Читать книгу Daring The Moon - Sherrill Quinn - Страница 9

Taite’s breath hitched in her throat as a tall, dark-haired man walked with sensual grace toward her. Cobalt blue eyes stared into hers from under the dark slash of heavy eyebrows. His hair, worn a little long, curled against the top of his shoulders, drawing her eyes to the strong column of his throat. A thin scar ran along his left jaw, from ear to chin, white against the dark stubble of his day-old beard.

Her lips parted. Her breath came faster. Some power she didn’t understand—was it just physical attraction amplified?—tugged at her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her voice seemed frozen.

Passion flared in his gaze for a moment before he hid it by dropping his lashes and looking at her from under hooded eyes. He was, without a doubt, one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen. And the sexiest.

Her nipples tightened, and she hugged her arms over her chest even though she knew neither man could see them through her jacket. The closer he got, the more her insides clenched until, when he stood directly in front of her, her core loosened and moistened, dampening her panties with the beginnings of arousal.

“Hello, Ms. Gibson.” A large, square-fingered hand came out, and she automatically put hers in it. The slide of his palm against hers sent a shiver through her. He held her hand for a fraction longer than was necessary, his thumb brushing over her skin in a motion both soothing and arousing at the same time. “I’m Ryder Merrick. We weren’t expecting you for another few days.”

It was nice of him to phrase it like that. Especially since he’d told Declan not to come at all.

He slowly released her hand. She quickly folded her arms again. His mouth twitched. For a moment she thought he might smile, but he remained stony faced. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us a bit by surprise, and so our hospitality has been less than satisfactory. I hope you’ll give us another chance to make a good first impression.” His tone didn’t suggest he meant it, yet she’d be surprised if he was a man who ever said something he didn’t mean.

She didn’t think he’d be bothered to put on a social face if it didn’t benefit him in some way. And welcoming a stranger into his house—a woman uninvited and unannounced—would hardly bring him personal gain.

For such a handsome man, he looked harsh. Unyielding. But his deep voice enthralled her, holding her in a spell, dark and sexy and making her wonder what he’d sound like when he was lost in passion.

She had an image of sweat-slicked bodies on tangled sheets. Raw, earthy lust drove his cock into the clinging depths of her pussy. Taite clenched her thighs against the increasing arousal flowing from deep inside her body.

Her gaze flicked down, traveling over the knit turtleneck he wore. A leather belt with a large silver buckle bisected his middle and drew her eyes to the center of his body. His thick erection, clearly outlined beneath the material of his jeans, lay along one muscled thigh. She pulled her startled gaze back to his.

She had the nonsensical thought of asking, “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” but wasn’t sure he’d appreciate her calling attention to his arousal.

His eyes were narrowed, nostrils flared as if he were…Was he sniffing her?

Her overtaxed mind must be on the edge of toppling into oblivion, she decided. Why in the world would he sniff her? Unbidden, her gaze darted once more to his midsection.

Realizing he was waiting for a response from her, her cheeks heated even more. She looked into his face and stuttered, “I-I’m sorry. We, um—”

“We had to come on ahead,” Declan interrupted from behind them. He walked into the foyer from a narrow hallway. After a quick glance at him, Taite kept her gaze fixed on Ryder and saw a frown darken his features before it was lightened by a genuine smile for his friend.

Seeing them together, Taite was struck by how similar the two men were. Both were tall with dark hair and muscular, fit bodies. It appeared that Ryder was an inch or two taller than Declan, which would put him somewhere around six-four or six-five. Nearly identical broad shoulders tapered to narrow waists and hips, down to long legs and big feet.

The two men grasped hands and briefly hugged, pounding each other on the back with their free hands. When they parted, Ryder asked, “How did you get in?”

Dark eyebrows rose and a grin crooked a corner of Declan’s mouth. “Your back door isn’t as secure as it should be, Ry.” Looking past Taite, he added, “Good to see you again, Cobb.”

