Scent of Darkness (12 page)

"But no. You wanted the ring for Meghan Naka-mura." Every time Ann thought about the gorgeous, petite, strikingly beautiful woman, her palm itched to slap someone. Jasha, sometimes. But usually Meghan herself.

"Do you know every time you say her name you sound—"

"Sarcastic?"

"No. Disapproving. Like a nun."

Ann sat up stiffly. "I am not a nun."

He ran his gaze along the curves of her breasts, wreathed with bubbles. He smiled. "I noticed."

She sank back under the water. Why had she never noticed his smile was wolfish, with lots of wicked teeth? And why, when she should be scared, did it make her want all of him entangled with all of her? She took a big breath, then in a rush said, "The tub is big enough for both of us."

"Believe me, I've noticed that, too." But he made no move to slide in.

"You got your pants wet. At least take them off!" Because she felt, well, naked, sitting in here naked while he interrogated her.

"How about this?" He pulled his T-shirt over his head.

"I like it." Her voice had changed pitch. Gone higher and sort of wobbly. All because he had a six-pack, a pair of shoulders, a scar, and an inky black tattoo. Which she'd seen many times around the office after he worked out. And seen at very close quarters about an hour ago. But they never lost their allure, and more than that, it seemed he had just made a promise . . . about later.

"Regarding Meghan," he prompted.

She wrenched her attention back to the conversation. "Well ... I don't sound like one, either. A nun. I don't." She did
not
sound like Sister Mary Magdalene. She did not.

"Of course not. I was mistaken. Tell me more about Meghan and me and you."

"You know what happened. I bought a fabulous diamond. I gave it to you. You gave it to her. Then you told me to contact a wedding planner, and took Meghan to a celebratory dinner." Ann glared, trying to convey her outrage. "Unrequited love is hell."

"So. You love me."

"Out there"—she jerked her head toward the window—"you knew when I was aroused. You said you could smell it."

"Yes/but—" He paused as if searching for a way out of his dilemma.

"You knew I was aroused, but all the women are aroused around you so you didn't think anything of it." She pointed her finger at him. "Right?"

He ran his hand through his hair.

She turned on her side so she didn't have to watch him.

When she thought of the time she spent hiding in a stall in the ladies' lounge and crying . . . and all her friends trying to coax her out . . . and the ugly realization that not only had she imagined she could compete with one of Jasha's beautiful women, but now everyone in the company would know it.

That was the nadir of her whole, empty, loveless life.

She had thought she was going to have to quit the job she adored, leave the man she loved, before the gossip slipped out, and someone stopped Jasha in the hall and shared a good laugh about tall, gangly, plain Ann.

But none of the other girls laughed at her. Instead they took her out to a mall and made her shop. They made her buy the short skirts and the Wonderbra, and Celia, the ringleader of the group, had spoken bracingly of positive attitude and embracing your future and setting goals and making plans. Those women, especially Celia, had figuratively grabbed her by the back of the neck and made her face the fact that she could take action—or she could dream her life away and die an old maid with only a gravestone to mark her passing.

Okay. She hadn't wanted that. But she didn't want this, either, finding out that Jasha was a wolf and that she was the custodian of an icon with supernatural powers. ...

He slid into the tub with her, and around so that he rested against her back. His arms slid around her, pulling her close, and his words ruffled the tendrils at the base of her neck. "Meghan looked like the hottest woman in the world. But in bed . . . she complained if I made her come, because it made her sweat. She complained I was too intense and wanted sex too often. She considered body fluids—hers, mine—as the enemy. If she had seen me turn—I mean, you know,
change
—she would have complained that I shed on her carpet."

Ann shrugged one shoulder and tried to wiggle away.

Jasha nuzzled her ear. "She would have enrolled me in a puppy-training session."

Ann reluctantly grinned.

"As soon as she stepped in a doggy land mine, she would have put me in a kennel." He rested his cheek on Ann's hair.

He'd never turned on the charm for her before. She knew perfectly well he was manipulating her, and she liked it—too much. "You don't know her at all.” she snapped.

"What do you mean?"

"She wouldn't have put you in a kennel. She would have had you put down."

He laughed and turned her to face him. "At the very least, she would have dropped her fingernail file." He ran a knuckle down Ann's cheek.
"You
nailed me with a damned heavy shoe."

She bunked at his chest. All that remained of the earlier wound was a red scar in the shape of her heel.

"You ran and almost got away," he said.

"I would have if not for your speed bumps."

"I actually put them in to keep visitors out, but I bless them for keeping you in."

Since she'd arrived, she'd been nervous, thrilled, terrified, aroused, and enraptured. And terrified. And aroused some more. She just wanted to stand on stable ground for one minute, to know what he thought. "You said you shouldn't have done it. Chased me, I mean."

"I shouldn't have. It wasn't right, and all my excuses aren't worth a damn. But darling, darling Ann, I'm not sorry." His expression went from whimsical to severe. "Because to have you, I would do it again."

Chapter 11

Jasha's words echoed in the steamy silence. Ann swallowed, for in the depths of his golden eyes, she saw the red of the wolf. He meant it, and everything in her recalled the panic and the pain— and the might of his passion. The Ann she'd been before had imagined sex with him would be highly enjoyable with a bit of conflict—a Meg Ryan romance. She had never envisioned this darkness, this glory, this clawing need and fear and splendor.

"Ann, you've stepped into the middle of a legend. Now you're trapped." His voice was low, gentle, laced with sorrow . . . and satisfaction.

"I didn't mean to." She spoke as softly, but every word trembled with trepidation.

