SECRET OF THE WOLF By Susan Krinard

He gave up all thought and allowed himself the sheer physical pleasure of feeling her body pressed to his. Snug bodice and underclothing couldn’t disguise the fullness of breasts that so generously fit the crook of his arm. He rested one hand on her waist, just where it joined the flare of her hips. Her simple dress was a great advantage under the circumstances: no flounces and layers and furbelows to get in the way. Just a bit of cloth and the heat of flesh beneath.

And her scent. Clean, smelling slightly of soap. The scent of woman. A woman who wasn’t indifferent to the man she held. Her body was becoming aroused, even if she didn’t know it.

He settled his face into the cradle of her upper shoulder, his cheek brushing her neck and jaw. With just a slight tilt of his head, he could kiss the skin above the edge of her collar.

“We shall postpone your introduction to Mr. Lawson,” she said, her words muffled in his hair. “I will help you back to bed—”

“Only if you join me in it,” he whispered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I still feel quite… dizzy,” he said, tightening his hold about her waist.

“We shall take small steps,” she said, and began moving him firmly in the direction of his room at the end of the hall. The movement felt very much like an extremely intimate waltz.

“Do you dance, Johanna?” he asked, spreading his hand over the small of her back.

“Seldom, and not with my patients.” Her pulse beat erratically, loud enough for Quentin to hear with no effort.

“Such a waste.” He stumbled, and his hand slipped lower to cup her buttocks. There was no bustle to impede his progress.

She went stock-still and forcibly pushed him away, turned him about, and marched him with a soldier’s tread through the door of his room. Without ceremony or excessive gentleness she let him fall to the bed.

“I had thought,” she said, facing him with hands on hips, “that you might join us for dinner tonight. But I think, upon reflection, that you should remain in bed.”

Quentin’s protest died with the appearance of a rampaging headache. He might as well have been drunk, and earned it. He rolled sideways and stretched out, shielding his eyes from the light.

Johanna’s hand settled on his forehead. “You are not feverish,” she said. “Good.”

Along with the pain in his head had come a very prominent swelling in his nether regions—which Johanna, doctor that she was, could not have failed to observe. Unfortunately, she didn’t offer to lay her healing hands on his aching member.

“Do you know what happened to you outside Harper’s room?” she asked, dousing his less-than-idle fantasies.

“Nothing,” he said. He patted the mattress beside him. “Care to join me? I should like to sample more of your bedside manner.”

This time he couldn’t even raise a blush in her. “I believe,” she said, sitting down in the chair, “that you briefly entered a spontaneous hypnotic state. Quite unusual, but not impossible. It bodes very well for our work together.”

Their work. She meant the techniques she wanted to try on him, the cure for his drinking.

“Why did you ask me… if I was somewhere else?”

“I thought that you were reliving some episode in your past. As I mentioned before, this can happen in the hypnotic state—”

Reliving the past. His ribs seemed to contract around his heart, pressing down so that he couldn’t breath. Was that how it would be, this hypnosis? Going back to the heat and blood and darkness, memories torn from some hidden place he hadn’t visited in a decade?

Or worse, deliberately surrendering to the blankness, the nothingness?

“No,” he rasped. “I think I… I don’t think you can help me. I’m sorry, but I must leave.” He began to sit up, but her hand stopped him. That capable, gentle hand, fingers spread as if she would capture his heart like some small wounded creature.

“I will not yet ask you what you saw there in the hallway,” she said. “I have seen that look on Harper’s face. But I can tell you that it is normal to be afraid.” Her blue eyes were filled with compassion. “Every man has his reason for drinking. Perhaps your reason is not one you wish to face. But you have the strength and courage to do so.”

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