Taite glanced at Cobb, too, and saw his lips tighten briefly before he assumed the solemn, bored expression he’d maintained with her. The little man matched the house, that was for sure.

Dark, somber, with understated but evident wealth in both the cut of his suit and the architecture of the mansion. She’d been impressed by the place from the outside. Now that she was inside…

The floor of the foyer was a beautiful gray shot through with streaks of dark green. Crimson cushioned antique chairs lined one wall. Above the chairs were two crossed swords and a coat of arms that had a snarling wolf, his massive paw planted on a snake.

Even here, it seemed, she couldn’t get away from wolves. At least this one was a normal one and not something right out of a horror movie.

“Mr. O’Connell.” With a slight sniff, Cobb looked from Declan to Taite and said, “I assume you’re hungry after your travels. I’ll fix something straight away.”

“Can I help?” Taite asked, not wanting to put the man to any trouble.

Cobb looked surprised, then thoughtful. He glanced at his employer and gave a nod. “Yes, miss, I would appreciate the assistance. The kitchen is this way.” Without waiting to see if she followed, he turned and walked through the large foyer and down a hallway on the opposite side of the stairs that led to the second floor.

With a small shrug, Taite followed the little man. As she left the room, she felt eyes burning into her back and knew Ryder Merrick was staring at her. Trying to ignore the shiver of awareness that coursed through her, she quickened her pace to catch up to Cobb.

“Come into my study and let’s talk,” she heard Ryder say. Declan murmured something in response.

Now out of earshot, Taite wandered into a large, ultra-modern kitchen to see Cobb washing his hands at a double stainless steel sink. As she followed suit, he turned and pulled a large turkey and a loaf of bread out of the refrigerator.

She dried her hands, then took the bread from him and set it on the dark green and black marble countertop. Cobb put the turkey on an old-fashioned butcher’s block that sat in the center of the kitchen. She looked around. A small table with an L-shaped bench sat beneath a large corner window, with two chairs on the sides opposite the bench. Glass-doored cupboards lined two walls, and all the appliances were modern brushed stainless steel.

“This is lovely,” she murmured, running her hand along the counter. She thought of her little galley kitchen in her apartment in Tucson and squashed a surge of envy.

“Thank you, Miss Gibson.” He handed her a bread knife. “If you would cut some bread, please. Enough for yourself and Mr. O’Connell.”

“Oh, please, call me Taite.” She watched Cobb set a knife efficiently to the turkey, cutting off large slices, then she turned her attention to the bread and began slicing it. “How long have you worked for Mr. Merrick?”

“Nearly thirty years now.” Cobb placed the carving knife in the sink. Pulling open a drawer next to the stove, he pulled out a butter knife and two forks. “My father worked for his father, and I began my employment when young Mr. Merrick was still a teenager. Would you like salad cream or mustard on your sandwich?”

Salad cream? Did he mean salad dressing?

Cobb must have seen the confusion on her face, for he clarified, “I believe you Americans call it mayonnaise.”

“Oh, both, please.” Taite set her own knife down and picked up the slices of bread. Turning, she walked to the butcher’s block where Cobb had set aside thick slices of turkey. She placed the bread on two plates, then added a few tomato slices from a third plate. “What’s he like? Mr. Merrick, I mean.”

Without looking at her, he said, “I don’t discuss my employer, miss.” He placed the sandwiches on a cornflower blue platter and carried it over to the small breakfast nook. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll fetch Mr. O’Connell.”

Taite pursed her lips and watched Cobb leave the kitchen. She hadn’t scored any brownie points there. She might’ve even lost a few. And somehow she had the feeling she needed the little guy in her corner.

“Well, fuck. You could’ve been a bit more welcomin’, boyo,” Declan growled. “It’s a damned good thing I told Taite you were a loner or she might think you’re just plain rude.”

