Rescued By The Wolf

“Grace,” he said sternly. “Answer me.”

With painstakingly slow movements, she gave him a thumbs-up.

“I’ll be quick. Don’t fall asleep.” He paced about fifty feet from the car until the phone registered a signal. His thumb hesitated above the touch screen before he placed the call.

“There’s a wreck on the old highway behind the McAllister homestead,” Rafe barked before Doc had a chance to utter a groggy, “Hello.”

“Are you all right, son?” Dr. Harold Habersham’s strained voice cut Rafe to the quick.

Since sobering up, Rafe tried hard not to cause his adoptive human father more grief.

Still, it lingered. Just below the surface. The old man loved his son too much for his own good.

“I’m fine.” Rafe frowned at the disabled car. “But I need the Co-op responders to pick up Grace Olsen. She’s got a knot on her head and dry heaves. Could be her nerves. She’s coherent and her pupils aren’t unequally dilated.”

“If you wanted to be a doctor, you should’ve gone to medical school.”

“I hate hospitals.” Hated the smell of antiseptics, sickness and death as a child. Hated the restraints, the needles, the beep of the machines that haunted his dreams long after he recovered from the shooting.

“Yeah, yeah.” The rustle of clothes muffled Doc’s voice. “I’ll put in the emergency call and be there in ten. Make sure Grace stays conscious.”

Keeping Grace awake would be easier said than done, considering Rafe would need to nudge her whenever she started dozing off. A nudge meant touching, and he definitely needed to keep touching to a minimum.

Palms tingling, Rafe sprinted to the car. “EMS is on the way.”

Grace’s eyes were closed and her head had lolled to the side. Rafe’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Grace!”

Her shoulders twitched and her eyelids popped opened. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Same here, sweetheart.

“I thought you fell asleep.” He thumbed her chin, tipping her face to see her eyes. Still clear and alert. Her blush-pink lips, full and luscious, dipped in a grimace.

“Nope, I was concentrating on not getting sick. The smell in here makes me want to—”

She gagged and Rafe didn’t think it was for mere effect.

“Makes me want to gag, too.” He lifted her from the car, carried her up the slight embankment and sat her against an old oak log. “What is that crap smeared in your car?”

“What’s left of a hot fudge sundae and French fries.”

Rafe’s stomach turned in a not-so-silent blech.

“Hey. It’s my favorite midnight snack.” She squinted up at him. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I’ll pass.” Rafe was allergic to chocolate. Violently allergic. End-up-in-the-hospital allergic.

And Rafe was glad he was. It quelled his desire to kiss her. If she’d eaten one bite of the hot fudge, and his mouth and tongue touched hers, she wouldn’t be the only one headed to the emergency clinic.

“Can you move out of my line of vision?” She held her hand in front of her face. “Your family jewels are quite impressive, but I don’t want them dangling in my face. It’s distracting.”

A sharp, primal awareness pierced him. He glanced at his cock, going from semierect to fully erect in the span of a breath.

Damn.

He’d done fairly well at controlling his reaction until now.

Impressive and distracting. Her description made him proud and more than a little possessive.

He sat beside her, knee bent to cover his groin. “Better?”

Her pensive gaze dropped to his lap, then inched up his chest. “I would’ve preferred clothes.”

His clothes were miles away in his tow truck and he wouldn’t retrieve them if it meant leaving her out here alone.

After a few minutes of silence, Grace shivered. Against his better judgment, Rafe reached around her shoulders and drew her close.

“You’re nice and toasty,” she said, snuggling into his heat.

His body hummed from the contact and he realized he no longer wanted alcohol. What he craved was much more dangerous.

Chapter 3

What is that god-awful sound?

The incessant noise kept time with the pounding in Grace’s head.

She forced open her tired, scratchy eyes and sat up in the queen-size Murphy bed. The soft glow from the muted flat screen TV hanging on the left wall cast enough light that Grace didn’t feel entombed in a sarcophagus, but only barely.

Earlier, when she had woken up to use the bathroom and found the bedroom–living room area of Rafe’s micro-apartment consumed in utter blackness, a blood-curdling wail had exploded from her chest. Terror scaled her throat, tightening her windpipe around the scream until she ran out of air and could no longer breathe.

From out of the void Rafe had appeared, gathered her close and calmed her with his rock-solid presence. He probably thought a nightmare about the accident had incited her panic, when really she was simply afraid of the dark.

Being locked in a windowless basement for nearly a day when she was ten had instilled a debilitating fear of the dark and she was ashamed to have never outgrown it.

Beep...beep...beep...

The grating sound kicked up her headache several notches. Searching for the alarm clock, she glanced at the long wooden dresser centered beneath the TV. All that topped it were a video game console and one controller, the wires neatly wrapped around the middle. A cell phone, the TV remote, an orange prescription bottle and an empty water bottle were scattered across the coffee table.

Asleep on the brown leather couch, Rafe lay on his side with one arm crooked awkwardly behind his back.

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have gone home with a naked man encountered on the side of the road. Rafe, however, was the best friend of her best friend’s husband. If Cassie and Brice trusted Rafe, Grace would, too.

Last night, she hadn’t called Cassie from the hospital because it was after midnight and Grace didn’t want to worry her pregnant friend over a lousy bump on the head. Dr. Habersham would’ve made her stay overnight in an observation room if Rafe hadn’t volunteered to keep an eye on her.

Grace hadn’t known Rafe’s apartment was a windowless efficiency that he’d converted from the unused storage room connected to his automotive repair business. Still, being in a concrete box with him was better than being alone in the hospital.

Her gaze traced his lightly haired legs, sleek and powerful. A bunched white sheet disrupted the graceful lines of his hips and framed his exposed lower back. The smooth, muscled planes flexed as if she’d touched him. Head tucked beneath a pillow, he sighed a deep, low, guttural rumble that echoed through her body, heating her to the core.

Of course she’d have that reaction to him.

Out of all the men Cassie and Brice had introduced to her, Rafe had been the only one to spark any real interest. Rafe, on the other hand, had gone out of his way to ignore her after the initial introductions.

Until last night. When he’d shown up after the accident, his hair wild, his eyes fierce, his body dangerously naked.

She wouldn’t be able to unsee the vision of his perfectly sculpted form even if she used a bleach solvent on her brain. The memory had already been uploaded to every cell in her body like a rogue computer virus. The only way to get rid of the infection was to overwrite the code. Unfortunately, she sucked as a code writer.

The cold harsh truth would have to suffice in masking the easily recallable memory and her interest. For some reason, Rafe found her off-putting. She didn’t know why, and when she’d shown up at his business a few months back, hoping to bridge the chasm for Cassie and Brice’s sake, Rafe had flat out told Grace he wasn’t interested in being her friend.

Yep, the cold harsh truth. He didn’t like her.

She couldn’t understand his abrupt disregard and dismissal. She always made the effort to be kind, friendly and accepting of everyone. She didn’t judge, didn’t discriminate, she loved the uniqueness of each person.

Whatever the reason for his dislike, Rafe had shoved it aside last night and was there when she needed someone.

Right now, she needed him to shut off the freaking alarm before her head exploded.

“Rafe, wake up!”

He didn’t move, snort, or otherwise acknowledge her presence.

Grace eased off the Murphy bed, slid her feet into her pink slippers, and maneuvered between the coffee table and couch. She reached over Rafe to the alarm clock balanced on the top frame of the couch, the LED face flipped so that the time flashed into the cushion instead of into the room.

In a sudden whirl, she landed flat on her back on top of the couch seat cushions. Rafe’s steely fingers clamped around her wrists, pinning them over her head. She stared into icy, cobalt blue eyes that would’ve stolen her breath if she hadn’t lost all air when he plastered his hard, hot body onto hers.

The short crop of his auburn hair stuck out in different directions. A pillow crease cut across one high cheekbone and dipped into the reddish stubble dusting his strong jaw. His firm, full lips would look much more kissable if he smiled.

Squared shoulders rose above a sculpted chest swirled with soft tufts of hair, and a quarter-sized scar marred the taut, tan skin over his right ribs.

Her gaze slid over the ripples of his abs and the sharp indents of his hips. She couldn’t follow the treasure line that arrowed down from his belly button because he was lodged intimately against her pelvis.

A giddy heat rushed her body and struck her with the acute awareness of a virile man in his prime.

