Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

She wasn't modest, and this hiding her body like a blushing virgin wasn't her front anyway. 'In that case... ' she said, dropping the towel.

He hissed in a breath. As she set about dressing as usual, he grated, 'No' a bashful one, then? '

Bashful? She and her friends made Girls Gone Wild look like a quilting circle. 'Just being charitable to aging werewolves.'

18

Pert, plump arse, smooth thighs, slim back and waist...

Bowe had never seen such a tantalizing figure in all his life. And he'd lived a long, long time. He was well aware that he'd been rendered speechless by the body of a twenty-three-year-old witch.

And when she'd bent over naked for her towel? If he hadn't been braced for what he'd known was going to be a heart-stopping vision, he'd have drowned, thunderstruck.

Now, as he watched her slip into her wicked silk underwear and bra, he just stifled a groan and instead observed, 'I never thought the saying 'bounce a quarter off her arse' could be literal.'

'I didn't think you cared for my ass. I believe you said I was scrawny where it counts.'

'You said the same about me. Obviously, we were both mistaken. And I care for your arse verra much. My affection for it grows by the minute.'

She shot him a glare, then dressed in his shirt, rolling up the sleeves because it swallowed her. He frowned when she drew out that second patch, applying it to a spot on the inside of her elbow. He'd had no idea what it was for or he'd have thrown it out in an instant.

Contraception in a patch. And the damned thing seemed to be taunting him.

After putting more wood on the fire, he sat beside it on the pallet, coaxing her to join him there. 'Come, witchling, I'll dry your hair.'

'I can do it myself.'

'This is still part of the deal, the deal you agreed to.'

With a sigh, she joined him. Outside, the rain started up once more and began to pound all the broad leaves. Inside, the fire crackled, burnishing her long red hair with gold as he sifted it through his fingers, drying it into big curls. Now that he'd bathed her, the scent of her hair and skin was sublime, filling his senses.

Yes, she could have done this herself, but he didn't want to give up tasks like these. They pleased him in new ways, soothing the constant yearning he'd battled for years. At last, he didn't suffer from that strangling sense of urgency—to find the means to bring his mate back to him.

He felt his lids grow heavy, not only with desire, but with satisfaction. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be content. The need to have her was still pressing, yet he savored even that. He'd rather endure unfulfilled lust, with the hope of slaking it, than the hopelessness he'd suffered for so long.

He found he was able to push aside his reservations and just enjoy this, feeling as if he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He grew so comfortable that he didn't believe his eyes when tears began to stream down her face.

'Bloody hell, Mariketa. Why do you cry?'

She swiped at her cheeks. 'I'm your enemy. It should please you to see me miserable.'

'Should. But it does no'.' She was... miserable? He racked his brain for what else she could possibly want. He'd thought he was making progress with her. 'What do you need, then? To no' be unhappy?'

She jerked back from him, and he just unthreaded his fingers from her hair in time not to hurt her. 'I can't do this! This gentleness from you... you confuse me, and I'm so tired and I hate you so much.' Tears continued to track down her face.

'Damn you, stop this cryin', Mariketa.'

At that, she went up on her knees and punched his shoulder. Her expression said she'd found that hit surprisingly satisfying, so she did it again and again, slapping and punching. 'You left me in there!' His eyes narrowed as he took the blows, but he didn't stop her. 'And the only reason you came back was to get well again.'

'Had I that night to do over again, I'd act differently.'

She finally ran out of energy, gave a halfhearted slap, then sank down onto her bottom. In a stunned tone, she murmured, 'You just... left me.'

The witch had her swagger and wasn't shy about using her powers—his neck still hurt from her attack. Yet had she experienced a moment of astonished disbelief like this when the stone had dropped, not only because of her predicament but because he'd done it to her?

'You were the one who told me I could no' complain because this was a competition. You said all's fair.'

'It is all fair. However, this doesn't mean I want to be seduced by the man who hurt me. You looked me in the eyes and trapped me, setting me up for hell. Do you possibly think I'd want to wake up next to you? Or see you staring down at me when we had sex?' She rested her forehead in her palm, and he suspected she was too exhausted to guard her words. 'I'd thought you were different.'

'Regret for my actions with you weighs on me. And take pleasure in knowing that your weakening spell hit me hard.' He exhaled a long breath. 'I was in a minefield competing against the vampire and the Valkyrie. That bloody vampire made it so a mine was triggered just beneath me. I lost my eye, had half my face seared away. A length of shrapnel pierced my torso. I accumulated injury after injury that I could no' heal from. This information should please you.'

She continued to cry, sniffling as she repeated his words: 'Should. But it doesn't.'

Bloody hell, this is unbearable. He had no idea what to say, no experience comforting a female away from her tears. So in the end he said nothing, just eased her down onto the pallet, his palm covering her entire shoulder.

As she stared dazedly into the fire, he sat up behind her, using his whole hand to smooth her hair back from her face, his other thumb to brush away tears. When he grazed the tip of her pointed ear, it twitched in reaction.

Eventually her eyelids grew heavy. Yet even when her eyes closed, tears continued to fall. Under his breath, he muttered, 'Damn it, witch, doona... hurt.'

When her breathing grew deep and even, and he knew she was asleep, he gazed down at her, studying her. Her small, pixie nose had the lightest dusting of freckles, and her chin was delicately stubborn. That silky red hair curled about her finely boned face.

Her ruby lips were slightly parted as she slept. An exquisite, if small, female.

And, gods help me, she might be... mine.

Unable to stop himself, he eased down behind her. When he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her soft, wee body against his, she sighed. As a test, he nuzzled her neck. Her ear twitched again, and she curled into him closer. Even in sleep she responded to him as if she were his.

Two things he knew: Taking her would be like nothing he'd ever imagined. And second, he had to be certain of her, which meant getting that patch off her at the earliest opportunity.

19

Mari woke sometime in the night, compelled for some reason to read the letter in his bag. She feared that even after everything, the reason was jealousy.

She suspected he'd awakened when she'd left the pallet, but he said nothing as she went through his things. Really, what could he say after he'd gone through hers?