Ryder stretched out his legs and laid one arm along the back of the sofa. He watched Declan pace in front of the bookcase-lined west wall of the study. “I told you not to come,” he reminded his friend. “If you wanted to make up with Pelicia, you could’ve used an excuse other than werewolves.”

A shot of color rode high on Declan’s cheeks. He scowled. “It’s not an excuse.”

“Uh-huh.” Ryder crossed his ankles. He’d never seen Declan so discomfited, and it was too good an opportunity to pass up. “You and she didn’t exactly part on good terms, as I recall. You think she’ll even talk to you?”

“Dry up,” Declan muttered. He rubbed one hand over his cheek. “And stop tryin’ to change the subject. We were discussin’ you and this ridiculous excuse you’re givin’.”

Not having anything else to fall back on, Ryder returned to his original pretext. “I do have deadlines, Declan.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Fuck that.” Declan’s emotions rode close to the surface. Ryder detected frustration and anger. And fear, which he’d never before sensed from the former marine commando.

There was a sharp crack, and Ryder opened one eye to see Declan standing at the desk, both palms flat on the surface. The sound had been his friend slamming his hands onto the desk. He closed his eye again and concentrated on appearing unconcerned.

“Dammit, Ry. You don’t understand. The thing that came after us was a werewolf. A goddamned werewolf!”

The last thing Ryder wanted anyone around him to believe was that werewolves actually existed. And so he went on the offensive. “Pull the other one, mate.”

“I’m tellin’ you what I saw.” Declan stopped pacing, and Ryder could feel his friend staring at him. “The fuckin’ thing was at least seven feet tall, shaped like a man but covered in fur. And its face…” Declan dropped onto the other end of the sofa and sighed. “Its face looked like a fuckin’ wolf’s.”

Without opening his eyes or changing his posture, Ryder said, “All I can say is my research has never suggested that werewolves are real. Especially as Hollywood would portray them.”

“Shit.” Declan’s voice was deep and harsh. “Well, if it’s no’, I don’t know what the hell it is. But it’s no’ human, I can tell you that much.” His Irish brogue became more pronounced, clearly showing his agitation.

They were silent for a few moments, Declan muttering under his breath now and again. Knowing his friend would get back on the subject of werewolves, Ryder shoved to his feet and walked to the bookshelves. Running one finger along the top shelf, he followed it until he reached the book he was looking for. He handed the thick hardback to Declan. “Here. This fellow is supposedly the foremost expert on lycanthropy.”

Declan frowned, though he took the book. “Jaysus! I don’t want to look through some fuckin’ book, Ry. Why won’t you just tell me what you know?”

Ryder opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Cobb.

“Pardon me, sir.”

Ryder turned his head to see Cobb standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

Declan muttered something under his breath and tossed the book onto the sofa.

Cobb raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment other than to say, “I’ve made a sandwich for Mr. O’Connell. Ms. Gibson has already started eating, if you’d care to join her in the kitchen,” he said, directing his last comment to Declan.

“Sure. Why not?” Declan slanted a look at Ryder that promised the conversation wasn’t over. “You comin’?”

“In a minute,” Ryder responded. He needed to talk to Cobb to make sure they were both following the same game plan. Waiting until he could no longer hear Declan’s footsteps, he looked at his employee. “They won’t be leaving tomorrow.”

Cobb blinked. “You’ve decided to let them stay?”

With a sigh, Ryder scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand, kneading muscles gone taut with tension. “I know Declan. He’s like a bear after honey. He won’t leave until he knows how he can protect the woman. If I try to make him leave, it will cause him to be more suspicious than he already is.”

He didn’t want to look too closely at the more pressing reason for having them stay.

His bone-deep loneliness.

He’d missed Declan, that was a fact. It would be nice to catch up on old times with his friend. Ryder closed his mind off to thinking about his other houseguest. Perhaps if he didn’t put a name to her and thought of her in more abstract ways, he wouldn’t be so attracted to her.