“Never sneak up on me, Grace.” Rafe’s laser-intense eyes burned holes straight through her body. “It’s dangerous.”

No doubt.

From his deeply etched scowl to his silent, panther-like movements, she needed no further warnings. He was dangerous on all levels.

“Shut off the damn alarm. My head is pounding and I can barely think.”

Without shifting his weight off her, he slapped the buttons of the alarm clock and silenced the wailing beep. The echo continued to throb inside Grace’s head. She shut her eyes, willing the pounding to stop and wanting to break the sizzling visual contact with Rafe.

He didn’t take the hint to move. Instead, his cheek grazed her jaw, his mouth forged a warm, breathy trail to the shell of her ear, and he gently nosed the dimple behind her ear. “God, you smell good.”

Her own senses drowned in his scent—clean, earthy, and deliciously male. Instinctively, her hips arched against his groin. Deep inside, her muscles clenched and a slow swirl centered low in her belly. “Hey, Wyatt. This isn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to get to know you at Brice’s party.”

Yeah? Who was she kidding?

Since her hands were still pinned above her head, her hips were plastered against his, and any perpendicular movement might’ve further compromised their position, Grace nipped his ear.

Rafe moved so quickly it took her a few blinks before her body registered the loss of his heat. She sat up, her arms folding across her chest to hold in the warmth.

“Get your stuff and I’ll drive you to the resort.” He bent over to snatch up the sheet that had fallen to the floor.

Don’t look at his ass. No, don’t.

Her eyes didn’t listen and her body rejoiced at the vision of the tightest, most perfectly shaped butt she’d ever seen. She’d bet the house that she could bounce a quarter to the ceiling off that ass.

Rafe snapped the sheet in the air, folded it precisely in half, matched all the edges and meticulously repeated the action until he’d formed a perfect square that he tucked in a dresser drawer. He turned to Grace.

Front side, back side, all sides in between—God, he was beautiful. Not in a GQ cover sort of way. The rugged angles and planes of his face gave him a less cultured, rawer sexual appeal.

Frowning as he was, he looked downright lethal and sexy, and so not amused with the smile she offered.

“When a man is naked in his bedroom, there are only two things he wants.” Rafe’s glacial eyes would’ve turned Grace’s breath frosty if she could actually breathe. “Sleep and sex.”

“Technically,” she said, finding her voice, relieved it didn’t squeak. “We’re in your living room. The bedroom’s over there.” Tipping her head toward the Murphy bed less than ten feet away, she stood. “Are you suggesting we change locations?”

Rafe’s breath audibly stuck in his throat. He stared at the rumpled bed and swallowed hard. His gaze jumped to her, his eyes wide and uncertain.

“Considering you don’t like me, we won’t need the bed for sex and I’ve had enough sleep.”

“I never said I didn’t like you.” The low, gravelly rasp in his voice caused tiny bumps to pebble her skin.

“So, you like me but don’t want to be friends?” Grace padded around the coffee table to stand directly in front of him. His silent breaths were as hard and fast as her staccato heartbeat. “Not seeing the logic there.”

“You’re not the type of friend I need.”

“Too bad. I come with fantastic benefits.” She poked him dead center in the chest. “Get dressed. I have things to do today, and you’re not on the list.”

Chapter 4

Testosterone and a slew of wolfan hormones stormed Rafe’s veins. Burning up all his restraint, Rafe stood perfectly still as Grace moved lithely out of the room with her hips sashaying in an erotic sway that beckoned both the man and wolf.

God, she was pretty. Long, shiny hair the color of corn silk. Bright green eyes that put polished emeralds to shame. Soft golden skin and an athletic body with just the right amount of curve. None of which he should’ve noticed. And yet, he had, and more.

She had a ready smile and a kind heart toward people and animals. He liked her spunk, more than he should.

And she smelled really good, too.

Another time, another place. Another life. She could’ve been the one.

But, he’d had a true mate, bonded heart and soul, and he’d lost her.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe it could happen twice. Besides, he wasn’t compatible with a human female.

Unlike Brice, whose grandmother was human, Rafe came from a purebred line. He’d inherited no human traits. Any he had were learned from Doc.

