Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

Lydia decided to quit with the possum routine. “You ready for breakfast?” She glanced over her shoulder, seeing his long legs in those jeans and his black-socked feet. “I don’t have much, but whatever is in my kitchen is yours.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said. “Then I’ll help you with it.”

“Okay, sure.” Yeah, truly. Totally sure fine. “That’d be great.”

But come on, there was no reason for her to be crushed. You can’t be denied something that you hadn’t been offered, she reminded herself.

“It’s early,” he said as he got off the bed on the other side.

His shoulders shifted as he did something at the front of his hips, and then he bent over to his saddlebags. Pulling out a little black bag, he nodded at her and headed for the exit.

And then it happened.

In the doorway, he said casually, “You could just rest there. If you want.”

At that, he disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door, turning the shower on.

Was he suggesting—

Before she could answer that for herself, she scrambled off the bed and silently fleet-footed it down the hall. In her room, she opened all kinds of drawers: Bedside. Bureau.

“Shit … shit. Shit.”

In the closet, hanging on the back of the door, she had her two alternate purses. Which were both black with shoulder straps, but whatever, she was not going to worry about her fashion ruts right now. Pawing her way into the bags, she pulled out appointment cards from that endodontist, a pair of sunglasses she thought she’d lost, the extra house key, deconstructed tissues—

The Rolaids were a relief. Kind of.

Fruit flavored, not mint.

The trouble was, there was no gum to be found anywhere. Which was what happened when someone who did not chew gum went looking for it. And with him in the bathroom with her toothbrush? She couldn’t get anywhere near the Colgate she wished she could use.

Ripping open the tinfoil roll, she took the first one, which was kind of pink, and tossed it into her dry mouth. As she crunched the tablet between her molars, the thing turned to plaster dust that powder-coated the inside of everything.

“Damn it …”

Smacking her tongue like a dog with peanut butter, she shot over to her bedside table. Her water glass was half-full from the night before, and she gave the level a quick lint-screen before tossing things back, swishing her mouth out, and swallowing.

It was the best she could do.

She was rushing back down the hall when the shower turned off. Given the amount of surface area the man had to soap up, he’d clearly given himself the express wash, and thank God she’d moved as fast as she had. Throwing herself in between the sheets, her heart was pounding and she was flushed—as well as feeling stupid that she’d made a big deal out of morning breath. But she didn’t have a ton of experience with the whole sex thing, and she was not bringing a green cloud that could melt paint off a car door to the party—

Now, the sink was running. He was at the sink. And under the familiar scent of her own shampoo, she could swear she smelled shaving cream.

She hadn’t minded his five-o’clock shadow. Then again, she’d have taken him any way he came—

Blushing at her own stupid-ass joke, Lydia put her hands to her hot face. Under her skin, her blood was rushing in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with her Hail Mary breath mint expedition. And it did not slow down as the bathroom door opened, and a roll of steam curled free into the cooler air.

Daniel stepped out. In a towel. That barely fit around his waist, and not because he was overweight in the burger-and-beer sense. Oh, God … his hair was damp and curling at the ends, and his torso was rippling with muscle, and his legs strong and sure.

He paused in the guest room doorway. As their eyes met, she took a deep breath.

And pulled the covers back to welcome him.

Daniel came to her, his beautiful body moving fluidly, powerfully.

“I’m still dripping,” he murmured.

“That’s okay with me.”

With that, she held her arms out, and he didn’t hesitate. He laid down beside her and pulled the covers into place over them. And then they were melding, her breasts pressing into his bare chest through her T-shirt and his hips coming up against hers. When he rolled her onto her back and propped himself up on his elbows, his hair dripped onto her face.

Lydia pushed it back, stroked it back. “I want you.”

“And I ache for you.”

As he moved his hips onto her, she spread her legs to make him room, and his weight was delicious, pressing her into the mattress. Running her hands over his shoulders and down his heavy arms, his skin was warm and smooth, the muscles underneath rigid and powerful. Looking up at him, she thought he was magnificent, more animal than man—especially as his glowing eyes bored into her own.