“We had discussed sleeping arrangements,” Cobb said. “However, now that I’ve seen them together, I wonder…Should I put them in the same room? I assume they’re lovers.”

Ryder clenched his jaw at the thought of Declan touching Taite, of the other man sliding into her slick heat. A snarl left his throat, startling him. Dammit. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t even know her, yet she seemed intimately familiar, like the warmth of home.

“It appears it would be in Mr. O’Connell’s best interests for them not to be lovers,” Cobb observed wryly.

Ryder stared at Cobb, the beginnings of panic swirling in his gut. He had to fight this attraction he felt, because it could go nowhere. He couldn’t let it go anywhere. Especially given what had happened with Marika….

With a curse, he slammed the lid on that thought and ran his hand through his hair. God, he was in trouble.

“It doesn’t matter one way or the other,” he finally responded to his employee and friend. “I can’t have her.”

Declan walked into the kitchen, unable to shake the conviction Ryder was hiding something. His friend was secretive—always had been—but this was something more, an underlying desperation he’d not sensed before.

Seeing Taite sitting on the window bench at the small table by the back door, her hands wrapped around a thick sandwich, made his shoulders tense and his mind go back to his conversation with Ry. Hand him a book and tell him to read it. What the fuck?

If Mr. Horror Novelist thought Declan was just going to sit back and wait for him to decide to start sharing information about werewolves, he’d better think again. Declan loved this woman like a sister—a novel experience for him—and he’d be damned before he let some oversized furball hurt her.

He’d always been of the opinion that men couldn’t be “just friends” with women—it wasn’t in a man’s genetic makeup to form a platonic relationship with someone who could potentially be a lover. But with Taite that kind of attraction had never fully materialized.

Oh, he’d noticed how beautiful she was and what a lovely body she had but, other than an aborted attempt to seduce her early on, he’d not been sexually tempted by her. And now her friendship was too important to him to risk it by trying to make something work that clearly wasn’t meant to be.

He joined her at the table, pulling out one of the chairs and plopping down onto it with a sigh, his mind already back on Ryder’s incomprehensible refusal to help.

“What?” Taite stared at him with a slight frown dipping between her brows.

Before Declan could reply, Cobb walked into the kitchen. Picking up a dishrag, he started cleaning the knives in the sink.

Declan looked at the turkey sandwich in front of him, then at Cobb. “Only one?” He was starving, and one wasn’t going to do it.

Without a word, Cobb opened the refrigerator. He took out the turkey, then jars of salad cream and mustard. “What would you like to drink, Mr. O’Connell?”

Declan glanced at the glass of water in front of Taite and frowned. “I don’t suppose you’ve any iced tea?”

Cobb sniffed.

“I didn’t think so.” Declan shook his head and winked at Taite. “It’s an American way of drinkin’ tea, puttin’ ice in it, and I’ve found I quite enjoy it. But it’s somethin’ you’d never do to a good cuppa, would you, Cobb?”

“It’s a sacrilege, doing that to tea.”

Declan grinned. “What did I tell you?” he said sotto voce to Taite. Looking at Cobb, he leaned back in his chair. “How ’bout a pint, then?”

“We have Guinness and Fuller’s.”

“Fuller’s Ale?” Declan licked his lips. He hadn’t had a Fuller’s in years. At Cobb’s nod, he said, “Give us a Fuller’s, then.”

Cobb pulled a bottle of the amber ale from the pantry. “Would you like one, miss?” he asked Taite.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Cobb’s lips twitched, and he popped the cap, then placed the ale in front of Declan. Turning back to the stove, he fitted an oven mitt over his right hand and picked up a platter from one of the burners. Spatula in his left hand, he carried the plate to the table and slid a pile of homemade chips onto Declan’s plate.

“These are so good,” Taite said as she bit into a chip. “How do you fix them, Mr. Cobb?”

