Elizabeth's Wolf

Page 8

Don’t do it, Elizabeth. He clenched his teeth as the whisper of her slight body moving past the doorframe had him tensing expectantly. Leave! Don’t let me touch you! If he did, he would never stop. One taste could never be enough. She would be a banquet to his senses, a feast of erotic delicacies. But only if she trusted him. Only if she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was there for her and Cassie. Not for their enemies.
Building trust was a bitch, he reminded himself. Better to get it started and get it over with now. He couldn’t help her if he had to guard against her as well as the men hunting her. If he could get past this initial surge of defiance, then they had a chance.
The defiance was tempting the animal he fought to keep contained. The one that knew this was his mate. Knew this woman was everything he had searched for in his life. Keeping it contained was a battle he knew would erode quickly. Already, within hours of finding her, there was little he could think about except sinking into the warmth and heat between her thighs. Drowning in the hot depths of her cunt as she tightened around him. Never, at any time in his life, had a woman affected him quite this way. He let her move into the room. He felt the hot water pelting his skin, smelled her scent growing closer, tracked her with every sense he possessed as she moved steadily to the gun and the keys that lay on the shelf above the toilet.
Her steps were light. Damn, she would make a perfect mate. The thought shocked him, but he realized the truth of it instantly. She was light and steady, resolved in her course of action and making almost no sound as she went for the weapon. She would fight beside him, no matter the battle, physical or emotional. If her heart were committed, then it would be as fierce as any she-wolf’s. She was a bundle of dynamite; destructive to the enemy, life-giving to those she loved. But right now, until she knew if he were friend or foe, she would always suspect enemy first. She would always defy him. He couldn’t allow that. He gave her just enough time to feel victory. Just enough time to allow her fingers to whisper a caress over the weapon’s handgrip before he moved. The shower curtain flew back and he was out of the tub, water spraying as he gripped her shoulders, pushed the door closed then anchored her against it. The move was made within a second, with barely a whisper of a sound, though he had expected her to fight him.
She didn’t scream. Damn her to hell and back, she didn’t even cry out. No more than a breath of air disturbed the silence as her gasp, quickly reined in, whispered past her lips and her eyes stared up at him in startled fear and surprise a second before her knee cocked and let loose. Dash barely had a second’s warning before he could block the groin shot. One part of him admired the speed and effectiveness of her move while the other part was amazed at her daring. One thigh pressed hard and tight between hers, lifting her to her tiptoes, grinding against the soft, hot pad of her pussy. Her response was instantaneous, though less than welcome by her, he could tell. She strained against him, jerking at the manacled hold he took of her wrists as he locked them behind her head with one hand, arching her breasts into his chest, his knee rubbing against her heat.
Lust was pounding through his system with every hard beat of his heart, stripping the veneer of civilization that he kept pulled around him, tempting the hunger gnawing at his loins.
“Stay still, dammit. I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled as she twisted against him, despite the fact that she wasn’t gaining any headway in her struggles.
She was frightened. He could hear it in her harsh breathing, the struggle to hold back her sobs. She had taken a chance and now she would fear the punishment he would exact. But he was careful not to hurt her. He restrained her, controlled her struggles, but he knew he wasn’t leaving so much as the slightest mark against her skin. Skin already bruised, already wounded by too many hard knocks. He pressed against her, holding her to the door as he stared down at her silently, feeling her soft tummy cushion his raging cock. And she hadn’t missed the impact of the steel-hard flesh pressing against her either. That or the imperative need he allowed to glitter in his eyes. One hand threaded through her hair, tilting her head back. His head lowered slowly as he stared down at her, watching her eyes dilate, her skin flush then pale alarmingly.
“When I let you go,” he allowed the growl building in his chest to echo in his words, “if I were you, I would turn that sweet ass around and hightail it back into the bedroom with Cassie. If you hesitate, even for a second, if you so much as breathe a hesitation, then I’m going to fuck you so hard and so deep against this door that you’ll never hide your screams of pleasure from that child sleeping in the other room. Do you understand me, Elizabeth?”
His control was a fragile thing right now. The only thing stilling the hunger to taste her parted lips was the knowledge that Cassie slept only feet away from them. The fact that if he tasted her, he would need more. Always more.
Her eyes widened further, the blue darkening in shock, in amazement. Strangely enough, also with a flare of arousal. Thankfully, she nodded quickly, but nothing could still the fact that her full breasts were rising and falling sharply against his chest. And her nipples were hard. Damn her to hell, they were hard as little pebbles, raking across his damp chest like pinpoints of searing flames beneath the covering of her shirt. He moved his hand from her hair, gripping her wrists individually. Before she could resist, he wrapped the fingers of one of her small hands around the girth of his cock. They had no hope of circling it fully. She had small, delicate—God, soft hands. His groan was throttled, a sound of agonizing pleasure.
“Never,” he snarled desperately. “Never, Elizabeth, try this on me again unless you’re prepared to accept the consequences. Because next time, I promise you, I won’t let you go.”
He stepped back from her quickly, his heart nearly exploding in his chest at the brief hesitation of her fingers on his erection as he released her. Then she snatched her hand back, holding it to her chest, staring up at him, her lips parted, startled awareness darkening her eyes further.
“Go. Now.” He clenched his fists. Fought his hunger.
