckles of one fist, welcoming the pain, deserving it.

“What?” Gideon asked, voice calm, even a touch bored.

“Do you have someone upstairs?” Cooper asked, his tone disapproving.

Claire jammed her eyes shut.

Gideon laughed dryly. “Would I be down here talking shop with you if I had someone upstairs?”

“Ah, hell. Suppose not.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid
. Dropping her face into her hands, she shook all over.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” Cooper announced.

Their footsteps faded back into the kitchen.

She waited and listened to their muffled good-byes, too afraid to move, to breathe, until she knew Cooper was out of the house.

Suddenly, Gideon stood at the foot of the stairs, glaring up at her with blood in his eyes. One hand gripped the railing. Her eyes penetrated the dark, noting the whitening of his knuckles the moment before he swung himself up the steps toward her.

With a hiss of alarm, she spun around on the balls of her feet. His hand closed around her ankle just as she reached the landing. He dragged her back down into the stairwell and flipped her on her back. A deep throbbing started in her abdomen, spreading outward, turning her limbs to mush.

Hands digging into her shoulders, he demanded, “What didn't you understand about keeping quiet?”

He gave her a little shake. Claire grabbed the back of her head where it bumped a step. “I only wanted to know what was going on.”

“So you eavesdropped?” he growled, his mouth so close their breaths mingled, fusing into one shared gust of air.

“You know a better way for me to find out what's going on? You only tell me half-truths.”

His legs slid between her bare ones, the rough denim scratching the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her breathing hitched and she forgot about the stairs digging into her back. Forgot about everything except the wonderful weight of him bearing down on her.
Damn primitive urges
.

“Do you know what would happen if he found you?” He grabbed her face in both hands and his voice sounded strange to her ears—hoarse and uneven. “Nothing in the world could help you, then.” His eyes searched hers, glittering with an emotion she could not name. “He'd kill you.”

Her belly tightened at the feel of his broad, callused palms against her face. “Would you have stopped him, Gideon?”

He inhaled a ragged breath that shot through her like a bolt of high-powered voltage. His voice fell to a hush. “Don't make me choose.”

She let the tips of her breasts brush against his chest, keenly aware that only the thin cotton of her T-shirt separated them. “Haven't you already?”

He groaned, his look tormented, making her heart clench inside her chest.

“Don't look at me like that,” he rasped before his mouth swooped down on hers. He swallowed her moan, took it deep inside his mouth as his hands dove beneath her, pulling her off the uncomfortable steps and pressing her close to his chest, to the wild beating of his heart.

This time it was all about them. It wasn't a ploy to get a pair of handcuffs on her. He kissed her because he wanted to. Had to. And she reveled in that knowledge. Like a bird released from its cage, her heart soared with the awareness of her feminine power.

Mouths meshing, limbs tangling, her body somehow ended up on top of his. Her hands roamed his naked chest, palms grazing the hard pecs, the narrow indentation of his sternum, the flat plane of his stomach. She exulted in the freedom to touch, to feel all that hard, bronzed flesh.

She slid down the length of him, her lips trailing kisses across warm, quivering skin. The sound of his panting breath reached her ears, filling her with triumph. She pulled the opening of his jeans wide. The tantalizing line of hair trailing below his navel pointed like an arrow to the hard heat of him she remembered. She pressed a moist, open-mouthed kiss at the lowest point visible.

Moisture rushed between her legs, dampening her panties. Needing satisfaction, she growled and yanked at his waistband urgently.

He made a rough sound and slid from beneath her. Rising to his feet, he loomed above her on the landing, that glorious bare chest lifting in deep, ragged breaths. Sitting on a step, she clutched the bottom of her T-shirt in each fist, twisting the fabric against her knees, fighting the impulse to spring at him.