“Just Cobb will do, miss.” He carried the plate back to the stove and set it down. “A good chef never reveals his culinary secrets.”

“Ah, one of his famous Cobbisms,” Declan murmured. When Cobb turned to the butcher’s block and started preparing another sandwich, Declan said, “Go light on the mayo, all right?” He patted his stomach. “I’ve gotta watch my waistline.” Grinning at Taite’s snort, he leaned forward and snagged the remainder of the chip from her fingers. His grin widened at her—“Hey!”—and he dodged the swat of her hand. “Well, you weren’t eating it,” he said in defense of his action.

“You didn’t give me a chance.” She reached over and took a warm chip from his plate. “From now on, eat your own,” she said around a mouthful of potato.

Cobb placed a second sandwich on Declan’s plate, then put the turkey and condiments away.

Declan scooted his chair to the side to watch him. Now was the time to ask Cobb about Pelicia. Trying to ignore how his gut tightened at the thought of her, he asked, “How’s Pel?”

“Fine.” Cobb’s voice was cool, even more so than his usual formal tones.

Taite leaned forward. “Pel?”

“My daughter.” Cobb cleaned off the butcher’s block. As he wiped his hands on the dishtowel, he said, “Should you require anything else, please let me know. I shall be next door in the laundry room.” He neatly folded the towel and placed it on the butcher’s block, then left the room.

Declan stared after him. The older man’s reaction was not unexpected, and Declan felt the weight of his disapproval. It wasn’t completely undeserved.

Realizing he’d tensed, he drew in a deep breath and rotated his shoulders. When he turned his chair back to the table, he saw Taite’s raised eyebrows. He sighed. “Pel and I have a history.”

“So I gathered.” She glanced toward the kitchen doorway. “And it’s one Cobb apparently isn’t too happy about.”

Declan took a swig from his bottle of ale. He set the bottle on the table with a thud. “No, that he’s not.” He didn’t want to think about how he’d left things with Pel, much less talk about it. It was something he planned to set right, which was another reason he’d been so impatient to get to the Isles of Scilly.

Picking up his sandwich, he took a big bite. The mustard hit the back of his tongue and he groaned in ecstasy. “God, this is good,” he said around a mouthful of food.

Taite propped her elbows on the table and put the last of her sandwich in her mouth. After a moment, she said, “Okay, I get that you don’t want to talk about her. So, tell me what Ryder said.”

She took a long drink of water, her gaze on his over the rim of the glass. Her look was full of hope, as if she expected him to impart some golden nugget shared by Ryder.

Son of a bitch.

“He told me to read a goddamned book.” Declan bit into his sandwich with the savagery of a barbarian. He chewed and washed it down with a swig from his ale, then took another bite. Once he’d swallowed, he said, “Like we’ve time to do that.”

Taite leaned her chin on one fist and frowned. “I don’t understand. You explained what we saw? The werewolf?”

“Aye. But Ryder seems reluctant to help.” He finished his sandwich and picked up the bottle of ale. Rolling it between his palms, he stared into the opening.

He was puzzled by Ryder’s nonchalant attitude. If anything, he’d have expected his friend to look at him—and treat him—as if he suspected Declan needed to be fitted with a straight-jacket. But the damned man had sat on the sofa with his eyes closed, sprawled comfortably and looking as if Declan was keeping him from a nap.

Setting the bottle down, he started in on his chips and the other sandwich. His years in covert operations told him something was up. He didn’t know what—yet. But he wasn’t going to be unprepared if—or, rather, when—the werewolf caught up to them, as he had no doubt it would.

Some stalker and now a werewolf had staked a claim on Taite, and Declan feared neither would give up until he had her or he was dead. Declan aimed to make sure the outcome was the latter of those two choices.

