Let alone curled up next to him in a fucking nightie that had him rock hard in seconds. All he wanted to do was touch the long ribbons in front, smooth his hand over the silky fabric, and play with the lacy ruffles along the hem.
He’d never felt a need to sate a woman as badly as he did with Naya. It was no longer about his needs, but hers. Had any of the men in her life cared about her wants and desires? Obviously not if they took off after sex. And when he gently slid her panties down, he made sure her needs were met. Wheeler laughed when she argued, wanting to satisfy him in return. Nope. He wasn’t having it.
After they’d fallen asleep, he awoke to the feel of her beneath the sheets, sucking on him hard.
Naya was unabashed about her sexuality, but the best part of that damn night was falling asleep behind her with his face nestled in all those beautiful curls of hair. The smell of her, the feel, and hearing the small grunts and moans as she slept. The way her cold feet would seek out his legs for warmth, her soft breath skating across his arm. She looked like an angel. He hadn’t realized how satisfying it could be just to hold someone.
Nor had he realized how much pleasure could be gained from waking up on his back to find her holding him. She had snuggled against his left side, her arm draped over his chest, leg between his as if she had claimed him.
In the quiet moments of the previous night when Naya was fast asleep and clutching him tightly, a wholly new and unexpected feeling had emerged. One that kept him up the rest of the night, watching the door. Not because he was afraid of someone discovering them, but because he needed to protect what was his.
Suddenly it didn’t matter anymore if he deserved her, if she wanted him, if people would cast judgment on them, if it would mean losing his pack, or if the whole goddamn world thought they were crazy. He wanted claim on Naya. Of all the fucking practical jokes for the gods to play, he’d fallen for a panther.
A wicked tongue like hers might have put off most men, but Wheeler felt like he’d finally met his equal. Beneath the layers of beauty was an intellectual woman, and that was the secret she kept from the world. She put on a good show, but maybe it’s because that’s all that men had wanted to see in her.
Not Wheeler. After spending three hours in the bathroom listening to how her mind worked, he wanted to know everything about Naya. For Christ’s sake, the woman knew who Jackson Pollock was. Most of the women he’d slept with didn’t even know who Ronald McDonald was. Sure, her coffee tasted like motor oil and she owned a cross-eyed cat, but that’s what made her endearing as hell.
He could sense morning even without sunlight and decided it was time to make an appearance in the house. Wheeler yanked on his jeans and raked his fingers through his disheveled hair, which looked like a cat had licked it out of shape. He pulled the sleeveless shirt over his head and put on his socks, but it took him a few minutes to find his boots. Naya, in a panic, had thrown one of them into a vase near the bed. He carried them down the hall and set them near the entrance to the kitchen. He figured it would look suspicious if he had them on so early in the morning, since most of the time they avoided wearing shoes in the house.
Lynn had two skillets of bacon frying on the stove.
“Morning,” he grumbled.
The early morning sunlight glittered through the windows and cast a pretty light across the floor.
“I heard about last night,” Lynn said, using a fork to flip over a piece of bacon. “I’m glad you found that poor woman. I can’t imagine what would have happened to her and that sweet little girl.”
They all knew. If they hadn’t found Skye, the pack would have taken in the child. No question.
Lynn never wandered around in a robe or nightgown like some of the other women did. She had on brown slacks and a flowery shirt that matched.
“Smells great,” he said. “I could eat a horse.”
“Afraid there are laws against horse jerky,” William said from the table, startling Wheeler. “You look mighty… refreshed.” William lifted the white coffee mug to his lips, his eyes twinkling.
“Any coffee left?” Wheeler asked.
Lynn set down her fork. “If you want some, you’ll have to make it yourself. William just finished off the pot, and I’m running late. I made an appointment to meet with a new client this morning. Oh!” She pulled open the oven and a giant pan of buttermilk biscuits appeared. Lynn set them on a cooling rack and turned off the burners.
“Here, I got it,” Wheeler said.
“The bacon—”
“I got it.”
She looked at him as if somehow he could ruin bacon by removing it from the frying pan. Lynn patted him on the back and left the room.
William’s cup tapped against the table when he set it down. “Mustn’t let the bacon burn. I like ’em crispy, not black.”
Wheeler irritably scooped the entire pan up with a spatula and dumped the strips into a bowl. He walked over and slid the greasy pile of meat in front of William. “Breakfast is served, your majesty.”