Page 6 of Crying Wolfe
Well. Shit.
Striding to the wardrobe, he yanked it open and plunged a hand back through all kinds of unholy fabric and frippery to locate the owner of that sneeze.
What he found, was a breast. Small and pert with a nipple hard enough to etch glass.
Snatching his hand back, he scowled down at it as the imprint of the shape seemed somehow branded to the rough skin of his palm. Wiping it off on the thigh of his trousers, he sternly reminded himself how old he was and that only a rank pervert would notice such a thing on a teenaged kid.
The girl let out a terrified sound so high, it might have set the neighborhood dogs to barking if they were back in his neck of the woods.
Christ, he’d had enough of this.
“Dammit, girl, I’m sorry I put my hand where it ought not to be, that was an accident. But you know what you did, and you’ve been found out. If you git your ass out here and take your licks, maybe your boss’ll go easy on you.”
A full beat went by, then a tremulous voice filtered through the clothing. “You—you can’t whip me. My brother won’t allow it.”
Eli actually took a step back, undecided if he was more appalled or aghast. “I’m not going to whip you. Christ, haven’t you ever heard of a figure of speech—You know what? Doesn’t matter. Look, kid, you left your pain-in-the-ass cat, and I brought it back because I sure as hell don’t want it.”
With a scrape of hangers, a delicate oval face appeared disembodied between vibrant fabrics, eyes wide as a barn owl’s. “Orion?”
He unclenched the fingers he’d threaded through the cat’s limbs to secure the squirmy little body in his left hand. The creature made a plaintive sound, as if it’d begun to enjoy the warm harness of his hand.
Eli tossed the cat on the bed and clapped his palms together a few times to rid himself of any vermin or shedding hair.
The girl lunged forward. “I’ll thank you to stop throwing my kitten, sir!” Streaking past him, she scooped the adventurous little nugget of feist and fur to her chest and took its place on the bed, draping her legs over the side. “I’m such a beast for abandoning you, Orion. I simply panicked.”
I’ll thank you to stop throwing my kitten, sir?Eli found himself smirking in spite of it all. Even little English criminals were kinda endearing, what with their expansive ways of speaking and their gentle, elegant accents. Back home he’d have heard,keep your dirty hands off my cat, you bastard!And that was if the offended lady was gently bred with no penchant for cussing or death threats.
Lifting his hand to smooth down some prickling hairs on the back of his neck, he tried a different approach. “Look, I’m not in the habit of shooting at females. I thought you were a man.” He coughed around his mistake. “I mean, not when I got a good look at you, mind. It’s just that girls aren’t known to prowl around strange houses in the wee hours of the morning.” Jesus. He’d done nothing wrong here, why the fuck was he so tongue-tied and agitated? He felt as stroppy as the ungainly boy he’d been twenty years ago.
Maybe because upon second look, she might not be as young as he initially thought.
Still too young for his craggy hide, but at least he didn’t feel like he should turn himself in to the police for copping an accidental feel.
She looked up at him from where the ball of fluff had turned into a purring puddle in her hands. Those eyes took up so much of her features, round, soft, and deep blue, with long, doe-like lashes. She could get away with anything, peepers that innocent.
Probably did.
He noticed she’d abandoned the wrapper and wore only her high-necked cream nightgown with a confounding amount of lace. She was a pretty little thing, delicate and pale. Her braided hair was a lighter shade of dark, indecipherable in the lone lantern light, and looked as if—well, as if she’d been running around on rooftops in the winter and tussling with disgruntled men. The color in her cheeks was high, as if windburned, or perhaps from her own bout of pique. Her lips were—
Well, it didn’t bear noticewhather lips were, because he was too decent to dwell on something so ir-fucking-relevant. He wiped his hand on his trousers again, pretending it hadn’t become a bit clammy. His blood was up, that’s all. His body wasnotreacting to this wisp of a thing. He liked women with generous curves and the knowledge of how to use them. Whatever heightened awareness his traitorous body was having to this situation was a result of an intruder, a slippery jaunt on a high ledge in the cold, and some good old-fashioned fury at having been robbed.
Scowling, he stomped to the bedside and towered over her, hoping a bit of intimidation might move this along. “What did you shove in the pocket of your wrap?”
Her neck arched back, and she blinked up at him with something like wonder mixed with a surprising amount of terror. When she opened her mouth, whatever words she uttered were lost in a sudden cacophony akin to a herd of stampeding buffalo.
Suddenly she was on her feet, pushing him toward the window. “Go! You have to get out!”
Thathe heard loud and clear.
Crossing his arms, he stood his ground. “I left that little pussy of yours unharmed, now I’m owed what’s mine.”
“You don’t understand.” She shoved again, this time pressing her hands against the mounds of his chest, her slippers scuffing on the rug in her futile attempt to walk him backward. “He’llkillyou in a blink if he finds you here! Please. Go!”
With a wry laugh, he scooped both of her wrists into one of his and held them prisoner, careful not to snap them clean in two. “I don’t die fast or easy, and I’m sure he’d like to know what kind of—”
The door exploded open, and he found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle.
“You’ll die hard and slow if you don’t take your hands off her,” said a deep, stone-cold voice in a familiar crisp accent.
