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"No. I don't think I can."
He turned, pulled me to him and kissed me. Then he waited. After a moment of silence, he sighed. "My grand confession, my soul laid bare, and you aren't even going to throw me a scrap, are you?"
"If you're waiting for me to say that the idea of being a werewolf's chosen mate is incredibly romantic, maybe swoon at your feet..."
"Perish the thought."
"Granted, my mother would be thrilled to see me hook up with someone, but a fifty-year-old werewolf thief might not be her idea of the ideal partner."
"We won't tell her about the thief part. Or the werewolf part." A pause. "Or the fifty-year-old part."
"If you ask me whether a fifty-year-old werewolf thief is my ideal partner, in my idealized life..."
"I suppose not."
"Sorry." I looked up at him. "But if you ask me whether it's what I want, my answer might be different. No guarantees. But there's a strong possibility."
"I can live with that."
He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom.
LUCAS
3
I WAS IN BED, waiting for the alarm to ring. Paige lay on her side, facing me, the blankets pushed down to her waist. She'd been naked when we'd gone to bed last night, but must have risen at some point, putting on a short nightgown to go downstairs. Now the nightgown was twisted, and one breast peeked from the curtain of long curls, straining to be free, thwarted only by that last half-inch over her nipple. It needed only a tweak of the silk folds to finish its escape. Most mornings I would have completed the rescue, then turned off the alarm and found a less jarring way to wake her. But last night we'd worked on a new spell, and while that might not seem the obvious excuse for my hesitation, Paige's methods of spell practice are far from obvious.
Paige is as voracious a student of the art of spellcasting as I am. But that doesn't stop her from livening it up with an extra twist. Last night's added attraction had been a personal favorite of mine: strip spellcasting. Fail to cast the spell, lose an item of clothing. Given that it was a new and difficult spell, that first stage hadn't lasted long, leading us--naked--to the second, in which at any sign of a successful cast, the "winner" receives a service from the "loser." By the time we felt confident in our ability to cast the spell, we were exhausted, barely able to find our way to bed, and six hours later, I still wouldn't consider myself fully recovered. That did not, however, keep me from enjoying the sight of Paige and even feel the first twinges to suggest I wasn't as tired as I'd imagined.
She rolled onto her back, covers twisting until she was nearly free of them. The hem of her gown rode up one thigh, granting me a peek at the red lace panties beneath. The bodice had pulled even tighter, her breast now straining all the more to be free, her nipple poking against the fabric and making me decide that, indeed, I was quite recovered.
A gentle tug and the trapped breast was free, full and firm, the nipple still erect, begging for attention. First, though, I tugged the other side of the skirt up, until it was around her belly, the bright red panties on full display. I took a minute to enjoy the view.
My wife has a body worthy of the attention. Full, soft and generously rounded everywhere a woman should be rounded. I'm not usually aware of such things, but even on our first meeting, I'd noticed. At the time, if a fortune-teller had told me that one day I'd waken to this sight every morning, I'd have demanded my money back. So I can be forgiven if I do, now and then, like to wallow in my good luck.
I saw the clock preparing to flip to six and tapped off the alarm. Then I leaned down, tongue tickling over that waiting nipple. Her response was instantaneous, a low moan of pleasure. I took her nipple between my teeth, my tongue--
My cell phone blared so loud we both jerked up...fortunately without injury.
"Ignore it," I said, pulling her back.
"No." She reached over me, breast brushing my lips, then handed me my phone. "You answer. I'll keep things going."
With a grin, she kissed my chest, then moved lower. An order was an order, so I answered.
"Lucas? It's Karl. We have a problem."
Paige heard and stopped, scant inches from her destination. She glanced up at me, a question in her eyes that I really didn't want
to answer. I considered accidentally hitting the disconnect button. She read my mind and gave a soft laugh, kissed my stomach, then rolled from bed with a mouthed "later."
I cursed Karl Marsten, sat up and gave him my almost complete attention.
I WAS STILL on the phone when a cup of steaming coffee appeared by my hand, slid discreetly across the desk. I'd moved into the tiny office adjoining our bedroom and was jotting down notes as Karl talked. I motioned for Paige to stay, but she gestured something I couldn't decipher, and slipped from the room.
"Jasper Davidyan?" I said. "That's D-a-v-i-d-y-a-n?"
"Yes, but Hope suspects the surname is phony, and I'd agree. It comes from the license in his wallet, which is definitely a forgery."
