Her Wicked Wolf. Kendra Leigh Castle

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      TWO

      Alistair had promised himself he wouldn’t get this close to her, but surely a walk to the garage was safe enough.

      Though of course, nowhere with Brienne Fox would be completely safe, he thought. At least, not where he was concerned. The woman had no idea how appealing she was. How much he wanted to explore every inch of that curvy little body with his lips, his tongue.

      His teeth.

      That last impulse was the most worrisome. It had been a long time since a woman had stirred his senses this way—if one ever had. No matter what he tried to tell himself to rationalize it all away, some deep, dark part of himself kept quietly insisting that Brienne was different. Singular. Which would explain why he was compelled to spend an unreasonable portion of every evening simply breathing in her scent, which seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of the house, and wishing he could just...roll around in it. Preferably with her.

      Frustrated, Alistair forced the unwanted thoughts away. He had good reasons for staying a solitary wolf, and he had no intention of endangering anyone...no matter how mouthwatering she might be.

      “I’m just headed to the grocery store, actually,” Brienne said, blissfully unaware of the heated images cascading through his thoughts. “You?”

      “I have a few last-minute things to pick up. Nothing more,” he replied. Such a casual way to put it, Alistair thought, smirking at the dark humor in the moment. Brienne was talking about buying milk and bread to weather a storm. He was talking about making final preparations to take on an enemy that had been snapping at his heels for years.

      It wouldn’t be long now. He could scent trouble on the wind, pressing in all around him. Owain was close by, searching. This time, he would allow his brother to find him...and somehow, he knew that the end of their long battle would come during this storm. It didn’t just provide convenient cover to avoid human attention, it was dramatic in a way that would suit Owain—howling wind, blinding snow, and a bloody crescendo.

      Alistair often wished his brother had decided to channel his impulses differently and just become an actor instead of a psychopath. In the meantime, he would rather not give Owain another weapon to use against him. Enough people had been punished for earning his affection.

      Alistair drew in a deep breath and opened the front door for Brienne, catching the scent that had slowly been driving him mad for months now—vanilla and apricot, a breath of summer on a blustery winter day.

      “Thanks,” Brienne said, the look she gave him bemused. It would be, he supposed. Chivalry was basically dead these days, but old habits died hard. And his were very old indeed. Old enough to terrify a beautiful young thing like her.

      “Of course,” Alistair said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt as he stepped out after her.

      “My first real nor’easter,” Brienne said, her tone as warm as it always was when she tried to speak to him. “I’m not sure whether to be excited or worried.”

      She seemed to be both, which didn’t surprise him. Their longest encounter to date, shortly after she’d moved in, had involved Brienne chattering happily about the “adventure” of moving to this small Northern town from the sunny Florida coast where she’d been raised. She seemed to carry that sunlight with her, he thought. The woman was so damnably inviting. What puzzled Alistair was why she continued to try and initiate contact with him when he was anything but. He was an unsociable creature who’d spent too long focused on honor, duty, and nothing else. He was under no illusions about his meager appeal to someone like her. Most women seemed to sense his otherness and steered clear.

      And yet here she was again.

      Fascinated despite himself, Alistair fell into step beside her, letting his eyes rake her from head to toe when she looked away. Brienne’s beauty was striking each time he saw her. She’d twisted up the loose curls of her honey-blond hair into a bun, though a few obstinate tendrils had already escaped to frame the perfect oval of her face. Alistair’s gaze lingered on the pretty pink rosebud lips, the pert little nose, and the eyes, wide and an arresting shade of forest-green that quickly returned to him. He already knew the body that was hidden beneath her winter coat was perfect, small-waisted and amply curved in all the right places. He’d admired it often enough from afar.

      Not to mention imagined it enough in his unoccupied moments.

      Alistair didn’t realize СКАЧАТЬ