“Then I don’t understand why he won’t help,” Taite said, her voice full of confusion. “We can’t have come all this way for nothing. You’re the one who said he knows this stuff, Declan. I mean, how hard is it?” She dropped her voice. “Ryder, me lad, what do you know about werewolves?” In an equally deep voice but with a crisp British inflection, she went on. “Oh, I know so much I’m considered to be an expert, old bean. Jolly good.”

Shaking his head, Declan rolled his eyes. “That was a fair imitation of Ryder, darlin’. But you had me all wrong.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She sighed and leaned her chin on one fist. “I just don’t understand.”

“Let me talk to him again. I’ll get him to come ’round.” Or he’d bloody the stubborn SOB’s nose.

“Well, he’s an expert, so make him…expert something. Would it help if I talked to him?” Her voice was taut and ended a little on the shrill side.

Declan sighed and rubbed one hand along the back of his neck. Remembering the way Ryder’s hard-on had tented his pants when he’d first met Taite, Declan wasn’t sure it was a good idea, especially since Ryder didn’t seem very happy with his attraction to her.

Or maybe that was it. Ryder had been alone so long he probably didn’t remember what to do with a woman. Declan grinned. Taite could be just the thing for his old friend.

Declan knew he had to get through to Ryder, or they were in deep shit. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the werewolf would somehow find them here on the island. The damned thing had tracked them to Atlanta, after all. “Not if you’re gonna be a fishwife, which is what you’re soundin’ like, darlin’,” he said in answer to her question.

She frowned, then her lips curved into a small grin. “I was sounding a bit shrewish there, wasn’t I?” She inhaled deeply, letting the air out in a rush. “I just don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I know.” Declan leaned forward and took her hands in his. They were soft and warm, and she gripped his fingers tightly. “Listen, I’ll go back and talk to Ryder again. He used deadlines as an excuse for not bein’ able to help, but I’ve a feelin’ there’s more to it than that.” Releasing her hands, he stood and placed his palm on her slender shoulder. “Will you be okay on your own for a wee bit?”

She nodded, staring at the table. When she looked up, tears glazed her eyes. Frowning, she swiped at the moisture. “Dammit, this is making me a cry baby. Do what you can, Declan. If it turns out we have to read books, then we’d better get started.”

“Chin up, darlin’.” He leaned down and hugged her. Just as her arms wrapped around his waist and she pressed her face into his side, he heard footsteps behind him and a slight shuffle as if shoes had skidded to a stop.

Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he turned to see Ryder standing there, a dark scowl on his face.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” Declan said, frowning right back at his friend. “We need to talk.”

A muscle flexed in Ryder’s jaw. Declan recognized that look—it meant the other man was irritated about something. Tough. He was liable to become even angrier before Declan was through with him.

“Is it all right if I take a walk around the grounds before it gets dark? I’ve been cooped up on an airplane most of the day.” Taite started to slide off the bench.

Declan moved back so she’d have room. When she was standing, he slid his arm back around her shoulders and hugged her to his side, offering support in the only way he could for now.

Ryder’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, though his voice sounded normal enough as he said, “If you go outside of the landscaped area, be careful, especially along the coves. The rocks can be slippery.” He nodded toward the back door. “Cobb’s hung your coat there on the hooks.” With a glance at Declan, he turned on his heel. “Let’s go back to my office.”

Taite watched the two men as they left the kitchen. Biting her lower lip, she wondered at Ryder’s reaction upon seeing her and Declan together. His face had suggested he was jealous of their proximity, but that couldn’t be right. He didn’t even know her, and he’d sure as hell made it clear they were unwelcome.

Even if he’d been aroused when she met him, she didn’t know that she was the reason for it. And while part of her was thrilled to think she could cause such a strong reaction, another part of her hoped he’d just been watching porn or flipping through a girly magazine.

With her own personal stalker, she had enough problems with men and their desires. She didn’t need another complication.

