Page 9 of Protecting The Gray Wolf
She shook her head, refusing to believe it. “No.”
He turned his head slightly. The light caught his eyes, reflecting like it did with an animal. “I’m the gray wolf.”
The dream world began to fade…
“No!” She lunged and sat upright so fast she rolled off the couch and onto the floor, barely catching herself before her head hit the hardwood. Her body ached with longing. Raising her hand to her mouth, she touched her lips. They were slightly wet and swollen. Stunned, Luna sat on the floor of her studio in a halo of sunlight.
Sunlight.
“Oh, God. I’m going to be late for work.” Not something she could afford after last night’s fiasco. Using the edge of the couch, she pulled herself to her feet. Her dress was shoved up almost to her waist. She froze when cool air hit bare skin.
She reached down and found torn panties, ragged edges of fabric clinging to the waistband. “It was nothing more than a dream. I did this in my sleep.” There was no other explanation she was willing to consider. “No more champagne late at night for you.”
Her gaze fell on the outline of the man on the canvas. His somber expression almost seemed to mock her. “You are not the gray wolf.” It was too absurd to consider for even a second. She grabbed it off the easel and shoved it in the closet, slamming the door shut.
“I’m done with you.” The relentless throbbing of her body made a liar out of her. Ignoring the desires pulsing through her, she dashed to her bedroom. A quick glance at the clock told her if she hurried, she might actually make it in time.
Chapter Four
Kade swore as he snatched up his beeping phone. It was the information he’d been waiting on. Fast work, but he expected no less from the broker.
His cock was rigid, his balls one big ache, and he was naked. At some point while he’d slept, he’d kicked off his track pants. He hadn’t had an erotic dream this real…ever. The exquisite taste of Luna’s mouth, the way her fingernails had scored his skin as she’d clung to him, the sweet scent of her arousal, all had him primed and ready to blow.
He huffed out a breath and froze. Her scent wasn’t in his memory. It was here in this room. “That’s not possible.” Luna had said the same thing in the dream. Shaken to his core, he sat on the edge of the bed and inhaled. It was faint, but it was there. “Maybe it’s a holdover from last night in the gallery.”
He held his hands out in front of him, studying them. If it was nothing more than a nighttime fantasy, how did he know the shape and texture of her ass? “Wishful thinking.”
That had to be the logical answer. The other alternative was that there was some psychic or mystical connection between them, possibly one created by magic. If that was the case, they’d somehow met on the dream plane, and what had occurred there was real.
“Fuck.” Scrubbing his hands over his face, he centered himself. “Deal with the facts.”
There was no way he’d be able to concentrate with a raging hard-on and Luna’s scent clinging to him. He detoured to the bathroom and stepped into the shower. He cranked the taps and stood beneath the icy spray, welcoming the chill. It shook off the remnants of sleep but did little to cool his ardor. Swearing, he grabbed the tiny bar of soap provided by the hotel, worked up a thick lather, and rubbed it over his arms and chest. His erection laughed at the frigid water.
Tossing the soap back onto the shelf, he gripped his shaft. His slick hand moved up and down, squeezing hard with each stroke. Eyes closed and head tipped back, he remembered the dream—the feel of her lips on his, the stroke of her hands over his chest and arms, the demand that he touch her beneath her underwear.
The pressure built in his balls until it exploded upward. On a yell, he came, his release spurting over his hand and torso. Panting heavily, he rested his hands against the tiled wall, lowered his head, and let the spray pummel his shoulders and back. Fuck, even after coming, he was nowhere near spent. At least the pressure had been relieved enough to allow him to think without being distracted. Shoving upright, he cleaned up and shut off the water before toweling off to the lightplinkof the dripping faucet.
As a wolf, he had a high sex drive, and it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. One-night stands got old after a decade or two. All the faces and names lost in the revolving door of time. Human women couldn’t know what he was. Werewolf females were both attracted and repelled by him. They might welcome him to their bed for a night or two but no more. They wouldn’t risk their place in their pack, not for him. Nor could he trust them not to turn on him and either give up his location or try to kill him. Both had happened, especially in the early years.
Naked, he strode back into the bedroom. After dragging on clean clothes, he took the time to brew coffee in the single-cup machine the hotel provided. The scent helped perk him up. The morning sun was warm on his back as he sat at the table by the window and opened his laptop. First thing he did was to download the attachment and run an antivirus and tracking scan. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the broker. He didn’t trust anyone.
Satisfied it was safe, he deleted the temporary email account and opened the attachment. “Well, shit.” He’d anticipated a short dossier. What he got was a ZIP file filled with dozens of files, some of which contained information and news clips that went back twenty-five years.
Elbows resting on the table, he began to read. Birth name Diana Luna Redmond. It was another oddity that she went by her middle name and not her first. It didn’t escape him that both her names meant moon. Sort of overkill, in his opinion. She’d legally changed her name at eighteen to Luna West, taking the last name of her maternal grandmother. “Why the change?”
Intrigued, he continued. “Only child of Arianna and Otis Redmond.” He let out a low whistle as the names registered. Her parents were famous. That likely explained the upscale apartment. Hell, he’d watched many of her mother’s movies, as well as those directed by her father. “What are you doing in New York, far from the glitz of Hollywood?” And maybe the answer was in the question. It was far away from the life her parents had chosen to lead. She wouldn’t be the first child to rebel against her upbringing.
As he sipped his coffee and delved deeper into the report, a clearer picture began to emerge. One that made his wolf snarly. He clicked on each article link when prompted. There were lots of early pictures of her as a baby and toddler, as her parents showed her off to the media. Even then, she’d been unique with thick brown hair with strands of gray. Old eyes had stared back at the camera. There was rarely a smile.
Those images became sparser as she’d grown until by the age of three it was as if she’d disappeared off the face of the planet but for the occasional mention. Finally, even that stopped. There were plenty of pictures of her parents. They continued to eat up the spotlight.
Toggling over to a search engine, he typed in “Arianna Redmond.” The most recent article about her was a week old. She was on location in Scotland shooting a historical miniseries for a streaming service. When he typed in “Otis Redmond,” he discovered the man was directing his wife.
He typed in “Diana Redmond.” The last notation was eight years old. A reporter had asked Arianna about her daughter. She’d waved off the question, informing the reporter that Diana preferred to remain out of the spotlight.
Who the hell had raised Luna—no way could he think of her as Diana—while her parents had been gallivanting all over the world? Going back to the report the broker had sent, he found his answers. Nannies had raised her at a secluded estate. She’d had tutors and had never attended a regular school. Not even a private one. After graduating early, she’d moved to New York. She’d been shy of her eighteenth birthday. After that, all mention of Diana Redmond ceased and Luna West was born.
She’d taken classes and worked while settling into a life here. A brief mention of a couple of boyfriends made him growl, but they’d been short-lived. From all accounts, she lived quietly and had never traded on her name or parents’ fame.
