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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

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BOOK: Werewolf in the North Woods
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She smiled at him. “Believe it or not, I do understand why you think it would be a mistake for us to have sex. After listening to your brother’s story, I agree. I could easily fall for you, and then we’d have all those mixed-species problems you just outlined.”
“I’m glad you agree with me.” He should be overjoyed, in fact. So why the sudden letdown because she was giving up the concept of having sex with him? Surely he hadn’t hoped she’d wear him down so he could claim that he’d been tempted beyond all endurance.
“But it’s a shame, in a way,” she continued. “We could have been good together.” She ran her fingers through her hair and lifted it off the back of her neck. “My hair seems to have come undone.”
“I think the tie thing came off while . . . while we were kissing.” The memory of that flooded him with lust all over again. “Do you want me to help you—”
“That’s okay. I know what I’m looking for.” She crossed to the rock and leaned over to search for her hair ribbon.
He had to turn away. If he stood there watching her bending over that rock, no telling what he’d do. Or rather, he knew exactly what he was liable to do, and that would be the end of his resolve not to have sex with her.
So he walked over to his backpack and crouched down to rearrange the contents so he could take on some of her stuff. As he did, he caught another faint whiff of the Sasquatch pair. That might mean they’d stopped to rest somewhere instead of moving on.
“I found it.”
He turned and discovered she was tying up her hair in a ponytail. The motion lifted her breasts, and his fevered brain imagined how much he’d enjoy seeing that same motion if she were standing naked in the forest. Then he could walk over, lean down, and—
“I never told you the other reason we can’t have sex,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “What’s that?”
“No condoms. At least I didn’t bring any. Did you?”
“No.”
“There you go. A built-in guarantee that we will concentrate on the task at hand.”
He started to tell her that it wasn’t a guarantee at all. Whether in human form or wolf form, he wouldn’t be able to procreate until he’d found his mate and completed the binding process. Besides that, he was immune to STDs. He wore condoms only because women expected him to use them.
Fortunately, he caught himself before he blurted out all that info. Letting her believe that a lack of condoms was a legitimate barrier to having sex would be a good thing. Besides, she might not believe him if he told her the truth.
“Obviously that subject caught you flat-footed.” She sounded amused. “You didn’t even think about the fact we don’t have condoms, did you?”
“No, can’t say that I did.”
“You could have picked some up at the store before we left. Grandpa Earl sells them on a top shelf, away from the kids.”
“I noticed that.”
She arched a brow. “You noticed it, but you didn’t act on that knowledge? I guess you really didn’t think we’d get horizontal, then.”
“I knew it would be a bad idea.”
“But you kissed me, anyway.”
He grinned. “You wouldn’t be still.” Then his grin faded. “But it won’t happen again.”
“You’ve got that right. Trust me. I don’t fool around with unplanned pregnancies. And that goes double for interspecies sex. You’re totally safe from me, Roarke.”
He wondered if she was totally safe from him. He’d do his damnedest to keep away from her, but he couldn’t pretend it would be easy.
Chapter 9
 
When Abby learned they’d have to leave the trail and plow through the forest, she finally gave in and let Roarke carry everything but her toiletries and extra clothes. None of that weighed much, and asking him to take those things seemed wrong. But under the circumstances, transferring the bulk of her stuff made logical sense even if it did hurt her pride a bit.
Roarke led the way and was, she supposed, following his nose. Although it wasn’t raining, that made no difference to the wetness factor as she brushed against wet bushes and walked under dripping trees. The constant exercise and the nice view of Roarke’s backside kept her warm enough, but once they stopped moving and darkness arrived, she knew the chill would set in.
Even though they’d left the trail, she had a fair idea of where they were. As a teenager living out her Indiana Jones fantasies, she’d camped out overnight many times with her brother. Once they’d learned to make cairns to mark their travels, they’d done that incessantly.
Apparently many of them were still there, because she’d already noticed a few. Judging from the cairns, she and Roarke weren’t far from a cave Abby and her brother had discovered. A cave sounded like a nice choice for the night provided it wasn’t occupied by some critter.
Whether they slept in a cave or out in the open, she wouldn’t complain. She’d be the epitome of the happy camper, because thanks to Roarke’s much-discussed sense of smell, they were successfully tracking the Bigfoot pair. Roarke said he’d picked up their scent and she trusted him to know what he was talking about.
According to Roarke, the creatures had a substantial lead on them and the chances of overtaking them today were slim. Abby vowed not to feel guilty about that. She’d been doing her best to keep up when Roarke had turned around and noticed her limping.
And kissed her.
Lordy, that werewolf could kiss. Then, as he’d worked the charley horse out of her calf, she’d nearly melted into a puddle on that rock.
He liked to go on about how wonderful she smelled, and she had to admit his scent was an aphrodisiac to her, too. If he used cologne, she wasn’t familiar with the brand. Whatever it was, it made her think of lying on a bed of moss under a fragrant evergreen.
To be more specific, his scent made her think of lying naked on a bed of moss underneath the hot body of one Roarke Wallace. She wasn’t sure if that was due to cologne or pheromones. Maybe it was a combination of both, but the effect was powerful.
She liked to think she wouldn’t have had sex with him since neither of them had brought condoms. She liked to think that, but she wasn’t sure, and that was scary. She
always
thought of condoms. She wasn’t the sort of girl to get swept away and realize later that she’d had an
oops
moment.
