Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(3)

Except he still had an unyielding hold on her wrists.

He stared at her, so flat and assessing she flinched. But the flare of his nostrils let her know he was sucking down wind almost as hard as she was. He wasn’t as unaffected as those dark eyes made him seem.

“You gonna ask me for money when this is over, Little Red?”

She stiffened. “You ain’t got the octane to buy me, Diesel.”

He snorted and backed her toward the wall. “You’re so flush, then why you out hunting under the killing moon?”

She swallowed uncertainly. “Killing moon? What…what are you talking about?”

His gaze never left hers, even when he gripped both her wrists in one hand and lifted her arms over her head, stretching her up against the wall. She drew in a sharp breath, but he kept his long fingers wrapped tight, protecting her from the rough brick.

He lowered his head and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “Damn cigarettes,” he growled. “And too much f*cking perfume.”

“It was a very expensive gift from a very persistent admirer,” she protested. An upscale boutique brand was trying to convince her to do a signature scent with them, but Seth and Arlan had started teasing her about “fried feminine fragrances” and she’d gotten gun-shy. Assholes.

“Don’t try to hide who you are.”

Who she was? She didn’t even know anymore. She strained against his hold. “I don’t need your psych eval, thanks anyway.”

He angled one knee between her legs, lifting her up to her toes. Despite his comment about her stink, he nipped at the edge of her jaw, just hard enough to sting. “Oh, I know what you need.”

What a bastard! “Let me go.”

“Hmm, nope. Pretty sure that’s not it.”

“You have no idea what I need.” She squirmed but only managed to grind her * on his hard thigh. Oh man, her panties were damp.

This time when his nostrils flared, he smiled too, a wicked grin as if he knew something she didn’t. “I think I found it,” he said. He pushed his knee up a little higher, so she was barely touching the ground. “But just say the word and I’ll really let you go.”

She curled her fingers to brush against his hand holding her. “What’s the word?”

“Moonshine. Say it and run.”

No moonlight made it through the neon in this place, but her lips shaped the word without sound, and his gaze dropped to her mouth.

“You gotta say it aloud,” he warned, “or I’m not letting go.”

She clamped her teeth shut, wishing she could grind them on his triumphant smile.

But when he swooped down to kiss her again, her lips parted like the inevitable repeat of a chorus in a pop song. She couldn’t get enough. He smelled and tasted of the freedom she’d left behind to take this plush gig in Sin City.

But at least she could enjoy the sin.

She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, and he rumbled low in his throat. The sound vibrated through her with bass drum resonance, echoing in her bones. Her clit throbbed in answer. When he finally let go of her wrists, her tingling arms slithered down to wrap around his neck, holding him close, and she whimpered her wordless need as she ground against him. She should be embarrassed at her abject surrender. Except it felt too good.

“I hear you, Little Red,” he murmured. “But I’m not f*cking you in this ugly alley. Where’s your key?”

“In my purse.”

He spun her around, and without taking her purse off her shoulder, he slammed it up against the door card reader. The light switched green, and they practically fell into the darkened hallway beyond.

He never even let her touch the ground.

His strength and easy arrogance made her head spin. She wanted some of that for herself, and she could have him all night long. “I have a room here,” she said. “C’mon.”





Chapter 2

He’d been looking for a way into the casino that didn’t take him through the heavily monitored front door, and looky here: a keycard to the back door. Breaking and entering had never been so abso-f*cking-lutely delightful.

But there was something about this red-haired chick in her sparkly jeans that distracted Diesel from his task. For an embarrassing moment, he’d started to say something about the long odds of finding another werewolf in this unnatural place, but at the last second, he decided the overlay of scents—tobacco, her perfume, alley effluvium—had confused him. And that never happened.

He blamed the long hours of planning an assault on the Kingdom Guard black site east of the city. The shifter-hunting bastards were finally going down.

Not without a fight though, probably, which was why he’d been called in, along with what was left of his old team. LT and Malachi had their own missions in Vegas, but since he was allegedly the smooth talker among them, he’d been chosen to touch base with the local shifter powers in town. Maybe he could round up some more fighters, but if not, the locals at least deserved to know they were only a couple hours’ drive from one of the most dangerous enemies their kind had ever faced.

But he had to approach the other shifters the right way. Coming at them through the weaknesses in their defenses was going to sting, but they’d be more likely to listen.

And here was a sexy little opening in their ramparts.