Page 16 of Sexual Appetites of Werewolves

She stood as well. “It’s no problem to see to, and when I’m done, I intend to make myself a pot of tea to take to my bedroom and enjoy before I go to bed.”

He came around the table to stand in front of her and ran his hand gently along her cheek. “And there is where I would like to be… but not until you’re ready.” He kissed her softly. “Sleep well, Olivia. I will see you in the morning.”

She rested her hand on the table after he left the room, his kiss, his touch, leaving her a bit weak-kneed, and she smiled. She never thought a kiss could make a person feel that way. It wasn’t real. It was only in prose written in books. He had just proven her wrong.

Olivia finished in the kitchen, and it took two trips between the pot of tea and her tote and stack of books to finally settle for the evening in her bedroom. She cast a glance out the window to see the snow still falling, though not as heavily. Still, there was enough snow on the ground to prevent travel and surprisingly she felt relieved. She didn’t want to leave yet. She had more to learn, more to understand about Tiernan. Strangely, any thought of leaving him left her feeling upset. And there was still the prospective job offer he had made her.

Then there was something he had said to her that she heard clearly in her head.Understand the wolf, Olivia, and you will understand me and come to realize so much more.

The puzzling mystery that could make sense of everything and secure her the job if she so decided. She knew wolves, understood them so well that at times she thought she was one of them, though she was never foolish enough to believe it was true. It simply helped her to understand them better, establish a camaraderie with them, have them trust her and she trust them. Though she never forgot that nature had provided them with what they needed, an instinctive fierceness necessary to their survival.

She let the heavy drape fall in place and was about to sit and enjoy her tea when she spotted a book on top of the dresser that had not been there when she left. The name on the spine—Saoirse Sullivan—was all that was necessary to know what type of book it was. Saoirse was a famed wildlife photographer. She captured the most captivating photos of wildlife ever seen. Olivia had read a few articles on Saoirse, an Irish Gaelic name pronounced Sorsha and meaning freedom, which fit the woman perfectly. She was known for her beauty and her free-spirited soul.

Olivia didn’t need to see the cover to know what it was about, and she smiled when she picked the book up and saw a gorgeous gray wolf on the cover and the title…The Wolves of MacMadadh Preserve. Excited she would get to see some of the wolves here, she took it to the chair to sit and peruse while enjoying her tea. She opened the book eager to meet the wolves and stared in shock at the words and signature written there.

Tiernan, thank you for the dream of a lifetime. Love Saoirse.

Naturally, the first thought that entered her head was that the woman was thanking him for sex with a werewolf, but she could be jumping to the wrong conclusion. Besides, it wasn’t anyof her business. She wasn’t in a relationship with Tiernan. So, why did the thought annoy her?

Annoyed or not, she looked through the book, the beauty of the wolves in the wild captivating her attention. She soon was envious not only that Saoirse had gotten to see the wolves, but that Tiernan had probably been the one to escort her around the preserve. Envious or not, the book was still amazing, and she hoped to see the wolves for herself. Though if she accepted the position here, she would see them every day, become part of their lives, part of their pack as Tiernan had said. The idea that was possible warmed her heart. She placed the book aside and picked up a book on wolves, knowing there was probably nothing new in it that she already hadn’t read but hoping it would spark something in her that might shed some light on the puzzling mystery.

Sleep soon tempted her eyes, and she hurried into her pjs and got into bed with all intentions of asking Tiernan about the book and Saoirse in the morning.

A light sound penetrated Olivia’s sleep, waking her, and when her eyes opened it was to see Laird, the large black wolf, or as Tiernan would have her believe, him in werewolf form, standing beside the bed, a soft whine coming from him.

She felt no fear, only worry for the wolf. She leaned over the edge of the bed and without thinking about it rested her hand against his face. “Is something wrong, Laird?”

He pressed his face against her hand, while keeping his green eyes focused on her, then he moved closer to her and brushed her cheek with the side of his face.

His warm fur tickled her cheek, and a tender whine whispered near her ear, sending gooseflesh racing over her. And whether it was wise or not, she pressed her cheek against his fur, drinking deep of his rugged scent, and whispered, “You do have my heart, Laird.”

One last brush of his face against her cheek, and he stepped away from the bed and stared at her for a moment before walking out the door that sat ajar.

She woke with a start the next morning and lay there wondering about last night. She didn’t have to wonder if it had been real, she could smell his scent on the sheet where he had rested his head.

With endless questions to ask Tiernan, she hurried to take a shower and hurried she did since the water wasn’t very hot, then dressed quickly in her black leggings and an oversized black and white tweed sweater. She left her hair to dry on its own after rigorously towel-drying it and, with a twist, secured it to the back of her head with a clip. She checked to make sure Tiernan wasn’t outside her door then gathered the tray with the teapot and mug and the book filled with the photos of wolves and followed the delicious scent that had to be coming from the kitchen.

She set the tray on the end of the long table and placed the book near the plates he had set for two.

“I heard you stirring so I got cooking,” Tiernan said without turning around.

Werewolves were known to have exceptional hearing. Was she really considering that he was a werewolf? He did have an impressive build, admiring the way his jeans hugged his backside, and his red knit shirt hugged his muscles and his broad shoulders. And she liked the way his unruly dark hair brushed along the tops of his shoulders.

“What are you making?” she asked, walking over to him.

He turned with a grin. “You need to taste some of the food that makes up a full Scottish breakfast, at least the foods Fay leaves for me in the fridge ready to heat and those I can cook without too much difficulty.” He pointed to the pans on the stove, “Lorne sausage, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, baked beans,” —he pointed to the bowl of eggs— “you might want to frythe eggs, I’m good at scrambled but fried is a challenge, and, of course, toast. I left out black pudding, tattie scones, though I do love those, and haggis, an acquired taste.”

She laughed. “I’m not going to be able to eat for the rest of the day.”

In no time, they were enjoying an array of food and hot tea.

“How can you kill an egg like that, woman?” Tiernan asked with a laugh.

Olivia laughed as well. “I cannot eat a fried egg unless it is thoroughly cooked.”

“You murdered it,” Tiernan said, smiling while he shook his head.

“But I cooked yours perfectly,” she said with pride.

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