Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Heat flushes up my neck and cheeks. My word, what has come over me?
The sharp lines of his strong jaw and rough stubble tempt me. His stiff muscular arms and chiseled chest tempt me.
Everything about him tempts me. I’ve never found a mortal so enticing. He seduces every part of me. I want to know what it would feel like when his lips touch mine. I want to know what it would feel like to lie on the bed next to him. To fall asleep next to him and dream next to him. To listen to rain on the roof next to him.
Would I even notice rain on the roof if I were in bed with him?
Probably not.
Although—perhaps it is because Ryker is not mortal that I find him so enticing. As a wolf-shifter, he is decidedly not a human man. He is so much more.
My fingers linger a few inches above his shoulder. I cannot help myself—I readjust the blankets just so I can feel the heat of him for a heartbeat or two.
Then I turn away from the bed and go to my worktable, breathing deep and slow to try to quench the fire of my…
Curiosity.
I cannot lie to myself. It is not only curiosity. It is an intense desire. I want to know him because I want to…
Have him. I would like for him to be mine. Even if just for a taste.
I would like to be his. If for no other reason than for the memory to exist.
I exhale sharply and fold my hands together, running through several incantations to the moon in my head. I call on her for wisdom and empathy to know why these thoughts plague me. I call on her for calm and peace of mind. I call on her to give me clarity so that I can understand what has happened to the magic here.
I cannot be having these kinds of thoughts! They cannot come to me so easily! I live in solitude because it is the only safe way to live, not because I was waiting for the perfect wolf shifter to come pleading for shelter in the middle of a thunderstorm.
With several deep breaths, I don’t suddenly find an answer to the problem of Ryker’s portal, but my mind does clear.
I feel a pull toward Ryker. With my mind settled—whether by the grace of the moon or from my own efforts or both—that is the one sensation that stands out above all others. It is almost a physical pull, like a string tugging at my waist, trying to pull me back to him.
And then, I suppose, it would have me climb into the bed. Nap the day away? Press myself closer to him in my sleep? Reach for him in my dreams?
Allow my lips to touch his and see what sensations come over me?
I will not be doing that. Not right now.
It must be my prolonged loneliness that’s making me think this way. With such temptation and curiosity.
Ryker’s handsome, powerful, and strong. Much stronger than a mortal man.
Above all, he is trustworthy. He has stayed in my cottage for an entire night, longer than anyone has in years, and he has not made a single move to assert dominance over me.
Although that very thought sparks a different kind of want. One I shove to the back of my mind.
Shoulders back, I return to one of the shelves by my worktable and find my worn, beloved tarot cards.
The cards are soft and pliable from having been shuffled between palms hundreds and hundreds of times. As I gently let them slide against one another, I center my mind on them. On the smooth, slippery feel of the cardstock. On the wisdom they hold. On the answers I’m seeking.
I meditate on the events of the past day.
What change in the world around me brought on the storm? Did that force also inspire the pull I feel toward Ryker? I think of him most of all, dwelling on how open his expression is when he’s sleeping and the long frame of his body on my bed and the sound of his breathing.
I need these things to be clearly communicated to the cards, so I pace quietly around the cottage, turning all of it over in my mind—but especially Ryker. The soft sound of his steps. The light grumble in his throat when he contemplates. The sharpness of his eyes as our glances catch one another. The little details that make him who he is, that’s what I focus on as I hold the cards and absently shuffle them.
Every time I make another circuit of the room, I cannot help letting my gaze linger on him.
The afternoon light from outside caresses his skin as if it wants to touch him as much as I do. He sleeps as if he is sure of his safety here, deep within the peace of the spell I put on him. He’s turned over onto his back and flung out both arms, taking all the space he can on the bed.