Page 31 of Taming the White Wolf
Not wanting to linger on dark thoughts, she explored the rest of him. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat to be found. His abs rippled like corrugated steel. His biceps bunched and flexed when he moved. There was so much of him to enjoy, not to mention what he was hiding in his jeans.
A sense of wildness stirred within her. Her panties grew damp. A pulsing emptiness throbbed deep inside her, a longing to connect with him on a sexual level. Her breasts were swollen, the nipples tight nubs that ached for his touch.
She’d spent her lifetime being cautious, mapping out her path. This was more like jumping out of a plane without a parachute and hoping for the best. The odds were good the landing was going to hurt—if not kill her outright—but it was going to be one hell of a wild ride.
There was no guarantee of tomorrow. There was only now. Devlin had saved her life twice—from being struck by a car and from a werewolf. What if it happened again and she wasn’t as lucky?
Giving in to the heat, the promise of more, she tangled her tongue with his, moaning when he returned the gesture. Lying on top of him made her feel more in control. It was smoke and mirrors, of course. He could overpower her in a hot second. She trusted him not to. And she didn’t trust anyone.
Maybe that was part of the problem, why she was always alone. It took time to build those kinds of bonds. It also took the willingness to be vulnerable, something she’d never been eager or able to do.
The situation had stripped that choice away.
Devlin was a kindred spirit. He didn’t strike her as a man who relied on anyone. He certainly had as many trust issues as her, if not more. Fate had thrown them together. If he walked away, she was likely screwed.
There are others.
Pietro’s dying words sent an icy chill down her spine, piercing the delightful arousal pulsing through her.
“What is it?” he asked, proving he was in tune with her, aware of even the slightest change in mood.
Not ready to talk about it, she rolled off him and landed directly on her bad arm. Pain shot up to her shoulder and down to her fingertips. She hissed out a breath and sat upright, grabbing the bandaged area. Eyes watering, she rocked back and forth.
Hovering beside her, he raised his hand and dropped it back down on his lap rather than touch her. A muscle ticked beneath his eye. “Breathe through it.”
She nodded her head and did just that. “Wow, let’s not do that again.”
“I need to look at it, make sure the stitches held.” He raked his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. While she might be in some discomfort, she wasn’t blind. His sculpted chest might be a work of art, but the concern etched on his face was icing on the cake. Whatever his conflicted feelings for her, he did care. That meant everything.
“I’m sure it’s fine.” She prayed it was. The last thing she wanted was another visit from the doctor to fix torn stitches.
Ignoring her, he tossed one of the bags on the bed and dug out the necessary supplies, along with the pills the doctor had given her. “You need to eat before you take these. Should’ve already done that.” The last was said more for himself than her.
“We were both exhausted when we got here.” She barely remembered him carrying her into the bedroom, had fallen asleep immediately. “I don’t have a fever so there’s likely no infection. Besides, I’m not your responsibility.” He might be a deadly werewolf, but she was an independent woman. She didn’t expect anyone to take care of her.
His gaze was hot, but he bit back whatever he was about to say and eased her shirt down enough to get to the bandage. Now that she was sitting upright, her other various aches and pains were making themselves known. A hot shower would help, not to mention painkillers. And coffee. God, she desperately needed coffee.
“Are we safe here?” Her brain was shaking off the remnants of sleep, shock, and sexual arousal and coming back online.
“For the time being.” He wasn’t talkative and she needed answers.
After he finished removing the gauze, he peeled back the final layer. The neat line of stitches covered about a four-inch area. Above and below them, the skin was scabbed over.
Stomach queasy, she glanced away. It wasn’t that the injury was so bad. It was the memory of how she’d gotten it that was making her ill. “What about Pietro? Can we find out anything about him?” Then there was the biggest question of them all. “Why me?” Yes, she and Devlin shared similar coloring, but there had to be more to it than that, didn’t there?
Ignoring her questions, he studied her arm. “The stitches are good. The area is slightly red, but nothing worrisome.” A cooling mist hit her arm. Then he covered it again.
“Thank you.” While she could have handled it, it would’ve been awkward.
He gave a curt nod and disappeared into the connecting bathroom to dump the garbage. She’d been too tired to notice it last night. Now she was in desperate need of it. Keeping her arm braced against her body, she scooted to the edge of the bed.
Devlin leaned against the doorway with one hand raised to clutch the frame. A tuft of soft hair was visible in his armpit. His skin seemed to be tanned everywhere. More likely, it was his natural coloring. His light hair made it seem even darker. As she watched, the bulge in his pants expanded. His jeans clung to his powerful thighs. The waistband dipped slightly, giving her a hint of what was beneath.
“Zoe?”
“Mmm.” She’d had all that muscle and power beneath her.
“I asked if you needed any help.”
