Kiss of Snow

The wolf on the other side of the threshold stroked his eyes oh-so-slowly down her body. “You look bitable.”


Her hand clenched on the door, because she knew full well he meant it when he said things like that. “You’re dressed up.” She’d never seen him in anything but jeans.

Tonight, he wore a black-on-black suit that threw the vivid coloring of his eyes and hair into shocking relief, the shirt open at the collar. But though he looked like he could’ve walked out of a spread in some fancy men’s magazine, there was no hiding the predatory glint in that gaze.

Leaning forward without warning, he fisted his hands in her hair to take her mouth in a kiss that made it clear he considered her his. All his. Every inch of her. Her nipples went tight, her thighs clenching in a futile attempt to ease the ache in between. From the satisfied smile on his lips when he drew back, she knew he was cognizant of her arousal. It might’ve made her feel at a disadvantage, except that he made no move to shield his own response.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking a last little nip, “or we’ll never get to dinner.”

“Wait,” she said as he tugged her out and pulled the door shut, “I don’t have my purse.”

“Won’t need it.” He began to lead her down the corridor, fingers intertwined with her own.

“Should we be going out when things are at such a critical point?” The military strategist in her was disturbed enough to fight her desire to have him all to herself. “If the Scotts manage to harm you—”

A finger pressed to her lips. “We’re not going far.”

Given his words, she wasn’t surprised when he led her to his quarters, but she lost every bit of air in her body when she saw the table set with an immaculate white tablecloth, gleaming silverware, and long-stemmed candles, which Hawke lit before pulling out a chair. “Come here.”

It was impossible to do anything but obey, particularly when he rewarded her with a kiss that had her breasts rising and falling in shuddering invitation. Pressing another hot, wet caress to the curve of her shoulder, he moved to take a seat, not on the other side of the table, but to her right. She knew why when he uncovered the first dish—a crisp green salad with curling red and orange tendrils of the bell peppers she loved so much—and lifted a fork.





Chapter 44


HAWKE LOVED HAVING her here, in his territory, all glowing skin and dark hair glimmering with hidden notes of fire. The wolf rolled in her scent, playful as a pup—but Hawke was vividly conscious of the spice-scented arousal that had grown ever hotter as the minutes passed. She hadn’t rebelled against his feeding her, had in fact, insisted on returning the favor. But the desert bowl had only one spoon, and he had it.

On second thought . . .

Throwing the spoon over his shoulder, he dipped his finger in the rich butterscotch ice cream, brought it to her lips. Her mouth formed a soft, hot vice around his finger as she sucked—then she brought her tongue into play.

Every part of him wanted to lunge at her, but he resisted the primitive urge. This night, it was about her. She’d given herself to him, and he wanted her to know that he understood the value of her gift, that he would never allow her to feel anything but cherished.

Removing his finger through lips that teased him with their luscious grip, he swirled it back in the ice cream and painted the curve of her mouth with the sweet treat before dipping his head and kissing it off. Her lips were cool from the icy treat, but they warmed up fast, her taste a lick of butterscotch and spice.

“I think,” she said, hands clenching on the lapels of his shirt, the top curves of her breasts flushed and plump, “I’ve had enough dessert.”

“Then”—he nipped at her lips because he loved the way her arousal spiked each time he did it, flicked his tongue over the small hurt—“I guess it’s time for mine.” He felt the tremor that shook her frame as he drew her out of her seat, knew it wasn’t fear. Sliding his hands down her ribs, he rested them on the temptation of her hips. Anticipation turned her eyes to midnight as he backed her out, kiss by slow kiss, from the living area and into his bedroom.

Onto his bed.

“Mine,” he said, moving around to the end of the bed after placing her on the sheets, so he could circle his hands around her ankles, tug her forward a couple of inches. “All mine.”

“Hawke.”

“I like the way you say my name in bed.” Lifting one slender foot, he pressed a kiss to her ankle, then undid the strap that held up her pretty sandal and dropped it to the floor. Her foot curled under his touch, a delicate kittenish arch. “Maybe I’m the one who’s going to end up with a foot fetish,” he murmured, lighting a kiss on her other ankle as he undid the second sandal.

A laugh that sounded startled out of her.