She gasped. In a second she turned, fumbled with the doorknob and fled the small room as Dash threw his head back and grimaced against the building fury in his loins. Damn her to hell. He was starving for the taste of her.
He stepped back into the shower, slammed the curtain closed and flipped on the cold water. Son of a bitch. This hard-on would kill him.
Chapter Five
She should be running. Elizabeth paced the motel room, her body shuddering with wicked, pulsing tremors that teased at the emptiness between her thighs. She should have bundled Cassie up and just run. Storm or no storm. She was in over her head here in a way she feared was certain to drown her. She didn’t even know him. That thought seared her senses as she collapsed into one of the two chairs by the table. She knew nothing except the short, cryptic notes he had sent her daughter for a year. Sometimes humorous, but always with a dry, wry humor that had Elizabeth shaking her head. Cassie had liked them, though. She would giggle and say Dash just had trouble telling tales, to give him time and she would teach him. And perhaps in a way, she had. The last few months Dash had written to Cassie, he told her the oddest things. How the scents of the desert were different from home. The sound of a helicopter. The quiet, cold nights in the mountains of a land Cassie would likely never see herself. Little things. But not exactly phrased the way other men would say it. At least, no men Elizabeth had ever known before or since.
She stared over at the television. The newscasters were once again covering the story of the amazing discovery of the Feline Breeds. The men and women who had come forward were the wonders of the world at the moment. News reports had covered several rescues of other Breeds, a few Wolf Breeds but mostly Feline Breeds. They were totalling in the hundreds now, six months after the first newsbreak. Amazing. Elizabeth shook her head. The cruelty of man never failed to amaze her. They had been created, trained, then hunted as though their DNA made them no more than the animals they were genetically related to. Like a modern day safari, uncaring of the brutality or the horror they perpetrated, the Genetics Council had done everything to destroy their creations when they couldn’t control them. Yet, somehow, rather than reverting to the savagery that was obviously a part of their DNA, the Breeds had instead maintained an honor, a strength, that had helped them to survive the cruelties. Elizabeth envied them in many ways. Even the females were strong, tough, trained to fight and capable of protecting themselves. It made her feel insignificant, very lacking, and she hated that feeling. Hated knowing her own faults, her own weaknesses. She hated the fact that she wanted nothing more than to feel Dash’s arms around her again, for just a few wild moments, to forget the dangers and the pain and to be a woman once again.
She sighed wearily and pulled a cup of hot black coffee from one of the sacks. There was a cola there as well. The other bags were packed with food. Two larger ones held five Styrofoam breakfast platters. The smaller ones held a variety of biscuits. But she imagined a man that large could eat a lot of food. Her stomach rumbled imperatively and she shook her head at the timing. She needed to think. To run. Not realize the smell of food was so enticing that she had centered on it more than she had escape. But it wasn’t as enticing as what she had held in her hand moments before. Elizabeth felt her entire body heat; flush in what she assured herself was embarrassment. Liquid warmth gathered in her vagina, spilling silkily along the swollen lips of her cunt. Her response to him had been as hard, as shocking, as a lightning bolt.
She sipped at the coffee, her eyes fluttering in pleasure at the taste, then dug out one of the platters and a plastic fork. Okay. She couldn’t think while she was starving. And she had to think. Dash Sinclair was going to be more of a problem than she had ever anticipated. He could possibly be more man than she had ever encountered.
God. He was definitely a lot of man. Thick and hard, his erection had shocked her with its size. But his body in general had shocked her. Darkly tanned flesh stretched and rippled over hard-packed muscle. It wasn’t the awkward, graceless look of obscenely bulging muscle, rather it was corded, hard, filling out each inch of his body and shimmering beneath the skin with an aura of intense power. Like an animal, well honed and conditioned and used to hard, intense battle. She swallowed the fluffy eggs and quickly polished off the breakfast before turning back to the television. It was a good thing she had eaten before watching the news, because what she saw would have easily put her off the meal.
They showed the victim’s face, if you wanted to call him a victim. Elizabeth sat up straight, staring in shock at the image on the screen. She knew him. It was the same bastard who had tried to ambush her and Cassie in their apartment the day before. He wouldn’t be ambushing anyone else. He was found in the basement, his throat cut. The newscaster called it a professional, highly skilled hit. He still carried his money. The diamond ring on his hand. His credit cards. His identity was given, as was the police record and information on the current warrants for his arrest. She trembled, barely aware that the shower had shut off and the bathroom door had opened. A sudden flashing memory had her gaze swinging to Dash. Beside the gun had been a long, curved, sheathed knife. The wide hilt had looked imposing. Now she knew why. He stopped, gazing back at her somberly as she stared at him in shock. For the first time she realized that Dash’s confidence wasn’t as misplaced as she had feared it was. He appeared to be a welloiled fighting machine because that was exactly what he was.
“You killed him,” she whispered, watching him in amazement. No one who had gone against Grange’s men had succeeded. They were either bought off or killed, according to how disposable his hit men considered them to be. Dash had been neither bought off, nor harmed. He had killed instead. Broad shoulders, still gleaming with moisture, shrugged carelessly. He wore soft sweatpants and white socks, but nothing more. In one hand he carried the clothes he had worn into the bathroom, in the other he carried the holstered gun and the knife.