Taming the Lone Wolff(43)
She doubted anyone would really believe the two of them were close friends. Larkin was the kind of man who went for sleek and sophisticated women. By his own admission, Winnie wasn’t his type. She could hold her own in society settings. Her parents had included her in their entourage by the time she was ten years old. Charity events were old hat. Not that her mother or father had actually paid attention to her during the dinners and dances and auctions.
Winnie had always attended in the company of a nanny, seen but not heard. Nevertheless, she had learned what it meant to move gracefully through the world of movers and shakers.
Tonight’s dinner, however, was different, more personal. And it was important to Larkin that his family believed he was happy. The thought made her laugh softly despite her inner turmoil. Surely they understood his renegade nature. His eyes betrayed his inner intensity.
Larkin was like a wild stallion masquerading as a civilized beast. When he touched her, she felt it. Whether tender or demanding, his intent was clear. He wanted to mate with her. But unlike his wolf namesake, not for life. Which meant she had to be on her guard until she knew her own mind.
She shivered as she undressed in preparation for a quick shower. Wrapping her hair in a towel, turbanlike, she caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks in the mirror. Her pupils were dilated. Her breasts felt full and achy, the nipples painfully erect.
The outcome of this scenario was inevitable. She and Larkin would be lovers. Sooner rather than later. And it wouldn’t be because of any coercion on his part. Her downfall would be the hunger that churned low in her belly, the writhing swirl of arousal that made her legs part restlessly and sent moisture to bloom in the folds of her sex.
Her entire body was on fire with longing. A deep, visceral need that had seemingly come from out of the blue. The life she lived had been pleasing to her, the days filled with purpose and activity. It was sobering to realize that meeting Larkin had exposed a gaping hole in her existence. She had friends, but no confidants. Acquaintances, but no one on which to bestow love.
The shower was quick. She could hardly bear to touch herself with soapy hands. In her imagination, it was Larkin bathing her, Larkin stroking her legs, her arms, her quivering belly.
By the time she made it back to the bedroom, her entire body was trembling. If he saw her like this, he would know. And knowing would demand her submission to the erotic flame that danced between them.
Her throat raw with emotional tears, she drew back the covers on the bed and climbed in, wanting to pull them over her head. She had willingly walked into Wolff Castle. As a bolt-hole, the security was absolute. And it was a measure of her trust in Larkin that she had no fears at all about the charges she had left behind in Nashville.
But suddenly, and in blinding clarity, she realized that by coming with Larkin to his home turf, she had placed herself in tremendous danger. No one in her entire life had ever loved her enough to put her first. Even Larkin had been quick to point out that he wasn’t interested in a conventional relationship that culminated in orange blossoms and wedding bells.
The truth seemed inescapable. She would go to his bed. How could she not? He was everything a woman could want in a man. Strong. Honorable. Virtually irresistible. He had revived in her a sexuality she’d thought long euthanized.
The resultant chaos in her soul was painful in the extreme, much like the awakening of a limb that had fallen asleep. She didn’t want to want Larkin Wolff. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. But she feared the damage was already done. With Larkin, she responded as a woman…whether she liked it or not.
Ten