Taming Heather [Cariboo Lunewulf 1] (5 page)

The gravel drive led to a paved path that took her to his front door. Her palms were sweaty and she rubbed her hand against her jeans before tapping on the front door.

He filled the doorway when he opened it. The first thing she noticed was his damp hair, a clean smell surrounding him like he’d just showered. Then she quickly noticed his bare chest, and the way his sweats hung loosely around his hips.

Marc stepped out of the way to let her enter. He was barefoot too. Damn it. She didn’t have enough defenses for the amount of sex appeal that radiated from him.

“I hear you want to show me something?” His suggestive tone gave her chills.

But then when he ran his hand down her back, guiding her into his living area, his touch burned through her. A flush raced through her that she blamed on the heat from a roaring fire burning in an oversized fireplace at the end of the room.

“You asked to see what I was writing.” She took a minute to look around his place, noting immediately that Marc McAllister lived well for a cop.

A matching couch and overstuffed chairs surrounded a wooden, oblong coffee table. Hardwood floors had been varnished to a warm glow, and oil paintings of mountain scenes and rushing waterfalls hung on the walls. The glow of the fireplace and several lamps gave the room a cozy warmth with its dim lighting.

“And that is why you came over?” He guided her to the couch, his hand remaining on her until she sat.

He sat next to her, his gaze lowering to the manila file she still held clasped to her chest. His fingers brushed against her breasts when he took the file, and then set it on his coffee table. Her nipples hardened eagerly, and this time she wasn’t wearing baggy clothes. She didn’t need to look down to know the snug sweater she wore probably gave him a wonderful view of the curve of her breasts.

“Yes. I would love to hear your opinion on my take on werewolves.” She’d rehearsed the line, and thought she sounded professional enough.

Although she was almost too warm, she pulled her leather jacket around her, needing something to do with her hands. Damn, he made her nervous.

Meeting the hunger in his gaze made her feel anything but professional. She let go of her jacket and ran her hands over her jeans, then looked away from him, nibbling at her lower lip as she looked around his living room once again.

Marc sat facing her on the couch and reached for a strand of her hair. If he pulled on her hair again tonight she would come right there on the spot. She just knew it. Sucking in a nervous breath, she fought to keep her thoughts at a professional level.

“And why is it that you are so impressed with werewolves?” he asked, rubbing her hair between his fingers, but not pulling.

She swallowed. “It’s a human interest. There is so much about you that we don’t know.”

“And you think coming out here to my den this evening will help you learn more?” His voice had dropped to a husky whisper.

“I’d hoped so,” she admitted, looking at him again.

His blue eyes had hints of silver through them, like bolts of lightning, charged with an energy that sparked her curiosity.

Hell, he sparked a lot more than her curiosity. His hand moved to her cheek, long fingers cupping her chin and guiding her face closer to his. She was actually surprised at how soft his lips were when he brushed them over hers.

Heather sucked in a breath, the smell of him filling her senses.

“What is it that you think I can teach you?” he whispered, his gaze hooded as he bit slightly on her lower lip.

Heather jumped to her feet, almost stumbling over his coffee table as she moved away from him.

“Well you could…you could tell me what it’s like to change into a beast,” she stammered, her fingers brushing over her lip that he’d just nibbled.

“It’s the completion of all energy.” He stood as well, moving toward her, like a predator would his prey. “The change allows a werewolf to release their emotions. We pity you that you aren’t complete.”

Heather turned on a dime. “You pity us? We don’t turn into monsters.”

“And that’s what you think I am, a monster?” He gripped her shoulders and then slid his hand under her jacket, sliding it down her arms. “Why would you wish to consort with a monster?”

He took her jacket from her and walked over to a closet by his front door, then hung it on a hanger. Muscles glided under the flesh on his back when he moved. He had a perfect ass that his loose-fitting sweats couldn’t hide. There wasn’t a damn thing monstrous about him.

Heather ran her fingers through her hair, turning her attention to the fire that crackled with life in the fireplace. Images of the creature she’d watched the other night came to mind. She’d watched him change, seen the transformation with her own eyes.

Marc McAllister was a monster, a werewolf, or he had that in him. The sexy man seducing her right now was only part of who he was. She had to remind herself of that.

The reason she was here was to get his insight on her work. If she could publish her article and say it had werewolf approval, the attention she’d get would be threefold. It would boost her career to an extent she was sure she couldn’t imagine. That had to be the focus of her thoughts, not this sexy werewolf-man who was way too smooth of a talker.

“That is the impression humans have of werewolves.” She turned quickly to make her point.

When had he moved right behind her? She almost lost herself in those deep blue eyes. The silver streaks had left, and an intense blue, bluer than a rich summer sky, captivated her. She blinked to clear her thoughts.

“And an impression you might be able to help me with.” She tried to move around him, to point at her article on his coffee table.

Marc ran his fingers up her arm, sending chills rushing through her. Her nipples hardened again. He was too much man, too big, too powerful, too aggressive.

“So you’re here to discover what my true nature is, to find out if I am a monster or not?” He moved quickly, wrapping his fingers through her hair, pulling her head back so that he had her pinned. “And what actions will convince you, my little bitch?”

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered, her breath coming so hard that she suddenly was dizzy.

His other hand snaked around her neck, capturing her face, her head, pinning her so that she was forced to stare up at him.

“Our women are bitches, mated or unclaimed. Would you have me pretend I’m not a werewolf when I’m around you?” His mouth barely moved, the words whispered, caressing her senses with their meaning.

“For us, it’s a derogatory word.” She knew her heartbeat pounded against his thumb, which pressed gently into her jugular vein. “But I don’t want you to pretend you’re something you’re not.”

