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Wolf’s wristwatch alarm chirped. Morning already? He sensed pressure on his chest, warm breath on his cheek. Alarmed, he jerked, knocking a framed picture off a side table. Lucy yowled in protest. Riley had mumbled the name of her cat—black as a panther but not as svelte—last night.
“Sorry, kitty.” Having parachuted to safety, the cat arched her back in a display of pique. “You scared me more than I scared you. Forgive me?”
He rolled over and came eye-level with the big cat. She studied him with disdain, then relented and rubbed her fur against his bare arm. Lucy’s meows grew louder.
“Okay, I get it. You want something.”
Wolf followed the cat to the back door. When he opened it, she shot out, a black streak disappearing into greening foliage.
“Glad someone’s feeling perky. Don’t disappear, or Riley will have my head.”
He sauntered back to the couch and picked up the photo he’d knocked over. Decked out in cap and gown, Riley waved a diploma. Her mother and her uncle, Senator Edwin Yates, flanked her. Leaders of the enemy camp.
Wolf knew how they’d feel about his presence in Riley’s home. His Uncle Ray and his cousin Hank would feel the same way. Did Riley share their bitter hatred? Wolf and Riley were both in their early teens when Hank was tried for the murders. So neither had sat in the courtroom during the trial. That meant they heard only one version of the testimony, how their kin reacted to the “not guilty” verdict.
He replaced the picture and stretched. The pullout sofa featured the standard torture bar perfectly centered to break a man’s back. He felt like a jumbo pretzel.
Still he was glad he’d stayed. The drugs made Riley loopy. He couldn’t have left her alone. She even giggled, too far gone to protest his sleepover. In fact, when he put her to bed, she invited him to join her. Too bad there’d be no rain check once she regained her senses.
When he tucked her in, she’d pulled his head close and whispered. “Promise you’ll wake me by six.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Gotta chat with the FBI and the chancellor.”
Wolf tiptoed into her bedroom. Morning sun poked through the lace curtains, creating intricate patterns on the bed’s apple-green comforter. Riley was nearly invisible. Only a few auburn ringlets peeked from under the covers.
He quietly closed the door to the bathroom. The scent of her soap lent encouragement to his standard first-of-the-morning hard-on. Wonder if Pavlov ever studied dicks.
He splashed water on his face, leaned down to drink from the faucet. The metallic taste on his tongue suggested he’d been chewing staples. He coveted her toothbrush, wished he could brush his teeth. That’s when it dawned on him. A single toothbrush.
Good. The joker who sent roses to her office didn’t have toothbrush privileges.
Wolf zipped his running suit and sat on the toilet to lace his shoes. He glanced at his watch. One minute to six. He hated to wake her. He gently pulled back the comforter and brushed a curl off her forehead. Slowly he trailed his fingers across her soft skin. She looked so innocent, a cuddly—if banged up—lamb.
A Bible verse popped into his mind. “And the lion shall lay down with the lamb.” Maybe the wolf should lay down with the lamb.
Forget it. Minus the drugs, she’d never be interested.
Wolf reached out to tap Riley’s uninjured shoulder when he noticed his book on her nightstand. As he picked up Firelight, it fell open to page 158. An underlined passage described the hero ravishing the young blonde’s lush body.
A single word was scratched in the margin. Big, black exclamation points marched behind it. The curse wasn’t one he’d ever heard her utter—in polite company or otherwise.
His description of their lovemaking had incensed Riley. Why? He’d altered his heroine’s looks so no one would ever guess Riley was his sensual vixen. Had anger and hatred erased her memory? How good it had been?
He brushed his lips against the cheek she’d roughed up during her concrete slide. “Wake up, sunshine. Time to sniff out mad bombers and do whatever else you law types do.”
Her eyes blinked open. She looked confused, then pleased. Her smile proved fleeting.
“What time is it?” she asked, all business.
“Six on the dot.”
“I have to hurry.” She sat up and gasped. Clasping her side, she slid back under the covers.
“Go slow. I put pain pills on your bathroom sink. You might want to pop one. Can I do anything for you before I leave?”
Whoa. Did she just check out my hard-on?
“No,” Riley said, her answer firm. “Thanks for driving me to the hospital and babysitting.”
Wolf kissed her. This time it wasn’t a brotherly peck. He threaded his fingers through her untamed curls as he lifted her head off the pillow. Her generous lips were warm and supple. When his tongue gently prodded, she seemed to welcome the breach. For an instant, she joined him in the first tentative steps of a sweet oral tango.
He lowered her head to its pillow nest. Her curls licked the pillow like dark flames. Though his tingling lips argued against it, he stuck with a disciplined retreat, his fingers grazing her warm skin as he pulled back.
“Wish I could stay, but I want to be on time to pick up Ellen’s father.”
At the doorway, he turned. “I’ll call later. See if you need anything.”
When he opened the front door, the rotund cat sauntered inside. How many times had the black cat crossed his path?
Glad I’m not superstitious.
* * * *
Riley’s body sent urgent messages. The pain—which should have been the headline—was barely a footnote. Even before Wolf kissed her, she noticed the erection tenting the silky nylon of his running suit. The mint taste of his tongue made her nipples salute. Warmth cascaded down her body, as if a sunbeam pierced a dense cloudbank to focus its rays on her chilled flesh.
Damn him! One kiss and I’m panting. Her whole being remembered what followed his kiss.
A flash of memory cut through the gauzy haze of last evening. His warm hands meandered down her thighs as he slid off her slacks. She heard his chuckle when he found her flannel nightie—the one covered with goofy moose heads—and pulled it over her head.
Oh, God! He undressed me, and I asked him to sleep with me. Alcohol had nothing on pain pills as an uninhibitor.
It took all of Riley’s discipline to reorder her thoughts as Wolf vanished from her doorway. Remember, how it ended. Think about your mom.
Family history aside, she would never allow herself to be charmed by another Gary, another player. The unwanted memory surfaced. The hurt of learning her husband of fifteen years was a serial fornicator, boinking a long line of other women for fourteen of those years. Forget Wolf. You’re just horny.
The familiar black cloud of injured pride choked out the warmth of Wolf’s smile. Gary’s legacy. He’d left her for his last fling. A woman he’d made pregnant. A mistake he couldn’t hide. Riley felt humiliated and stupid. Such a clever FBI agent—she couldn’t even detect her own husband’s philandering. She tossed aside the covers. Get real.