To Catch a Wolf (45 page)

safe.”

He spoke with such reluctance, as if he were revealing a great weakness—as if sparing

a life were more shameful than taking one. In spite of what he had said earlier, he

assumed she'd escaped Denver to protect Niall. And hadn't she? Hadn't she been

equally afraid for both men, knowing that Niall didn't have a chance against a werewolf?

But she knew her brother. His ruthlessness, and his tenacity. He would have been

prepared to face a werewolf

or a murderer.

"A man who killed his own father." Those had been Cecily's words. And Morgan

admitted it. But he had not hurt Niall. Her heart filled with the conviction that he had

deliberately allowed Niall to attack and leave him for dead, so that he would not be

compelled to kill her brother.

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She could think of only one reason he would risk his own life to spare Niall's.

"If you are a murderer," she said, "it would be easy to kill a man you hate.”

He stared at her, stubbornly mute. He would force her to draw her own conclusions

rather than do anything to clear his name, or his worth in her eyes.

So it was up to her. She must decide: whether to believe Cecily and Niall and Morgan

himself, or look beyond the cold facts to the man behind them. The man whose

goodness shone like the biblical light under a bushel. The man she loved.

Words were inadequate. Here, in the wilderness, the two of them sat in the snow

unaware of the cold or the nakedness that would have killed a normal man or woman.

Here, human language had no power to express the feelings that crowded her chest

and seared her throat.

But there was another kind of communication far more eloquent. Suddenly and most

acutely she was aware of her nakedness in a new and tantalizing way—hers, and

Morgan's.

Morgan seemed to read her thoughts. He tensed his muscles and tried to stand, but his

knee buckled. He caught himself against a fir and leaned there, breathing hard. Athena

bit back a cry of alarm.

"We are both weary," she said. "We need rest before

before anything else.”

"Are you ill? Your legs

”

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Naturally he would worry about her and not himself. "I am tired. My legs hurt, and we

need time to recover." And to decide what to do. She left those words unspoken, but he

heard them.

"I'll take you to the ranch.”

So that Niall has another chance to kill you ? So you can run away for the last time?

"No. Not yet." She kept her voice tranquil, her expression calm. "I just need to rest.

Somewhere quiet. Please, Morgan.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. "There is a cave not far from here. It isn't much better—”

"It will do" She started to rise and Morgan rushed in to support her. She felt the vibration

of muscles under his skin as he tried to lift her. "I can walk," she insisted. "Take me to

the cave, Morgan.”

He withdrew instantly, and she realized he believed that she didn't want him to touch

her. The thought sickened her, but she swallowed her protest and let him move ahead,

forging through the snow at a pace too rapid for a weakened man to sustain. Even so,

he glanced back at her every few steps to make sure she followed.

They hadn't far to go. His path led through the trees and to a granite escarpment that

formed a stairstep of ledges up the hill, ending in an overhang crusted with icicles.

Beneath was the dark mouth of a cave. Morgan entered, moved around inside, and

emerged a few minutes later.

"It's safe," he said, addressing the air over her head, refusing to look at her body or into

her eyes. "A bear denned here once, but not for a long time.”

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She nodded and stepped over the lip of the entrance. Morgan pressed himself against a

rock so that she would not touch him by accident. Her feet shuffled among dried leaves

and pine needles, redolent of several former inhabitants. It was a soft, warm, and

comforting scent, like that of a well-worn nursery blanket. The roof of the cave just

cleared the top of her head.

This would be the place. Here Athena Sophia Munroe would do something her former

self could not have dreamed of, just as she had never dreamed of walking again.

She knelt on the mat of leaves and watched Morgan come in, hesitate, and settle

against the curved stone wall near the entrance. "I can make a fire," he offered.

I'm not cold, she almost said, and realized her mistake. She needed to draw him close,

but he was staying as far away as he could.

Was his self-contempt so powerful? Was it that he didn't trust himself with her? Did he

no longer want her?

No. Not unless his body acted independently of his mind. She knew what she saw, what

he tried to hide. He thinks you don't want him. Maybe he hasn't enough strength. Maybe

this is wrong.

Wrong, yes, by the rules that governed people like Cecily Hockensmith. But not wrong

for them. This was not only right, but necessary.

All the questions were silenced. She stood and walked toward him, each step taken with

great care. He looked up and flinched as if she confronted him with a loaded rifle and

death in her eyes.

She dropped to her knees before he could move. "Morgan," she said, and touched his

arm. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you.”

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He didn't respond. She brushed his face with her fingertips. Every muscle in his body

tightened.

"Whatever you may have done, Morgan

whoever you were in the past

it is not who

you are now. I know you. Did you think I would stand as your judge, like Niall, and

condemn you?”

His laugh was barbed like the new wire fences being strung across the prairie. "The

saintly Miss Munroe, always so generous to the wretched.”

The insult had no power to wound. She understood its source.

"Would a saint do this?" she whispered. She took his face between her hands and

kissed him. His lips, firm and set, resisted for the space of a second. Then he groaned

deep in his chest and pulled her into his arms.

