The Wolf's Pursuit(39)

"Finally turned into a horse's a—"

Hunter clamped his hand over her mouth. "Whiskey, towels, and please cease your cursing before I'm forced to cover that dirty and delicious mouth with my lips again."

Gwen jerked away and went to the sideboard. She loudly pulled out two glasses and poured the whiskey, sloshing it over the side.

He muttered his thanks as she returned, only when he held out his hand for the glass, she lifted it to her own lips and drank heavily. "I believe you've had enough. This is for me. I know nothing of wounds, and I fear I may be a hindrance."

Hunter grimaced as pain shot down his side again. Gwen left the room and quickly returned with a cloth. "This will have to do."

"It is dirty." Hunter stared at the revolting cloth. What did she do? Stomp on it before bringing it in here? Feed it to his horse? Allow a chicken to relieve itself on the threads?

Gwen huffed and sat down. "It is fine. Besides, it is only to catch the whiskey after I pour it across the wound."

"Do you know?" Hunter felt the sweat drop from his chin. "I'm feeling much better. I—"

"Be still." Gwen was already lifting up his shirt. That was nice. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, he could imagine that she was seducing him. Her cold hands felt like heaven against his hot skin. He sighed loudly and then moaned.

Gwen gasped. He opened his eyes. "What?"

"There is a lot of blood." Her face went white as a sheet.

"Red," Hunter urged, not sure why he was using her little pet name. "Sweetheart, it must be cleaned. Besides, I'm a wolf. We are tolerant of flesh wounds."

"Are you now?" Her lower lip trembled before her teeth bit down on it and chewed. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be that lip instead of a wolf. Perhaps he should change his name. Yes, Gwen's lip, sounded much more fierce.

Obviously he was more foxed than he'd realized, considering he was contemplating changing his nickname to something so absurd. But blast, how she had plump lips.

"This is going to hurt." She tilted the glass of whiskey.

"Already does," he grumbled, as the first remnants of alcohol washed over his wound. He clenched his teeth. He would not scream, not in front of Gwen. Distraction. He needed a distraction.

He felt the sweat pour down his neck as she began to pour more whiskey. All the while Hunter focused on nothing but her eyes.

And then she looked at him.

A moment is what the storybooks would call it. Time did indeed seem to stand still, but it could have been his inability to think straight. All he knew in that moment was that it was probable he was developing perhaps a small attachment to the woman.

Not an "Allow me to begin naming our future children" type of attraction; more of one that perhaps a fellow feels deep in his soul when he sees a type of loneliness in someone else's eyes and realizes he could be the one to take it away.

"Sleep with me," he blurted.

Gwen's mouth dropped open. Carefully, she placed the glass on the floor and used her dress to press against the wound.

Hunter's breath came in short gasps. "Blast, woman! Must you be so rough?"

Gwen turned a brilliant shade of crimson. "I bet you say those sweet words to all the ladies."

Too shocked that the minx hadn't backed away or slapped him, but fired back with her own innuendo, Hunter promptly passed out.





Chapter Fifteen





Wolf—

Better to be compared to a sheep than become a wolf's prey. Apologies, but the minute I saw the picture I quickly threw it into the fire. It frightened me, you see. I was under the impression it was a self-portrait and you know how I feel about you being anywhere in my bedroom, real or not.

—Red





Gwen tapped Hunter's shoulder.

Had she killed him?

She pushed him a bit.

He moaned.

Should she retrieve the smelling salts? Did men need smelling salts? She whispered into his ear, "Hunter, are you able to hear me?"

Motionless. She snapped out of her panic and ran to the sideboard and poured some more whiskey into the glass. When the rim was near spilling over, she brought it over to Hunter and threw it in his face.

"What the—" Hunter jerked out of his state. Whiskey droplets fell from his chin. He blinked, once, twice, and then shook his head. "Am I not foxed enough that you felt the need for me to bathe in whiskey?"

"I thought you died."

"So you were burying me in my sin, is that it?"

Gwen swallowed. "I- I didn't know what else to do."

"Yes, well, apparently whiskey is the answer to everything, or so good Englishmen say. Now help me up. I must somehow make it up the stairs and into my room, where I can properly bandage myself without passing out again."