Burn Bright
Page 30Today hadn’t been most days.
His eyes were tired, she thought, beneath the laughter. Through their bond, she could feel his lingering sadness.
She leaned forward and took his smudged finger into her mouth, feeling his whole body jolt with surprise … and something else. Heat flared, brightening his eyes to gold. His breath caught, but except for that single stiffening, he didn’t move at all—a cat waiting for his prey. She let him feel her teeth while she thought about that.
No. Not prey. Playmate. Lover. But never prey.
His stillness wasn’t a predatory thing, he was waiting for a proper invitation to play. And enjoying the beginning of the game.
She sat back, satisfaction at his response sliding through her skin. She still depended upon her wolf to teach her how to play in intimate circumstances, but she no longer let that bother her—she and her wolf were one in this. She licked her lips, and said, in a voice that came out husky because a good seduction seduces both parties, “Are you, by any chance, implying I might be dirty?”
The smile that only belonged to her slid across his face and did interesting things to her insides. “Who, me?” he said, in a thoughtful voice. “Maybe. But in case you thought it was a complaint …” He leaned forward and kissed her, touching her only with his lips because that was all he needed.
Unlike her initial move into foreplay, his kiss was soft as a cello played pianissimo, hinting at the power of the song but lulling the unwary with its sweetness.
Her body went soft, her lips felt heavy and oversensitive as she closed her eyes to concentrate on her senses, on him. He smelled of smoke, the musk and mint that was werewolf, and the underlying scent that was his alone. Mine. All mine. All of his beauty of body and spirit was hers.
He was worth facing a little embarrassment for. Get brave, Anna, she admonished herself.
He pulled away, his lips hotter than they’d been when they first touched hers. He gave her another smile, this one full of love and kindness. People didn’t always notice how kind her mate was because he was sneaky that way.
“Cherish” was a word often used in traditional wedding ceremonies that Anna didn’t think many people understood. They should observe Charles for a few days; they might learn something. Charles was a man who knew how to cherish the ones he loved.
Anna had always been a good student.
She said, “Are you taking back your invitation?”
He’d already turned to go into the bathroom, but her words froze him in his tracks. He looked back at her—and she could see Brother Wolf lurking in his eyes.
“No?” he said tentatively. Then he looked pointedly at the door to the suite, through which it was possible for anyone with werewolf ears to hear the chatter of a few die-hard pack members who were still up talking. “But I don’t …”
She pulled off her shirt. Before she’d freed her head, warm hands, his warm hands, were undoing her bra strap.
“I am,” he said, meeting her eyes as she tossed her shirt on the floor, “all out of chivalry.”
She smiled at him as he dropped her bra on top of her shirt.
“Funny,” she said. “So am—” I she would have said except that his mouth at her breast distracted her.
For a moment she let him take the lead and do as he pleased because she’d learned that pleased him, too. She gave him her stuttering breath, her hums of approval. She was very careful not to squeak because squeaking would attract the attention of the people on the other side of that door. Attract their attention sooner, anyway.
A rather long while later, limp and breathless, Anna said, “I’m still dirty. More dirty. Because … sweat and stuff.”
He gave a low laugh that vibrated through her happy body. “Good to know. Me, too.” There was a short pause, and he said, “We can shower later. When I can move.”
She put her head back down on his sweaty and smoky skin, breathed him in contentedly, and said, “Okay. I can go with that.”
• • •
ASIL DROVE AS if he were a human, with human reflexes. It was nice, Anna decided, to not have to choose between driving herself or living with Charles’s sometimes-sudden decisions to drive as though a wreck could not possibly injure anyone in the car. Anna could relax while Asil navigated the almost roads they traveled.
Since they’d taken Asil’s new Mercedes SUV instead of Charles’s truck, she could also not wince when the scrape of tree branches or rocks against the sides and underside of his pristine vehicle made Asil growl. The growl was just noise, without any passion behind it. Unlike her husband, Asil didn’t love his cars. He appreciated them and took meticulous care of them, but they were just vehicles to get him from one place to the next. He enjoyed them more if they did it with style and power, but they weren’t anything he was attached to.
Not that she wouldn’t rather be driving in Hell itself if she could do it with Charles, but she’d take the good where she found it.
They were going to see Wellesley first, and Anna couldn’t help a frisson of fan-girl excitement. Wellesley was an artist, their artist.
His oil paintings held places of honor in the homes of the pack—and she’d seem them cherished by other packs when she and Charles traveled. There were two in her living room that should have been hanging in the National Gallery of Art in Washington or maybe the Metropolitan, certainly not on the walls of a modest home in the wilds of Montana.
He was an artist who should have been world famous instead of werewolf famous. She considered that a moment. Maybe he was famous, but if so, it was under a different name—because she’d looked before, to see if she could find his work in the real world.
He glanced at her as if he couldn’t fathom who she was talking about.
“Wellesley,” she said impatiently.
His eyebrows shot up. “He’s one of Bran’s wildlings. That means he’s broken.”
She growled at him, and he grinned—and the expression made his normally austere face look friendly and approachable. “I am sorry, querida, but I don’t know how to answer that. He is troubled in a way that is very like schizophrenia but is more likely a damaged interaction with his wolf. He is very shy, but I think that is a product of his condition rather than a natural tendency.” He paused. “I can tell you that you aren’t his only fan. People keep trying to get me to ask him about commissioning a piece.” He laughed. “Just this morning, Sage petitioned Leah to switch with me so she could come and meet him.”
When she’d first come to the pack, she’d thought that Sage and Leah didn’t like each other. But she’d grown to understand that they were possibly as close to friends as two very dominant women (werewolves or not) could be. Leah actively liked Sage and usually behaved herself in front of her. Sage snipped and snarked at her and about her but ultimately had Leah’s back.
“So why are you and I together instead of Sage and I?” Anna asked.
“Because there is the distinct possibility that putting Charles and me in the same car together might make the universe implode,” said Asil. “I might have said that to Leah when she looked like she might make the switch.” He paused, and said slyly, “I waited until Charles could hear me, then I told her that I’d been looking forward to a whole day traveling with you.”