PRINCE OF WOLVES By Susan Krinard

And as for who would be in control. His eyes narrowed and met hers again. This time she broke the gaze, and her tongue darted out to touch her upper lip. His belly tightened in response to the unconscious sensuality of the gesture. No, there could be no doubt as to who would be in control.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said, gliding forward a step. At his feet the dog Gunnar rolled out of his way and resumed its place in the corner. Joelle Randall started, apparently taken aback once again by his attempt at friendly conversation. He moved forward another step, and she compensated by inching backward until she came up against the unyielding counter.

Sensing that he had established his dominance with her, as he had done earlier with the dog, Luke paused. Like the dog, she shivered—but it generated a considerably different effect. Luke controlled his sudden arousal, extending his hand to her with the same care he’d used before. “My name is Luke—Luke Gévaudan.”

For a moment his hand hung in midair while she stared at it in fascination. Then her own came out to meet his, delicate fingers lightly touching his own. At first he thought she would drop his hand immediately, so powerful was the jolt of sheer attraction that passed through him at her touch. But though her eyes widened and her breath caught, she did not draw away. Instead, her hand suddenly tightened on his, hard.

“I’ve heard of you, Mr Gévaudan,” she said, voice throaty and cool. Her eyes narrowed again, and all traces of her nearly mesmerized reaction to him fell away. What must have been considerable pressure for her hardly registered on his hand as she gripped it, even as he savored the feel of her soft fingers nearly lost in his, he respected her attempt to assert her own dominance. With another man she might have succeeded.

As before, she was the first to finally break the subtle confrontation. The way she unobtrusively shook her cramped hand did not slip past him, his smile widened. She caught the expression and leaned back over the counter with studied casualness. The movement pushed her small, firm breasts against the fabric of her shirt, and it was with some effort that he kept his eyes on her face.

“Since you know who I am,” he said with deliberate softness, “you probably know I don’t live in town. I’ve been remiss in taking the opportunity to meet you. We don’t get many Americans here.”

She shifted under his gaze but continued to meet it stubbornly. “So I’ve been told. I’ve been told quite a few interesting things since I’ve been here, Mr Gévaudan.” Her lower lip jutted out and she tilted her head back, eyeing him in obvious challenge.

“I’m sure you have,” he murmured. He moved experimentally, watching her shift again and then straighten. It delighted him to see that she was not easily intimidated. Long experience told him that her response was not typical, he was reminded of that every day he spent in town. “Life must be very different for you up here. I understand”—he came to a halt a little to her left—”you’re from California, San Francisco.” He noted her subtle movement that brought her around to face him once again.

“It seems that you’ve heard things too, Mr Gévaudan.” She looked away from him in sudden indifference, indifference he knew clearly was feigned. Her stance told him she was determined to end their brief acquaintance by refusing to offer any further conversation. But she wasn’t going to escape quite that easily.

“Luke. My name’s Luke. Up here we don’t usually require formality.”

She arched her brow and looked him up and down. “Do you speak for the town or just yourself, Mr Gévaudan?” she queried with a faint, false smile. “I understood that you don’t care much for local company.” As if suddenly realizing she’d spoken too freely she flushed and turned away, pretending interest in a row of canned goods on a nearby shelf.

“It depends on the company.” Luke drifted closer to her, maintaining the same distance between them. He could smell her: the light perfume of the shampoo she’d used, the body-warmed cotton of her shirt, and the subtle odor of woman. He drew in the scents and savored them.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *