Page 17 of Unintentionally Yours

“Really? Do you have some?”

“Yeah. I’ve been following some wolves. A beautiful female and her two pups. And the male who comes back and forth.”

Layla clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, please. I can’t wait to see them.”

Finn shut off the overhead light, the room going pitch black for a beat before the soft red light flickered to life. He set up the negatives in the enlarger, and Layla watched in hushed awe as the images took shape in the developing tray.

With each picture they slid into the solution, more striking images emerged - the silver-furred wolf with her two mottled pups, the massive black male ghosting through the frame.

“They’re incredible, Finn,” she murmured. “You’ve really captured their spirit.”

He rumbled an agreement, his eyes intent not on the photographs but on her enraptured expression. God, how he ached to always be the one to set that look of wonder on her face.

“Layla,” he groaned, already leaning into her. Cradling her jaw with a rough, reverent palm as the other hand slid up to cup her nape. Tangled in the silken strands of her hair.

She tilted up to meet him, then she was breathing his air, sharing his space, and no matter how close they strained, there was still too little distance between their starving mouths.

Finn closed it with a groan of relief, slanting his lips over hers, closing the distance and capturing her mouth with his.

The kiss started soft. Chaste. A sipping of lips, a tentative getting to know each other. But then Finn shifted, changing the angle, and oh…

Oh.

Heat unfurled in Layla’s belly, molten honey and brimstone. A moan caught in her throat as Finn licked into her mouth, all slick, drugging sweetness shot through with a riot of sparks. He tasted like whiskey and wanting, like reckless promises and fevered prayers.

Like coming home.

Layla melted into him, pressing closer until there was no space left between them. She sank greedy fingers into his hair and opened for his questing tongue, giving as good as she got. Finn made a gutted sound, his hands flexing convulsively on her hip, palming her ass through the thin sweatpants, squeezing and kneading. Layla arched into him with a throaty moan, reveling in his bold touch. This was the kind of kiss that made a woman forget her own name.

They were both panting when they broke apart, foreheads pressed together as they struggled for air. Layla could feel the frantic hammer of Finn’s heart against her breast. The rise and fall of his chest a telling sign of how much the kiss had affected him.

“Damn,” he rasped. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

“You’ve been thinking about that, huh?” She trailed a fingertip down the hard plane of his chest, secretly thrilled when she felt his breath hitch. “About me?”

“Kind of hard not to, what with you prancing around in my clothes, looking good enough to eat.” He nuzzled the crook of her neck, his whiskers deliciously abrasive on her sensitive skin. “Been half-crazy wondering if you taste as sweet all over.”

She shivered, liquid heat pooling between her thighs at his erotic words. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Finn gave a low growl, the sound caught between amusement and agreement. He pulled back just far enough to meet her gaze, the green of his eyes nearly eclipsed by blown pupils.

“We should probably slow down,” he said, even as his hands flexed on her hips, fingers digging into her soft curves. “It’s fast. Too fast, maybe.”

Layla shivered, nerve endings alight and clamoring for more. More touch, more contact. More him, in every possible sense.

“I don’t want to slow down,” she admitted, the words emerging small but sure. “But you are probably right.”

She stepped away from him. A smile twisted on her lips as she walked out of the room.

Finn stood there, hands clenched, as he watched her turn and walk away. The sway of her hips was almost his undoing. Almost snapped the thread of his control.

But he let her walk away.

For now.

Several hours later, the storm still raged outside the cabin walls, rain lashing the windows in a relentless tattoo. They had spent the afternoon in comfortable silence, reading and playing board games to pass the time. The tension between them had still run hide, but it was if they had both accepted the fact that this was just a chance encounter.

He called bullshit.

---