Tropical Wounded Wolf (Shifting Sands Resort 2)

“You should probably avoid any jokes,” Tex added dryly. “You’re not very good at them.”

A determined knock at the door stilled the merriment of the room, and Breck opened it.

“Why, Graham,” he said in mischievous delight. “I’ve been waiting for this day since I laid eyes on your gorgeous face!”

Graham scowled back, and shoved past him to put the armload of flowers he was holding into Neal’s hands.

The staff voiced their appreciation of the gesture with whistles of awe and murmurs of surprise; Graham was notoriously stingy about cutting his precious blooms. The staff liked to tell a story about him nearly coming to blows with Scarlet over using cut flowers in the dining hall without his blessing.

Neal took the bouquet with the same gravity that Graham offered it. “Thanks, man,” he said gruffly. He said it generally to the room, and didn’t wait to see their reactions, but simply marched out the door decisively, because he knew that if he lingered much longer, he would do exactly as Breck had suggested and completely chicken out.

The march across the resort grounds was as difficult as any mission behind enemy lines that Neal had undertaken, and he was sweating by the time he reached Mary’s cottage, despite the cool evening drizzle and the downhill path. He was grateful for the shroud of darkness, but he paused when he reached her door, suddenly not sure if he should knock. Possibly it was too late for his visit. Maybe this was something better saved for daylight and safer times.

For a long moment, he hesitated. But then, gritting his teeth, he realized that this was something he had to do.

Making his hand land on the door was harder than any shot he’d ever taken, and sounded just as loud to his ears.

A second knock was not going to happen, but fortunately, the door sprang open as if he had been expected, and he was frozen as Mary looked up at him, standing in a pale nightgown in the doorway, every curve a promise of forever.

“You came,” she breathed, and Neal dropped the bouquet to catch her as she hurled herself into his arms.

Chapter Nine

Mary’s sense of where Neal was had never been terribly specific–she often found herself at a staff gate with the general idea that he was ‘that way,’ but she couldn’t break the sanctity of a staff-only sign, too aware of how precious the privacy of her own teacher’s lounge was.

So when she had a sudden awareness of his proximity, lying on her bed with a magazine, waiting for elusive sleep, it was a shock.

I should be wearing something sexier, she thought with chagrin. Her nightgown was old-fashioned and modest, something more appropriate for sleepovers with a girlfriend than a midnight tryst with her reluctant mate.

She was off her bed and halfway to the dresser to inspect her boring lingerie for anything less prudish than ‘strictly utilitarian’ when the knock came, and she couldn’t keep herself from bounding across the room to fling open the door.

She ought to use a subtle touch, she reminded herself. If she was too forward, he might flee again; she needed to be the perfect combination of reserved and gentle.

But when she saw him, with that shock of short hair bleached of its red in the pale porch light, that handsome face a mix of longing and regret, all she could say do was squeak, “You came!” and throw herself at him.

Not your most restrained moment, she told herself.

He had no choice but to catch her, but instead of setting her sensibly on her feet, as Mary was expecting, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, and pressed his mouth to hers.

Mary had never been kissed like Neal kissed her. She hadn’t known a kiss like that was possible. It was deep, and involved the entire mouth, and she was keenly aware of being pulled against him. The pressure of his body against hers was irresistible, sending her into a tailspin of desire and lust.

She had her arms around his neck, pulling herself deeper into the kiss, craving the closeness of his body and the honeyed salt of his mouth. She’d read of kisses described as electric, but she’d always thought it was a foolish expression—until now, with Neal sending shocks of pleasure to her toes and her fingertips. Her entire body was more alive than she had ever imagined it could be.

Her earlier fears were laughable now, her doubts that he may not desire her swept away in the way that he held her, cradling her at the small of her back and the base of her neck; the way he kissed her; and the most undeniable expression of lust that was pressing against her through his pants.

She was dizzy and lightheaded when he finally released her lips, and she gave a sigh of loss even as she gasped for breath.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked her, voice gruff and low.

Mary blinked at him. The kiss left her feeling confused and filled with head-spinning need. Did he want forgiveness for stopping the kiss? “Forgive you for what?”

His laugh was hesitant, like he didn’t do it often. “I’ve been avoiding you. I told you I didn’t know what you meant when you finally talked to me. I was a jerk. I was...”

Mary stopped him with a finger on his mouth. It was strange to feel his lips with her fingers. “I forgive you,” she said simply.

“I should explain,” he said reluctantly, and Mary could have drowned in the sorrow in those eyes.

“You don’t have to,” she said gently.