Tamed By The She-Wolf. Kristal Hollis

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Lincoln’s hands lifted in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

      “You didn’t.” Angeline stood tall.

      “Uh-huh.” Lincoln’s disbelieving grin raised her ire and suddenly she no longer felt cold.

      “Why didn’t I hear you coming up behind me?” Wahyas had excellent hearing.

      “You’re not supposed to.”

      “Right. Because you’re a Dogman.”

      Silent as a ninja, as deadly as one, too. Or so the rumors went. No one outside the Woelfesenat’s militarized security force knew exactly what the Dogmen did, other than the generic job description of peacekeeping.

      Considering the numerous scars on his body, whatever Lincoln had been doing, it wasn’t so peaceable.

      “You’re right about one thing.” Lincoln pivoted to block the gust of wind that caused her teeth to chatter and then reached around her to open the door. “You are freezing.”

      His broad hand heated the small of her back and he nudged her forward. Her mind mounted a protest but her feet didn’t get the memo in time to keep her from crossing the threshold.

      “What were you doing outside?”

      “Cooling off.” He tossed an odd-looking cell phone next to the take-out box on the asymmetrical coffee table. If he’d had the device in her apartment, she hadn’t noticed it.

      “Change your mind about sharing a snack?” Lincoln sat on the couch and opened the box of chicken wings.

      “No.” As a restaurant employee, she’d learned to eat only when truly hungry, otherwise she’d eat constantly and no amount of running in the woods would compensate for the extra calories. Ignoring the delicious scent taunting her stomach, Angeline held out Lincoln’s wallet. “I found it between the couch cushions.”

      Mouth full of food, he gave a hand signal for her to leave it on the coffee table.

      Angeline strolled around the living room. “This place is probably a culture shock for you. The furnishings are too modern for my taste. Tristan didn’t like it much, either, but his mother is an interior designer and she loves this stuff.”

      Still eating, Lincoln watched her with the same quiet curiosity as he had in her apartment. And when she walked into the kitchen, his inquisitive gaze followed.

      “You’re in luck,” she said, peeking into the refrigerator. “It’s stocked with a few basics. At least you won’t have to go grocery shopping on Sunday.” Closing the refrigerator, she added, “Which technically is today, since it’s after midnight, you know...in case your days are mixed up from traveling.”

      A chuckle accompanied Lincoln’s slight head shake.

      “You would think Sundays are good days to go to the grocery store.” She sat on a stool at the bar rather than leaving. She and Tristan had their fair share of late-night chats. Being back in his apartment, it seemed natural to carry on tradition. Even though Lincoln was a Dogman, she could still be neighborly.

      “Because everyone is either going to church or sleeping off Saturday night’s good time. But actually, the early risers are buzzing around to get their shopping done to have the rest of the day free. Late-goers are trying to grab something on their way to wherever. And the rest are trying to find something to fix their hangovers.”

      “Good to know.” Not one speck of sauce marred his mouth and very little dotted his fingers. An amazing feat considering most people who ate her uncle’s wings required a plastic bib and a double stack of napkins.

      And while looking at his mouth, Angeline couldn’t help but notice the perfect shape of his masculine lips or how his straight nose balanced the angles of his cheeks. His black hair didn’t conform to a human military’s regulation cut but rather fell to his collar in soft waves. The muscles in his strong jaw, darkened by a shadow of stubble, worked in tandem as he chewed. When he swallowed, she watched the slow descent of his Adam’s apple along his throat. The silver chain around the thick column of his neck held the dog tags hidden beneath his sweatshirt.

      The thick dark slashes above his pale green eyes drew together as the curiosity in his gaze transitioned to something primal. “Angeline.” He softly growled her name and it whispered across her skin, heightening her own awareness of him.

      She shouldn’t study him so intently. Wahyas’ senses were acutely sharp and staring too long usually signaled a threat or sexual interest. Obviously, Lincoln wouldn’t consider her a threat. He stood over six feet tall, while she only pushed upward of five-seven, and he out-massed her by at least seventy pounds.

      However, underestimating her would be a mistake. Her brothers might not be quite as imposing as Lincoln, but they weren’t pushovers. They’d never taken it easy on her and the skills she’d learned tangling with them had come in handy a few years ago when a hook-up had turned sour and she’d needed to escape the situation.

      Like most wolfan males, Lincoln would misinterpret her interest as...well...interest. Which, of course, it wasn’t. If she and a Dogman were the last Wahyas on Earth, she wouldn’t be interested. Even if it meant the salvation of their race, it simply would not happen.

      Too bad, thanks to a treacherous brain, her body had no troubling recalling the intimate heat of him crouched above her, while his fierce gaze mapped every inch of her soul. His light-colored eyes had presented a striking contrast to the rich brownness of his nearly naked body and thick black waves of hair. Unbidden desire curled inside her like wisps of steam rising from a cup of hot chocolate.

      “Tuesdays,” she said, throwing the brakes on primal instincts. Despite the close friendship with her former neighbor, Angeline had never experienced a sexual attraction toward Tristan. Considering her body’s unexpected and wholly unappreciated reaction to Lincoln, she would not make a habit of being overly neighborly.

      “Tuesdays?” Confusion clouded Lincoln’s gaze.

      “About midmorning.” Angeline slid off the bar stool. “Trust me. It’s the best time to go grocery shopping at Anne’s Market.”

      “Appreciate the tip.” From his neutral expression, Angeline couldn’t discern if he truthfully did, or if he merely humored her.

      “I should go.”

      Lincoln met her at the door. “Here.” He tugged off his sweatshirt.

      “Thanks.” She kept focused on the faint scar below his eye rather than the short, dark hairs spread across the broad, chiseled expanse of his chest. “But I don’t need it.”

      He slipped the sweatshirt over her head and onto her shoulders anyway. His clean, crisp, masculine scent immediately invaded her senses, and she obediently slid her arms into the sleeves.

      The fabric still held his warmth, and she remained nice and toasty all the way to her apartment.

      Standing watch from his doorway, bare-chested and unflinching against the icy wind winding through the corridor, Lincoln presented a striking image of a proud warrior. He reeked of confidence, but not the arrogance she had imagined to have infected all Dogmen.

      Once СКАЧАТЬ