Since childhood, Rafe wanted to do right by the man who raised him. He’d modeled Doc’s manner, his style, his philosophies. He might have followed his father’s career path if he could’ve overcome his aversion to hospitals.

He hated the gut-churning scents that permeated the air. Fear, sorrow, sickness, desperation and death.

Grace’s human senses weren’t developed enough for her to detect the smells as acutely as he could, but she seemed to dislike hospitals as much as he did. Last night, he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave her there overnight when she clearly didn’t want to be there.

When he’d brought her home, he’d expected her to drill him about his abrupt decline of her offer of friendship a few months ago. Instead, she was gracious, respectful and annoyingly considerate.

She’d even gifted him with genuine smiles as if he’d never hurt her feelings that day. He knew he had.

But, he’d done what was necessary, pushing her away. Establishing a boundary. For her safety and his well-being.

Only she still ended up hurt and he was still drawn to her in ways that defied reason.

He needed to reinforce the no-friend zone and stay the hell out of her way.

Rafe pinched his sore ear, then drew back his hand and stared at the tiny drop of blood smeared on his thumb pad.

His stomach rolled.

Ah, hell!

Grace had not claimed him.

One, she had no idea what a bite meant to a Wahya. Hell, she didn’t even know what they were.

Two, they weren’t having sex when the bite occurred. It wouldn’t have taken much to physically tip the balance toward consummation, but close only counted with horseshoes and hand grenades, not claiming a mate.

Three, a human couldn’t legitimately claim a Wahya. Only a Wahyan bite during sex could establish a mate-claim.

A mate-bond, well, that was an entirely different matter. He doubted he and Grace were compatible enough for the ethereal connection to spark, so he had no cause to worry. Whatever was between them was purely physical.

Rafe knuckled his fingers in his hair and sucked in a deep breath to clear his head. Unfortunately, Grace’s scent permeated the room, overpowering his heightened senses, damn near swaying him to abandon all reason, give into primal urges and bed her hard, fast and forever.

Only forever wasn’t as long as he once believed. Forever with his former mate hadn’t even lasted his lifespan.

Rafe closed his eyes, willed his heart to stop racing and his body to cool. He had to get Grace out of his home and out of his system.

Without one window in the apartment, he was going to have a helluva time getting rid of her scent.

He pulled on a gray T-shirt and dark blue coveralls. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put on his socks and work boots. He stared at the rumpled sheets, rich with Grace’s intoxicating scent, then stripped the bedding. Her phone tumbled to the floor. After pocketing the device, he folded the Murphy bed into the wardrobe. Next, he grabbed a clean, white button-down shirt and the bundle of sheets, and walked down the narrow corridor to find Grace.

He hesitated at the doorway to the kitchenette. The walls were painted the same flat gray color as the concrete floor. A 1950s-style white Formica table with chrome hairpin legs and two matching chairs sat in the middle of the small room.

On her toes with her back to him, Grace leaned against the single basin sink. To her left, a tiny dish drainer on the counter held one black mug, one plate, one fork, one spoon, one knife. To her right, was his small microwave. In the space where a dishwasher would normally go, Rafe had wedged a dorm-size refrigerator. And instead of a stove, he had installed a stacking washer and dryer in the corner.

Grace muttered, opening the cupboards above the sink. Regrettably, all Rafe’s pantry had to offer were three cans of sardines, half a loaf of bread, a bag of chips and a container of beef jerky.

“I’m all out of porridge, Goldilocks.”

Grace jumped. “Jeezus.” She turned toward him, clutching her chest. “Wear a bell or something. My heart almost stopped.”

Rafe clenched his jaw to stop himself from admitting that he knew CPR. Neither of them needed to think about mouth-to-mouth anything. Especially since her light pink tank top fit her like a second skin and she was braless.

“Put this on.” He tossed her the button-down shirt.

She pressed it to her face and sniffed. A curious pride pearled in his chest at the innocent gesture of her scenting his clothes.

“Hey.” Her eyes widened when she realized he was watching. “I’m making sure it’s clean.”

“I know how to do laundry.”

“Knowing how and doing it are two different things.” She shoved her arms into the sleeves.

Rafe dumped the sheets into the washer, dropped in a detergent pod and turned on the machine. He pivoted on his heels with a ta-da, but she was too busy fussing with the buttons on the shirt to notice.

