Rescued by the Wolf (Blood Moon Brotherhood 2)

Why did the voice in her head have to be so damn bossy?

“Shower?” he asked.

“Now you have magical werewolf shower powers?” she asked.

He stared at her, in shock, before laughing.

It was her turn to stare. If his smile was mesmerizing, his laugh was dangerous.

His dark eyes swept her face. “Here.” He shoved a bag at her, still chuckling.

She peered inside. “Clothes?”

He nodded. “After your shower,” he murmured.

Apparently, there were showers in the truck stop, sort of like a drive through car wash, but for people. It resembled a closet with soap and shampoo dispensers mounted to the wall.

“Take your time.” Mal’s voice. “I’ll stand watch. Knock when you’re dressed.”

She stared at the door, lost. She was listening to him, trusting him, looking to him to take care of her. And even though the voice in her head was telling her that was the right thing to do, she knew it couldn’t be.

She kicked off her boots and stripped, all too happy to be rid of her dirty clothing. The water was hot, and the soap, all musky and bracing, left her skin refreshed and tingling. She scrubbed her hair until it was thickly lathered then let the water rinse it all down the drain. She stood under the dryer, wiping away as much of the residual water as she could. Her new wardrobe hung in a plastic bag on the back of the door. No bra or panties—but he had done his shopping in a truck stop. She slid into navy sweatpants, a white T-shirt that read Truckers Do It on The Road, and thick socks before tugging on her beaten boots. She shoved the bright pink hoodie back into the bag for later.

She knocked and opened the door.

Mal came in then, shutting and locking the door behind him. “I need five minutes,” he said, tugging off his clothes before she had time to think. Words like, “Stop,” or “Wait,” or “Let me give you some privacy,” never made it out of her mouth. Instead, she stared at his naked back, stunned.

“I can leave.” Her voice shook.

Soapsuds ran down his back, skimming over the twisted scars to caress the firm curve of his buttocks on the way to his thighs.

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Stay. Safer,” he said, washing his face.

She blew out a deep breath and leaned against the wall. Safer? Only because he didn’t know what she was thinking. What she was wanting. What would he do if she shoved all her new clothes back into the plastic bag they’d come in? What would he do if she pressed herself against his back and explored every inch of him?

Yes, her world had been turned upside down but…

He turned to face her, eyes shut, head tilted back under the shower.

Oh my God. Look away, look away, look away.

She couldn’t do it. His body was perfect. Hard. Cut. It was like he was sculpted, the movement of his arms only showcasing every muscle. Shoulders, chest, stomach…her gaze wandered, following the dark trail that began at his navel and descended lower. Mal was big. All she could do was stand, and stare, and concentrate on breathing.

Her hands pressed flat against the wall. Cold as the tile was, she was on fire.

He shook the water from his hair and wiped his eyes, blinking away the water drops that clung to his thick eyelashes. And when he looked at her, she feared sliding down the wall to the floor. From relaxed to tense, his hands fisted at his sides, and his breath powered from his chest. He shook his head, jaw clenched.

She forced her gaze up, at the ceiling of the small stall.

But it didn’t help.

He wasn’t standing under the water anymore. He was inches away.

Chapter Eight

Her T-shirt was wet. With no bra, he could see the hard peaks of her nipples jutting against the thin cotton. And every gasping breath she took made them sway in invitation. It was an invitation every fucking cell ached to accept. The small sampling he’d had of Olivia left him craving more. It would be easy to finish what they started, to tug her pants off and wrap those silky thighs around him. Skin on skin, his hands gripping that firm ass as he showed her just what she’d been missing. Her out-of-control want for him was the only foreplay he needed.

Not that he’d act on it. Fuck no.