“Good.” He raised her head slightly, stretching her neck, and kissed her again.

This time the kiss was deeper, his tongue parting her lips and entering her. Heather let out a small cry, more like a gasp as she allowed the kiss, her insides filling with a sense of need she usually kept well-suppressed.

He held her head tightly in place, making love to her mouth. There was little else to do with her hands other than to spread her fingers over his massive chest. Warm muscles quivered against her touch. His tongue impaled her, blinding her with a greedy lust, while she ran her hands over his rock-hard body.

There was so much of him. And even though she knew in her mind that he could be even more than what appeared before her, he was more man than most she had ever met.

He bent over her. Even though he’d stretched her upwards toward him, he was still so much taller than she that he had to meet her halfway. Her entire world had suddenly become Marc McAllister. Powerful, dominating, aggressive, and so incredibly dangerous. She’d be in way over her head in seconds if she didn’t slow this down drastically.

When she tried to turn her head to end the kiss, his fingers tightened for a second, as if unwilling to let her go. But then he relaxed his hands, allowing her to break off the kiss.

Heather stumbled backwards, gasping for breath, her lips tingling and wet from his mouth.

“All I want is your help on the article.” It was a desperate cry, her feeble attempt to regain control of her senses.

Her pussy throbbed, her breasts were swollen and aching for attention. Like hell it was all that she wanted.

“Don’t lie to me, sweet bitch.” His voice was thick, deeper, almost a growl.

She stared up at him. His blond hair stood slightly on end, and the silver streaks raced through his blue eyes again. God. She’d swear he was even taller and bigger than he’d been when she first walked into his home.

“What makes you think I’m lying?”

“I can smell your arousal.” His words stole her breath from her body. “It’s more than your nipples pressing against your sweater, aching for me to suck them. And I don’t have to touch you to know that your pussy is soaked. It’s not how your breathing is so hard that someone might think you raced around the block just now. No. I don’t need to see or touch you to know how desperately you want me right now. Your scent speaks volumes, sweetheart.”

For a moment all she could do was stare at him. His cock pressed against his sweatpants, while images of seeing him naked the other night in the woods filled her mind.

It dawned on her that his chest hair seemed to be thicker, that his hair was tousled on his head, yet she hadn’t run her hands through it. He seemed taller, his muscles larger. She couldn’t smell him, but she knew he was aroused also.

And obviously when a werewolf was turned on, they got more than just a hard cock. His entire body had changed. What if he changed into a werewolf while he was fucking her?

The thought scared the shit out of her.

“You’re a good-looking man, but…” She wouldn’t say,
but you’re a werewolf
, although the words about escaped her.

Something hardened in Marc’s expression. “Yes?” he asked, crossing powerful arms over his chest.

She sucked in her breath, licking her lips that suddenly seemed too dry. “I’m here to discuss business. That’s all.”

There was no way she could break away from his gaze while he seemed to stare right through her, see the truth even though she dared not speak it. Marc was not only a werewolf with heightened senses, but he was a cop.

When he lunged forward, she jumped.

Marc took her arm, escorting her none too gently toward the door. He almost ripped open his closet door, grabbing her coat and tossing it at her.

“The next time you enter my den, you will admit to your emotions. I will not tolerate a second lie.” And with that he pulled open his front door, and almost shoved her into the cold night air.

Chapter Five

Marc took slow, long, deep breaths once he shut his front door. He knew he had a mean temper. It was a
Cariboo
trait. For the most part with his work, and interacting with the
lunewulf
in his pack, he’d managed to keep his strong emotions in check. Werewolves in this part of British Columbia were different than the
Cariboo
lunewulf
he’d grown up with. Hell, his father had thrown his mother over his shoulder, taking her physically from her den when he’d decided she would be his mate.

Now he knew that wasn’t proper behavior, and wouldn’t be surprised if his parents had exaggerated the story a bit over the years while they repeatedly shared it with him and his brothers. But his upbringing hadn’t shielded emotions. When someone felt something, they expressed it. Sometimes he could barely stomach the way humans stuffed their feelings.

He took another soothing breath, aching to tear open his front door and go after that little human. She was all wrong for him anyway. He’d told himself that numerous times before she’d shown up. It was the appeal of someone different, someone who ached to learn, for him to teach her. There was a strong appeal in that. Not to mention she was just about the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. So fragile, yet with a strong, daring personality. He liked that.

She’d worn jeans that had hugged her petite figure, and a sweater that showed off breasts that he knew had to be well more than a handful. And her scent, her sweet, rich scent when he’d brought out the passion in her. Heather smelled better bathed in lust than any werewolf woman he’d ever been with.

“Damn it to fucking hell,” he growled, turning from the door and smashing his palm against the wall. His pictures shook against the wall, and the flames in the fireplace seemed to dance with retaliation.

Maybe a run would help soothe the fire that danced with even more fury inside him. It wasn’t right that Heather Graham had stirred emotions like that in him. He ran his hands over his hair, messing it up even further than it already was.

Toby Beuerlein had called when Heather had asked how to find Marc, down at the station. Marc had given him permission to send her out here. Beuerlein knew she’d been here. The werewolf more than likely had a clue who Heather Graham was, that she wasn’t mated, and he’d have to be blind to not notice how pretty she was. Marc trod on thin ice if anyone learned how he’d thrown her out. His pack wouldn’t question him, but if she made a fuss among her humans, things could get sticky. After all, he worked for humans.

Now he definitely needed that run. It would be a cold day in hell before he changed his ways for any human.