She wouldn’t be surprised if Ryder asked them to leave first thing in the morning. And that little man Cobb would probably be down on the docks helping push the boat off. Oh, he was polite enough, but she suspected it was more a matter of professionalism than any genuinely felt courtesy.

God, she was tired. She’d gotten precious little sleep over the last several months, but especially this past week. Even so, she was too wired and it was too early to go to bed just yet. Getting some exercise should help.

Walking over to the back door, she took her coat from the peg and shrugged into it. Once she’d zipped it up, she reached into one of the big oversized front pockets and pulled out the pedometer she’d insisted on buying before they reached LaGuardia.

One thing she’d discovered about werewolves was they caused a lot of stress. And she dealt with stress by power walking. She was up to fifteen thousand steps a day, which was five thousand more than the recommended amount. Rain or shine, she walked. If the weather didn’t permit her to be outdoors, she got on the treadmill or did stairs.

Today she’d be walking around an isolated island off the coast of Cornwall. “Who’d a-thunk it?” she muttered and pulled open the door.

Cool November wind gusted, scattering leaves around the small stone patio. Taite went outside and quickly closed the door behind her to keep anything from blowing inside the house. Cobb already didn’t want them there—he’d be less than thrilled to walk into his pristine kitchen and find twigs and leaves on the floor.

A white cast aluminum bistro set squatted on one side of the patio, and a cobblestone path led through what would probably be a beautiful garden come spring. Taite set off down the path, hands in her pockets, starting at a leisurely pace until her muscles could warm up.

The little trail meandered through the garden where a few flowers still bloomed, then ran alongside the lawn, parallel to the woods. Once the lawn ended, however, the walkway became little more than a packed dirt footpath.

She loved it. Even from where she was, she could hear the crash of the ocean against the rock-strewn shore and the riotous cry of the seabirds. It even smelled different here, a combination of the salty sea in the air and something with an aroma remarkably like sage. Some native plant, she supposed. As the path became rougher, she pulled her hands out of her pockets so she could better balance herself.

Rounding a bend, she came upon a small inlet. She picked her way over and around rocks. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and she stopped at the sloping edge, staring out over an ocean that glittered in the sun as if the great width was covered in a mammoth, diamond-studded net.

Here at the water’s edge it was colder. She huddled into her jacket, her hands once more in her pockets. In spite of the wildness of this place, she felt more at peace than she had in a long time. Maybe it was because she felt safe for the first time in weeks. Once she’d left Tucson she hadn’t had to worry about her stalker, and she and Declan had given the werewolf the slip after he’d caught up with them in Atlanta. She only hoped the old myth about werewolves not being able to cross water was true.

She stopped, frowning. Or was that a myth about vampires?

Damn. She didn’t have a clue about any of this crap. If Ryder didn’t help, she didn’t know what she’d do.

Ryder. A shiver that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with sex worked its way down her spine and wrapped deeply around her womb. Her nipples tightened and she squeezed her thighs together against the sudden ache in her core.

She did not need this complication, as much as she might want it. From the short time she’d been around Ryder, she could tell he would be hard to handle. And she just didn’t have the energy.

Sighing, she stared around the cove, seeing fallen logs and moss-covered rocks. Here and there were varying types of flotsam—pieces of wreckage and trash littering the shoreline. Wind roared into the small cove and she huddled into her coat, drawing her collar up around her neck.

As beautiful as it was, Taite was reluctant to flounder around after dark. Turning, she retraced her steps. The sharp crack of a twig snapping made her stop before she’d gone very far. She looked around. There was no movement that she could see, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was out there.

Surely the werewolf couldn’t have found her already. With her heart slamming against her ribs, she started walking as fast as the terrain would allow, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder. If it were the werewolf, he would have already attacked her, wouldn’t he?

But if it wasn’t him, who was it? What was it?

She swallowed and picked up her pace. It could be the werewolf. Unlikely, since she’d only arrived an hour ago, but there was that possibility.

Or was it all her overtaxed imagination?