But Roarke was one lusty guy. He was also a wolf sometimes, and maybe that was part of her fascination. Hey, who was she kidding? Roarke was a larger-than-life fairy-tale hero, the kind she used to dream about when she was a little girl. Of course she wanted him desperately.
And of course she would resist such an insane fantasy. Her parents would love to see her settle down with a nice guy and pop out a couple of kids they could spoil rotten. Abby liked that scenario herself. She definitely didn’t plan to present them with grandchildren who sometimes turned into wolves.
Good thing she and Roarke had gone over that material as part of his Idiot’s Guide to Werewolves course. She couldn’t imagine what life was like for Roarke’s sister-in-law, Emma. All the important aspects of her life had to remain hidden from her friends and family. That would suck. She must really love Roarke’s brother.
Roarke paused again to sniff the air.
“Still smell them?”
“Yep. We’re keeping pace with them, but we haven’t gained any.”
“Then go faster.”
He glanced back at her. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch them.”
“When, sometime next year?”
He rolled his eyes. “Abby, we’re doing fine. They’ll probably stop for the night soon, and then we can make up a little of the distance before we stop.”
“Or we could hike all night and catch them.”
“
No
, we’re not doing that.” He sniffed again. “Let’s go.”
She couldn’t smell a thing, which meant the Sasquatch pair was quite a distance away. Her grandfather maintained there was nothing worse than the smell of a Sasquatch. But for all Abby knew, Roarke liked it. He was strange that way.
As she trudged through the forest after him, trying to ignore the ache in her legs, her back—pretty much all over—she decided to ask the question and take her mind off her pain-racked body. “So do you like the way a Sasquatch smells?”
“Hell, no. It’s a terrible stench, just like your grandfather said.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Roarke laughed. “Poor hygiene?”
“Maybe. Then again, it might be a way for them to identify each other. Maybe a Sasquatch smells just great to another Sasquatch.”
“Now you’re thinking like an anthropologist.”
That comment pleased her. And talking definitely helped her forget she was a walking mass of misery. “What do you like about your job?”
“The people I meet. Some of the populations my team and I study are dirt poor but have a richness of tradition that more affluent cultures would envy.”
“That sounds cool.”
“It is. Dancing, singing, feasts—all of which promote loyalty to the community. Obviously, as a Were I come from a background that encourages community loyalty. That’s how we’ve survived through the ages. But the people I study often have an even deeper understanding of the meaning of community. I learn a lot from them.”
“And then you teach that to your students at NYU.”
“I hope so.” He held back a branch to give her room to pass.
“I’ll bet you do. Especially if you remember to wear the corduroy jacket and plaid vest.”
“Oh, yeah. My professor costume.” He let the branch go and it
whoosh
ed into place, showering both of them with a fine mist. He didn’t seem to notice as he paused to gaze at her. “Do you think the clothes are too over-the-top?”
He asked the question so earnestly that she had to smile. “It’s definitely over-the-top, but if you’re asking me whether you should modify it, my vote is to leave well enough alone.”
“So you think it makes me look dignified and scholarly, then.”
“No, I think it makes you look like a geek.”
“Damn. I was going for dignified and scholarly.”
“Personally, Roarke, I think the geeky look works for you. You should keep it.”
“Why?”
“You honestly don’t know?”
“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you about this. I loved the Indiana Jones movies as a kid, and so I decided to model myself after him. I wasn’t willing to give up my Ferrari, and I still love a good game of touch football, but I wanted people at NYU to take me seriously. So I decided it would help if I looked more like a professor than a rich playboy.”
She folded her arms and studied the man in front of her. His dark blond hair was rumpled from wind and rain, and he was sporting a five-o’clock shadow on his extremely square jaw. His shoulders filled out the tan windbreaker, and carrying that huge backpack made him look like some sort of Superman figure.
“If you walked into a classroom looking like this, then—”
“I would never do that.”
“That’s fortunate, because if you did, all the women in the class would swoon, after which they’d spend the entire class period with their chins propped on their fists, gazing at you.”
His cheeks reddened. “No, they wouldn’t.”
“Yes, they would. You’re a hunk, Dr. Wallace. You may want to be admired for your brains, but your body is to die for. Take it from someone who’s been jonesing for you ever since we met at the Rotary luncheon.”
“When I was wearing my professor uniform.”
“I’m old enough to be able to look past that, but the clothes help disguise your hotness from an eighteen-year-old college freshman.”
“Ah, it wouldn’t matter. To those girls, I’m an old guy. They’re interested in the football player sitting next to them in the lecture hall.”
Abby shrugged. “So don’t take my word for it. Try ditching the vest and wearing a white shirt open at the collar. See what happens. I predict the female population of your class won’t take a single note. They’ll be too busy staring at you.”
Roarke massaged the back of his neck. “I’m not sure you’re right, but that would be bad. Anthropology’s a fascinating subject and I want them to learn all they can while they’re in my class.”
“Then take my advice and stick with the plaid vest.”
“All right, I will.” He glanced at his watch again. “We still have another hour of daylight, and I think the scent is getting stronger. Are you okay to push on?”
“You bet.”
“Okay, but let me know when you’re ready to stop for the day.”
“Sure.” Like she would admit to being tired. She’d hike till she dropped. Then she’d drag herself to her feet and hike some more.
But he’d given her another topic of conversation as she followed him through the woods. “You drive a Ferrari?”
“I have a weakness for fast cars. I toyed with the idea of becoming a race car driver, but I don’t think that kind of high-profile work is a good idea for my kind.”
BOOK: Werewolf in the North Woods
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