Victory was sweet, but Athena knew at once that the savoring must come later.

Morgan's kiss was urgent, almost ferocious, brimming with needs she could not expect

him to control. Didn't wish him to. Not when she had the power to ease his pain for this

little while.

She allowed her body to melt into his. He raised up onto his knees, taking her with him,

so that their bodies touched along nearly every point: breast to breast, hip to hip, thigh

to thigh. He was burning as if with fever. She felt the stiff fullness of him pressed to her

belly and went hot and cold by turns.

Not fear. There was no room for fear. But this was the next great Change, the one that

followed the transformation of her heart and her human body. This was the threshold

from which she could not return to what she had been.

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Morgan must not sense any hesitation or doubt. This was for him. Just for him. He'd

have no cause to rue what they did together now, no matter how many other things in

his past he regretted. This was their chance to make one perfect memory to last a

lifetime.

Athena was prepared to accept Morgan into her body even without the sweet

persuasion of kisses and caresses.

She almost wished him to pull her down and consummate the hunger they shared.

But he anointed the corner of her mouth with a whispered kiss, his tongue darting out to

touch the rim of her lips. Its very delicacy was arousing. She opened her mouth,

needing to feel some part of him inside her. He ignored the invitation and gently closed

his teeth over her lower lip.

The sensation of his suckling was exquisite, tugging at nerves that reached deep into

her belly. She closed her eyes and stopped resisting. When he had carefully explored

every line and curve of her mouth, he bent his head to her shoulder and grazed his

teeth across the sensitive skin at the juncture of her neck. There was no pain, only

delight, but he soothed each nip with his tongue. His breath sizzled in her ear.

"Morgan," she sighed. "It is—”

He pressed his finger to her mouth and shook his head. She understood. There were to

be no words, nothing of the human world to invade this oasis in the snow. Morgan lifted

her against him and pulled her down again, warm skin on skin. Her breasts came to rest

in the hollow of his shoulders. Effortlessly he positioned her, hands about her waist, until

her nipples brushed his chin and then his lips.

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Once before he had touched her there. What he had done in her room at the ranch was

nothing compared to this. The very tip of his tongue teased her nipples to throbbing

peaks, and then he took her into his mouth.

Athena had learned, long ago, that women's breasts were made to feed and nurture

infants. Now she discovered that they held secrets of pleasure only a man could unlock.

Morgan suckled her, kneading her flesh between his hands. He drew tiny circles with his

tongue and drew his teeth to the very tip before filling his mouth with her. Athena let her

head fall back, revelling in the body Morgan so adored.

This body, this woman's body so perfectly designed to fit his. And Morgan was

determined to make himself acquainted with every part of it. Athena was not sure she

could stand the wait.

He gave her no choice. His was a gentle tyranny of pleasure. When he had finished with

one breast he moved to the other and gave it equal attention, drinking in her moans with

quick kisses.

Then he slid her down, her thighs parted to either side of his hips. She did not quite

dare to look between them. The sleek hardness of his erection pushed against her, the

hot tip very near to the place that had become so wet and swollen. Already her body

knew what it would feel like, how the delicious agony would be soothed only when he

filled the hollow ache inside.

But his fingers found her instead, skimming between her legs until they found the

hidden nub. His thumb stroked in a rhythmic motion while his other arm supported her

even when her legs could no longer hold her up.

A little more, just a little more, and she would find her way to paradise. But it was too

soon. This time, when it happened, she wanted him with her in every way. Blindly she

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reached for any part of him that she could touch and found the warm, ridged plane of

his belly.

He caught her wrist and pressed her hand to his chest. He bent her back, and her newly

supple body arched to lift her hips over Morgan's thighs, her knees to either side of his,

her hair spread across the cave floor.

She was utterly exposed. Helpless, yes, but not in the way she had been in her chair.

This was willing surrender, excitement, anticipation of inconceivable joys ahead.

It was not long in coming. Something slipped inside her, past the yielding gateway so

open to Morgan's touch. She gasped in surprise.

He leaned over her and kissed her brow. "I am making you ready," he said. And she

knew it was fingers that had found their way inside, preparing her, making her mad for a

bolder penetration.

"You're so wet," he whispered, brushing her ear with his lips. "So eager to take me

inside you.”

The human words he had foresworn held an unbearable magic. Yes, she was wet, and

ready, and eager with wanting him. But her mouth would not form the sounds to make

him obey. She closed her eyes and endured with mingled pain and pleasure, and when

the heat of his mouth replaced his fingers, she knew how naive she truly was.

His tongue followed the same burning path as his hands had done, teasing and suckling

her, lapping up her wetness, thrusting deep only to withdraw again. Her body climbed to

the precipice, leaving her mind still bound to the dull earth.

"No," she gasped. "Morgan, I want

both of us. Together.”

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The heat of his breath left her, and for a moment she was cold and bereft. Then his

strong hands were parting her thighs, lifting her bottom, drawing her onto him. Poised,

at last, to finish what he had begun.

"When I go inside you," he whispered, "there is no turning back.”