“Nerves from last night?” He waved aside her trembling hands to finish the buttons for her.

“Caffeine withdrawal.” She held her arms out for him to roll up the sleeves. “I usually have three cups before nine a.m. I’m a little behind schedule this morning.”

“It’s almost noon.” He finished her sleeves.

“Explains the killer headache.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I couldn’t find the coffee or the pot.”

“Don’t drink it. Don’t own one.” He thumbed aside the blond strands curtaining the superficial cut at her temple. The slight wound had scabbed and a dark-purple goose egg had formed. His gut tightened.

It was only a minor concussion, but the fact that she’d sustained an injury because of him made him sick to his stomach.

“I need coffee, now! Isn’t there a diner across the street?” Her ponytail swished as she wandered out of the kitchen.

He followed her down the lighted corridor. There was something about her wearing his clothes that made his insides warm and his heart kick a possessive beat.

“I don’t know how you can live in this concrete bear cave.”

“If I were an animal, it wouldn’t be a bear, Goldilocks.” He pushed open the heavy metal door.

“Let me guess. A wolf?” She ducked beneath his arm and stepped into the R&L Automotive Services side of the building.

“Yep, but he wouldn’t like being closed in.”

“Do you?”

“No, but I have a severe insomnia. When I converted the storage room into a living space, I decided not to cut windows into the cinder block walls. I didn’t want outside light or noise to bother me when I’m trying to sleep.”

“So the pills on the coffee table help you sleep?”

“Yep.” Although they weren’t very effective. Nothing seemed to be since he stopped drinking himself into oblivion.

Rafe led Grace through the unused customer service area. People preferred to waltz in and out of the work area to see him. He opened the glass door that was next to a large viewing window. Ushering Grace into the garage, he jabbed the panel of buttons on the wall. The bay doors squawked, retracting to allow in streams of sunlight.

“It doesn’t look too bad.” She stared at her car on the rack. “It won’t take long to hammer out the bumper and fix the flat, right?”

“The right front side is demolished. The bumper has to be replaced. I want to change out the brakes and check all the operating systems. It’s gonna take a while before you get it back.”

“Great.” Her voice sounded low and flat but her stomach growled as loud as any wolfan’s would when half starved. She pressed her hands to her belly. “Sorry.” She flashed an embarrassed grin. “I only had a salad for supper and my midnight snack splattered all over the interior of my car.” She sighed. “It’s going to stink, isn’t it?”

“I cleaned the interior after you fell asleep the second time.” He’d needed the distraction after her hysterical scream had flooded him with adrenaline, and holding her until the effects of her nightmare faded had drowned him in hormones.

However, he’d run out of steam before he had a chance to tackle the pile of magazines and books and whatever else she’d stowed in the backseat.

“Thanks.” Gratitude shimmered in Grace’s big green eyes and his heart skipped a beat. “How much will the repairs cost? Wait, I don’t want to know. I have a high insurance deductible. Just get it running so I can make it back to Knoxville.”

“You won’t pay a penny. My wolf would be dead if you hadn’t swerved.”

“Your wolf? You own a wolf?”

“It’s a Co-op thing,” Rafe said carefully. “No one actually owns the wolves, we’re more like handlers. Mine caused your accident so I’m responsible for the damages. Some of the work I’ll do myself, but I’ll send the car to a shop in Hiawassee for the bodywork. Paint fumes make me sick.”

“I don’t know what to say.” A grateful smile softened the worry in her eyes.

“I’m just glad you and the wolf are okay.” He offered her his hand. Why? He had no idea. Because he should’ve been pushing her out of the R&L and out of his life instead of providing her a physical connection.

She stared at his open palm, roughened with calluses. “How did this happen?” Her fingertips traced the scar running from his thumb to his wrist.

His breathing went wonky. Too much air, too little air. It seemed his lungs had forgotten how to function.

“Stepped on a piece of glass.” He swallowed a gulp.

“Most people cut their foot when stepping on glass. How did you manage doing it with your hand?” A soft breath caught in her throat. “You weren’t drunk, were you?”

Well, that was like a stab to the gut. At least he covered the gasp with a sigh.