Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

And the experience was even better than the anticipation.

Aware that she was going to stop this sooner than she wanted, but much later than she should, Lydia lifted her arms and put them on his shoulders. His heavy body was rock-hard under his windbreaker, the muscles roping up to his neck—and that was where her hands went.

She just wanted to see if his hair was as thick and lush as it looked—

It was.

As she dug into the waves, he purred in response, like he was a great cat and she had found his favorite stroking place. And that was when he wrapped an arm around her waist. She did not feel trapped, though. She had the sense, as he continued to stroke her lips softly, that he would let her go immediately.

Not that she was going anywhere anytime the hell soon.

Inch by inch, their bodies came into full contact, her breasts against his chest, the front of her thighs meeting his, their hips brushing. And then the kiss deepened, his tongue licking into her—

Letting out another moan, she tightened her hold on his nape, in his hair, a sense of desperation making her rougher than she should have been—she was holding him to her now, grabbing on to him. But he was going with it. One of his hands traveled from her shoulder to her waist, to her hip, and she moved against his palm, imagining what it would be like to be naked with him touching her.

With those workman hands.

Daniel eased back and stroked her hair away from her face. “You’re a good kisser, you know that?”

“Am I?” She smiled like an idiot. “I could have sworn it was you.”

“I guess it’s us.” His eyes roamed her face. And then one side of his lips tilted up. “I’m going to go now.”

Lydia exhaled in surprise—but like she was going to sleep with him here on the mauve kitchen floor?

Not a bad idea, actually, she thought as she glanced down.

“Okay,” she said. “I understand. We do work together—”

“That’s not why I’m leaving.”

“So why are you?”

He traced her cheek. Then her jawline. “If I stay, I’m not going to let you get any sleep at all.” He stepped back. “You know where to find me, if you need me. And I’ll see you after we’re allowed to wake up at four-oh-one a.m.”

She nodded. “Good night, Daniel.”

Turning away, he lifted a hand over his shoulder. When he got to the door, he said, “Don’t forget to lock up.”

And then he was gone.

Putting her head in her hands, Lydia felt like she was under a heat lamp. Or that she’d swallowed one. And on that note, her clothes felt tight and irritating. And her lips tingled. And her body yearned.

Meanwhile, the solution to all of it was making his way across her lawn. In the dark. In the cold.

As she locked the dead bolt, the urge to call him back was nearly overwhelming.

To make sure she didn’t, she went out to the staircase and ascended to the second floor. As luck would have it, her room faced the backyard, and keeping the light off, she stretched out on her bed and curved onto her side. Tucking her arms into her chest and bringing her knees up, she stared out the window.

If it had been daylight, she could have seen him get into his tent—and she imagined him bending down, folding that big body into his flimsy quarters, stretching out on his sleeping bag. And on that horizontal note, she couldn’t stop thinking about where they would be if he hadn’t stepped away. Or if she had called him back.

The sexual need was painful. And it made all of the reasons not to sleep with him seem flimsy. Cowardly.

Reaching around to the back pocket of her jeans, she took her cell phone out and tucked it into her chest.

It was the closest she was going to get to Daniel Joseph tonight.

Maybe ever, depending on what was out in that forest with him—

The footsteps coming up the stairs were soft and she wrenched around. But then she caught the scent of handmade shaving soap.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered. “And where have you been?”

The smell of her childhood deepened, and she waited as the stairs creaked and then the floorboards of the hall registered a slow progression down to her room.

All around her, the air temperature dropped about ten degrees, and as she shivered, she was aware she was clinically insane.

But then the ghost of her dead grandfather appeared between her doorjambs. As usual, there was little to be made of the face, or even his old-fashioned, formal clothes, yet the whip-lean form and that smell brought tears to her eyes.

It had been a long time since he’d visited her, the last appearance being when she’d been deciding whether or not to take the WSP job.