Silence of the Wolf(42)

“He won’t have to. I’m not waking up until I absolutely have to tomorrow.”

She could have been annoyed with Darien for saying what he did about Tom taking charge of her. Yet, she swore more was being communicated than what was being spoken aloud—the way Darien cast a look at Tom, and the way Tom gave him an almost imperceptible nod in response.

She even wondered if Darien had put Tom up to asking her to join the pack. In her father’s pack, the leader would have decided such a thing. Certainly not a sub-leader.

“Thank you for the offer, by the way, Tom. Nobody’s ever invited me to join a pack,” she said on the ride back to Darien’s house. She appreciated being asked and wanted Tom to know that her refusal had nothing to do with the pack or him, but more to do with her past experiences and the problems with her uncle and half brother.

“You’re not a loner,” he said again.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He glanced at her. “It does. For a pack, it matters.”

She wouldn’t fight him on this issue. The point was moot.

When they arrived back at Darien’s house, Tom escorted her to her room. “You might need a bodyguard tonight.”

She smiled up at him, touching his sweater-covered chest. “Do you always like to live dangerously?”

He laughed. “Sorry, Elizabeth. I can’t see that you would be too rough on me.”

“You never know.” She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted whatever they could have just this once. No strings. No mating. Just a meeting of the minds. And their bodies, as far as they could take it and still not be mated wolves.

“’Night, Elizabeth.” He waited for her response. A kiss. A hug maybe.

Trying to discourage anything more between them and annoyed with herself for getting so worked up over any man, she kissed him on the cheek. “’Night, Tom.”

She walked into the bedroom and realized she couldn’t take off her clothes without his help. She turned and frowned. He watched her, waiting for her to retire for the night. She wondered if he believed she might try to leave and do something further about the guys who had injured her. But she had no intention of going anywhere else tonight.

“Okay, I really, really hate to ask this because it’s such an imposition, but… could you help me out of my clothes again?”

***

Undressing Elizabeth one more time was way more than an imposition. It killed Tom to see her naked skin and not be able to taste it, to feel it, to smell her sweet scent and want more.

He waited a moment, trying to find the right words, and finally said, “You’re killing me, you know?” He shook his head, smiling, and turned toward his bedroom. “I’ll get one of my shirts for you. It’ll probably be a while before they bring you your bags.”

When he returned with the softest blue-plaid flannel shirt he owned, he found her sitting on the bed, her parka on a chair. He closed the bedroom door. She stretched her arms up to him so that he could remove her sweater.

“If I keep removing your clothes, something more is bound to happen,” he said, hopeful, yet practical.

“So… let it.”

He raised a brow, not sure what she was agreeing to. He pulled the sweater over her head and stared down at her mouthwatering breasts, then shifted his gaze to her face. “If you kiss me again…” He let his words trail off, waiting to hear what she had in mind.

“You’re supposed to kiss me—to make the hurt go away.” She raised her foot. He pulled off one boot and then the other.

He thought she meant more than the physical pain. He wondered what she’d experienced that had made her a loner. He was so used to helping others that he wanted to help her, too. But his feelings went deeper than that.

The cold wind blew against the closed window, but the room was toasty warm. He wasn’t in any hurry to undress her or to help her into his flannel shirt or to leave her. She stood and he removed her jeans. He hesitated to take off her panties, thinking to help her put his shirt on, when she climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers over herself.

He picked up his flannel shirt off the bed. “Didn’t you want me to help you into this?”

“Kiss me,” she said.

“A good-night kiss,” he said. Yet he didn’t think she meant that.

Her smile was wicked.

“If I kiss you the way I want to, it’s bound to go a lot further than that this time.” He had to be honest with her. He wanted a lot more. Not a mating, but something that said he wanted to go further later if they were both agreeable.

“I count on it,” she said, reaching up to tug at his belt loop.