A SHARP TRILL startled me awake, my heart hammering in my chest as I struggled to make sense of my surroundings. Panic flared white hot in my chest and a scream bloomed in the back of my throat. Slowly, the blurred shapes resolved into the blankets tangled around my feet.
The phone trilled again, the sound slicing through more of the cobwebs clouding my mind. My arms, heavy with exhaustion, were slow to react to my commands as I groped for the phone.
“Hello?” I croaked, rubbing a hand over my face to remove the grit from my eyes. Looking at the sketchbook lying open next to me, I felt a shudder ripple down my spine. Glancing at the rough sketch of a twisted face staring at me from the page, I snapped it closed and pushed it away. I’d filled far too many pages with that leering face over the years, but couldn’t ever seem to stop my hand from drawing its familiar lines again and again.
“You awake over there?” Holbrook asked, his voice pitched low in a drowsy purr that intensified his southern drawl. In an instant, arousal flared in the pit of my stomach, chasing away the remnants of my fear as it settled warm and heavy in the crux of my thighs.
“No,” I replied with a yawn, reaching my free hand down to scratch behind Loki’s ears, earning a deep rumbling purr of contentment.
I wonder if Holbrook would purr the same way if I scratched behind his, I wondered, and then quickly closed off the thought before my daydreams carried me away. Wrestling down thoughts of rumpled sheets and sweat-slickened skin, I puzzled over what was wrong with me. Samson was on the loose and trekking across New Mexico to find me, while I was fantasizing about the FBI agent in the next room.
“You hungry?” he asked, jolting me out of my thoughts but leaving the interwoven threads of confusion and desire in the back of my mind.
I was about to say no, not sure if I could face him without blushing a dozen different shades of red, when my stomach growled. “I guess I could eat.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in five,” he said before hanging up, leaving me holding the phone and staring up at the ceiling.
“Man, I am in so much trouble,” I muttered aloud, the tendrils of arousal receding but not withdrawing completely.
Dislodging Loki from his place draped across my legs, I ducked into the small alcove to splash cold water on my face and run a brush through my hair. Leaning over the sink, I considered my reflection.
Eyes the color of a wintry sky stared back at me, golden flecks reflecting the light overhead and hinting at the wolf that lurked just beneath the surface. Water tracked down my face, trailing over high-set cheekbones to drip from a narrow chin. Apart from the slight flush in my cheeks, my skin was the same pale Scandinavian coloring as my grandparents and dad, the dark, curly hair and short stature the only features I’d inherited from my mother. Running wet hands through my hair, I tried to coerce it into some semblance of control, before shrugging and deciding that it wasn’t ever going to cooperate.
Tucking my jeans into big fluffy socks, I’d gotten one boot on before Holbrook knocked. Hobbling to the door with the other boot in hand, I flipped back the security lock and opened the door wide enough for him to slip into the room, the icy wind chasing him inside. Stopping just inside the door he rubbed his bare hands together vigorously to warm them, the ruddiness of his cheeks making his forest eyes sparkle.
“Give me a sec,” I said as I limped back to the rumpled bed, perching on the edge to pull on my other boot.
“No problem,” he replied, his voice colored with amusement.
Rooting through my duffel bag, I pulled out my scarf, a pair of gloves, and a hideous, but dearly loved, woolen hat—complete with ridiculous bobble—that my grandmother had knit for me. It was one of the last things she had ever made for me.
“So, what are you in the mood for?” Holbrook asked, his words innocent though the warmth of his accent made them sound lascivious.
The fierce pulse of need that shot through me was so unexpected that I fumbled my gloves, dropping them on the floor. My stomach tightened with hunger as the wolf raised her head, licking her lips hungrily.
You, naked and sweating beneath me.
I bent to retrieve my gloves, hiding my blush behind the fall of my hair, all too aware of his presence. His gaze was a palpable heat, tracking down my spine to the curve of my ass. Straightening, I whirled around to face him, prepared to catch him staring at my butt, but instead found him inspecting a callous on his thumb.
“Something deep fried and smothered in gravy,” I croaked, my voice sounding tremulous and husky to my ears.
“There’s the diner across the parking lot,” he offered, his face the picture of virtue though the minute twitch of his lips belied his innocence. “That work?”