"Yet here you are, at my side. And if I would choose any woman to be with me during this ordeal, it would be you. Would you leave me here alone to face whatever comes?"

"No!"

"I think that's why you were chosen. That. . . and this." He kissed her.

She bunched her fists against his shoulders and tried to pull back, to tell him he'd made a mistake, that she wasn't brave.

But he wrapped his hand around her neck and held her still. He crushed her bare breasts against his chest, and he opened her mouth under his.

This time she found it so much easier to give him everything. Desire rose at once—or maybe it had never completely disappeared. She sucked on his tongue, and gave him hers to suck, as well, and almost drowned in the pure joy he offered.

When he lifted his head, she tugged at his waistband. "Take them off."

"I can't."

"Because they're wet? I'll help you." She reached for the button fly.

He caught her hand right after she made contact with the fly, and the bulge underneath, and pulled her hand away with a grin and a grimace. "No, I mean, if I take them off, I won't be able to keep control."

"Control is overrated." She wrestled for her hand.

"I'll get inside you again, and I've already ridden you too hard. You're a virgin."

"Not anymore."

"Don't I know it?" That red flare grew in his eyes.

She didn't care. She didn't care if he turned into a wolf right now. "I don't want to just go to sleep!" Not when he'd heated her, softened her, prepared her.

"I didn't say we were going to do
that."
He placed his palm on her chest over her heart and pressed her back against the tub. "Now that we're inside and the security alarm is set, I can make love to you at leisure, without worrying that someone will sneak up, stab me in the back, and take you."

The hunter. He must mean the drunk hunter. "I don't remember you being too worried while we were in the woods."

"While we were in the woods, the wolf pack watched my back." He slid to the middle of the tub, turned the whirlpool on, and lay back, stretching out his long legs next to her hips.

"The wolf pack? The wolf pack does as you command?" She couldn't decide—was she more horrified about the wolves, or the way he smiled and crooked a finger?

"I saved Leader's life. He is grateful. Come here, Ann."

"Why?"

"I chased you down. I screwed you in the woods. Don't you want revenge?"

How could he make such a vindictive word sound so appealing? "What kind of revenge?" "Straddle me, and I'll show you.”

By the time Jasha placed Ann on the bed, she was limp from coming.

And he could have pounded nails with his dick.

Yeah, he deserved it, but that didn't make it any less painful. His wet jeans scraped him like sandpaper, and all he wanted to do was fuck her until he was senseless. He would, too—if he were a true Va-rinski. If he exulted in his animal nature. But he'd seen what happened when Adrik had surrendered to evil. Their mother and father couldn't stand to lose another son. Especially not now.

So Jasha guessed he'd go take a shower and jack off, then come to bed and sleep with his newfound mate. He looked at Ann, eyes closed, brown hair spread across the pillow.

Fear of the darkness had always made him deny one part of his being, a part he greatly loved— running through the woods, taking justice in his own hands, being at one with the wild.

But this time, he'd given in to the impulse to become a wolf, to run off his frustration and his fury at the curse that now controlled all their lives. With that one impulse, he'd set off a chain of events that changed everything, and forced him to do what he'd never thought he would—cleave to one female for the rest of his life.

Four years ago, Ann had arrived at the Wilder Winery as a file clerk. He'd noted how well she summed up every business situation. He'd kept an eye on her; then when the opportunity occurred, he'd plucked her from among the office staff to be his administrative assistant.

He'd never looked at her as a woman; women he could find easily.

But an administrative assistant whom he could trust with every aspect of his business? That made her rarer than a bloodred ruby.

No choice. He had no choice. A man who took a woman as he had done today had to honor the connection, or know himself to be truly a beast.

So despite his misgivings, it was Ann. He'd made her his mate. And the Almighty made it a covenant, for she was a virgin, and she had found the icon.

She hovered on the brink of sleep, but she whispered, "Jasha?"

"Yes?" He leaned over her.

Her lids fluttered, and she smiled shyly. "Thank you."

She was pretty. He'd always known it; he had a complete appreciation for a good-looking woman. Her complexion was clear and fine; her blue eyes were big and surrounded by long dark lashes. But when she smiled .. . my God, it was like a lamp had gone on in her soul.

Ann was the most kind-hearted, loyal woman he'd ever met—and now she was his. He would keep her forever.

Chapter 12

Ann paused in the kitchen doorway. She wore white slacks, carefully chosen for the way they cupped her rear; an orange sweater, carefully chosen for the plunging neckline and the way the loose knit displayed her black, lacy bra and tiny waist; and open-toed sandals, carefully chosen to show off her formerly pristine pedicure, now ruined in her race through the woods.

She observed Jasha as he sat at the breakfast bar, drinking coffee from a heavy ceramic mug. Morning sunshine poured into the kitchen, lighting his sculpted cheekbones, his wide, sensual mouth, his drooping bedroom eyes. He was reading from his open laptop and he had that grin on his face, a grin she hoped would never be turned on her, for his faithful administrative assistant knew it meant he'd scored against an opponent. He filled out his black T-shirt very nicely, with taut muscles and subtle muscles and bulgy muscles. And hey—last night he'd nearly drowned giving her pleasure.

She wished she didn't feel so self-conscious—about wandering around in Jasha's house, about giving off lustful scents, about opening a conversation with a man she'd thought she knew so well. A man who she now knew hid an awful, glorious, damning secret.

She needed to ask questions. Of course. But how to start? What to say? She'd never been in such a situation before, and please God, she never would be again.

Then he glanced up, and she couldn't remember why she wanted to make conversation with him at all. Why talk when they could—