Wolf Song (Wolf Song Trilogy #1)(7)

Annabel Lee.

She paused—froze more like—one graceful arm raised above her head as she washed herself. Her other arm bent, her elbow bobbing up, back, around and he imagined the slow, almost caressing circular motion of her hand in the place where her tits would be. Stroking, stroking. Beyond bathing. He shut his eyes, nearly groaning, envisioning the slick, plump flesh beneath her fingers as she teased her nipples to aroused, erect points.

Had he said the name out loud? Had she heard him?

No question she knew he watched her. An imbecile suddenly struck dumb and brainless. Unable to move except for the cock whipping to attention and saluting against the tight confines of his jeans.

Usually, when other shifters were around, members of the Black Hills pack especially, their thoughts, their conversations, bombarded him. The t’ai chi techniques Gee had taught him had helped with that, as he’d proven to himself with his excursions into Shady Heart. But as he gazed at the graceful sway of the female’s back…he heard…nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a murmur. Silence far beyond the muted vibe he got off Gee, when the ancient werebear imparted his rare words of wisdom. This took him into deep and profound country, a restful well of peace that Bengay-balmed his psyche, a set of earmuffs for his clanging nerves.

Was she human then? He didn’t get as chaotic a read with humans as he did with weres, their voices mere whispers, the buzz of mosquitos. No visions of their deaths to haunt him.

But this female…. Blessed stillness enveloped him. Soothed the savagery once so ready to erupt, that he’d forced into submission only through a decade of solitary living in the woods, and long hours of t’ai chi training that channeled his innate ferocious tendencies. Tendencies that nevertheless always lurked below the surface.

He shut his eyes, breathing her in.

“Brick.”

He snapped his eyes open again. The harsh, blunt, one-word syllable of his name fell from her lips, soft and lilting like a song, producing a magical effect on him. Calming. Sweet music played in his brain like a movie score, her unique theme, swelling when she came onscreen. But the soundtrack remained hushed. Quiet. He did not hear her inner thoughts. Tranquility bathed him. But did nothing to tamp down his sexual excitement.

He was still aroused, maybe more so. He wanted her. Badly. The wolf paced with anticipation. Would bite through the leash of Brick’s tight control to get at her if he let him. They both wanted her.

“Turn around, Annabel Lee. Let me see you.”

She did not move, except to lower her raised arm from its frozen position. “Why do you call me that…? Annabel Lee?”

“I don’t have another name.”

“Summer,” she said. “I’m Summer.”

Yeah. Def. When the berries plumped sweetest. “Suits you.” His raging arousal made the words hoarse and jagged. Too harsh for this gentle female. “Turn,” he murmured. “I want to see your face.” A low growl escaped him before he could bite it back. “Your breasts.”

She turned then, slowly through the water, rounding to face him.

He sucked in his breath, his heart slamming against his chest. She was stunning and glorious. The beads of water rolling down her golden body sparkled in the sun. She glistened. All natural. No makeup. No artifice. Everything a female should be. And more. Much more.

Another pheromone cloud engulfed him. Her eyes went large and rounded, as if she guessed she’d zapped him with her hormonal lures, but couldn’t help emitting her sex juice any more than he could. Her nose twitched and she sighed, as if enveloped in a vat of melted chocolate, or whatever the f*ck his own mating scent smelled like. He could only hope he gave off an aroma as rich and delicious as she did.

He struggled to control the raw savagery of his attraction and had to tear his eyes from her face. But her breasts…. God, her breasts. Full and high, the exact size to fill his large hands, rose tips jutting toward him. He remembered how she’d touched herself, how much he’d wanted to replace her hands with his. Hell. He wanted to bury his face between those breasts, lapping at her, licking and sucking, taking each one into his mouth, between his lips, grazing the pointed nipples with his teeth until he tore moans of delight from her.

His throat closed, his tongue swelling, filling his suddenly dry mouth, cutting off his ability to utter either animal sounds or inane words. After a beat or two of silence, she glanced away.

“What do you think?” Not shy exactly. Expectant. An undercurrent of doubt laced her question, as if she could not bear to disappoint him, and did not know what to make of his continued speechlessness.

“Perfect.” He rubbed his eyes. “Ah, Christ. You’re perfect.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are to me.”

A smile lit her face, so brilliant it nearly blinded him. His beast purred and lifted his head, butting at the ribs caging him, stamping his paws to indicate agreement like a beered-up Jets fan at MetLife Stadium. “And to the wolf, too,” he added. Important for him to say that. Important for her to know. To appease his brother, include him, if nothing else.

“I enjoy watching you chop wood,” she admitted. “I pray for you to take your shirt off. When the sweat trickles down your body, I get just as hot. Just as wet.”

She swept a long, thick skein of hair off her shoulder, exposing more of her breast. He nearly choked as she fisted the locks, wringing the moisture from them.