eventually circle around and lead back to her house, which had been built, log-cabin style, at the edge of town. Maybe she could keep up this pace the rest of the way home. Hell, she might even run an extra mile or so!
Which was a lovely thought until the cramp hit her right calf.
“Shit!” She pulled up. Hobbling like Quasimodo she looked around for anything that might resemble sanctuary. Breathing a sigh of relief, she realized that the little rise in the road was the bridge that covered Wolf Creek. She could sit on the bank and rub her calf back into working order. So much for sprinting home.
She had just pulled off her shoe and thick athletic sock when she heard the growl. Low and deep it drifted to her on the breeze, tickling up her spine. It sounded too big to be a dog. It was probably a werewolf. Sometimes the damn things were thick as rabbits in the mountains around Mysteria. Candice rubbed harder at the cramp. She wasn’t actually afraid. Werewolves were rarely more than annoying. They tended to come and go in packs— unerringly drawn to the town’s preternatural nature, but except for a couple of gainfully employed families (surprisingly, werewolves tended to be excellent restaurateurs—must have something to do with the whole pack mentality and their love of meat or whatever) they usually didn’t stick around long, and didn’t interact with Mysteria residents, especially while they were in their wolf forms. They certainly didn’t pose a danger, unless one was made nervous by big dogs. Candice didn’t mind big dogs (as evidenced by her choice in ex-husbands one and two).
“Did you hurt yourself?”
His voice was deep, with a rough, husky sound that was very much man, not wolf. She swiveled around in time to see him step from the edge of the pine trees. And her mouth flopped unattractively open. He was easily six-foot-four and probably 230 pounds. At least. Broad shoulders seemed to stretch on forever, and a wide, scrumptious chest tapered down to a well-defined waist. And those legs . . . even through the relaxed jeans she could see that they were lean and muscular. His face was in shadow, so all of her attention focused on his body and the way he stalked toward her with a strong, feral grace that made her breath catch and her mouth go dry.
Then, as if he’d walked into an invisible tree, he stopped. He hesitated, and seemed almost confused. She could see him run his hand through his hair. He wore it long and loose and it framed his shadowy face as if he was an ancient warrior god that had only partially materialized in the modern world.
“Ms. Cox?”
“Yes!” she said on a burst of breath, totally surprised that the warrior god knew her name.
“It’s me, Justin.”
He started toward her again, and she blinked up at him as his face emerged from the shadows. And what a face it was! Strong, well-defined cheekbones and a rugged, masculine chin. His sand-colored hair was thick, with a sexy, mussed curl. His eyes . . . his eyes were an unusual shade of amber and were almost as inviting as his beautiful mouth.
“Justin Woods. You know . . .” He hesitated, then flashed an endearingly warm smile that was just the right mixture of mischievous and nervous. “. . . I had you for sophomore English.”
She mentally recoiled. What the hell had he just said? An ex-student! So the warrior god was really a fucking Fighting Fairy. Didn’t it just figure? Candice frowned, trying to pull her thoughts from the bedroom into the classroom.
“Oh, that’s right. Wow. Time sure flies,” she said with forced levity, feeling suddenly old and as out of date as an eight-track tape. She looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the setting sun with her hand. Yep. She vaguely recognized the echo of the gawky teenager within the man. “What was that, five years ago?”
“More like ten.” He crouched next to her and nodded at her bare leg. “Did you hurt yourself?” he repeated.
“Oh, no. It’s nothing. Just a cramp.” He was so close to her that she could feel the heat of his body and smell him—young and virile and masculine. Holy shit, he was one wickedly sexy young man!
“I can fix that,” he said. “I like to jog and I’m prone to leg cramps, especially when it’s hot out like this. I know just what to do to make it go away.”
Without waiting for her to respond he took her foot and propped it in his lap. Then he began to massage her cramping calf. His hands were strong and his touch was warm and experienced.
“Lie back. Relax.” His voice had dropped to the deep, throaty tone he’d used when he’d first come into the clearing. “Let me take care of you.”
She stared at him. She should tell him to take her foot out of his crotch and take his hands off her leg. But his touch was doing the most amazing things to her body. His fingers were sending little ripples of shock from her calf up the inside of her thigh and directly to her crotch, filling her with an unexpected rush of heat and wetness.
“Don’t fight it. There’s no reason to. It’s just me,” he said. His breath had deepened and his eyes kept traveling from her mouth to her breasts. She glanced down at herself and saw that her aroused nipples were clearly visible through her damp T-shirt and sheer white sports bra.
What would it hurt? It had been years since a beautiful young man had rubbed anything on her body. Years . . .
The thought of realistically just how many years it had been since a man this young had touched her had Candice sitting straight up and pulling her tingling leg from his warm hands. She flexed her foot and refused to meet his eyes as she pulled on her sock.
“Thanks!” she said with considerably more perkiness than she felt. “That’s fine. Good as new.”
“Well, at least now I know how you stay in such great shape.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Miss Great Shape.” She cringed. Miss Great Shape? What the hell was she saying?
“I had a huge crush on you in high school,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened with surprise and finally lifted to meet his. He had leaned back on his elbow and he was watching her with an intent expression that was anything but boylike.
“I thought you were the sexiest woman I’d ever seen,” he said.
Candice was trapped by his frank, masculine appraisal, and the fact that he clearly liked what he saw. Her mouth felt dry and she couldn’t seem to find her voice.
“You’re still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
She felt excitement slither low and hot through her belly. Lord, he was delicious! Her gaze slid from his beautiful eyes to his lips. He smiled, confident and handsome and just a little bit teasingly.
Candice blinked.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said in her best teacher voice, forcing her gaze from his lips and pulling on her shoe.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my ex-student!” she blurted.
He flashed the smile again and scooted forward. Brushing her hands gently aside, he began slowly tying her shoe.
“I’m of age. Well of age. I’m twenty-six.”
“Twenty-six!” her voice sounded shrill. “I thought you were twenty-seven.” As if one year actually made a difference. He was an infant! Practically a teenager.
“I’ll be twenty-seven if you want me to be,” he added huskily.
“Uh, no. A year really doesn’t make that much difference.” Thank God, he was done tying her shoe. Candice started to stand, only to feel his strong hands under her elbows as he helped her to her feet.
“I agree with you. A few years don’t make much difference.”
He kept his hands on her arms, holding her close to him. He smelled so damned good. She could feel his thumbs rubbing slow, soft circles above her elbows. That simple caress spread electric sensation from her arms all the way down to her crotch. He was wearing a plain gray T-shirt, worn thin and soft by many washings. The outline of his chest was clearly visible beneath it. He was strong and firm and deliciously big. She wanted to lean into him and lick him through the damn shirt. And then bite him. Yeah, she’d like to nibble her way down his body.
“Our age difference is more than a few years, Justin.” She tried for her teacher voice again. Unfortunately she sounded more like a breathless Marilyn Monroe.
He shrugged broad shoulders and grinned at her. “You’re really cute about that.”
“About what?” Her mind didn’t seem to be processing correctly, and she inanely added, “And I’m not
