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  Well, okay, yes, you could. He could be naked and cooking dinner…

  Her imagination was certainly attempting to cast the deciding vote, and the erotic images flicking behind her eyes were sending her pulse throbbing between her legs. He was a realtor, she reminded herself impatiently—a salesman.

  A vision of him standing in her kitchen, stark naked, sidled back into her head. Those fabulous, tight buns and a long, thick cock that would fill her very damp pussy quite nicely.

  Gina glanced back towards the darkening street. She knew damn well that if she let him back though her front door, she was sending him a very clear message. She'd be telling him 'yes'.

  Aw, what the hell! She wanted him to fuck her.

  * * * *

  She couldn't quite remember exactly why she'd said he could cook for her tonight. But she had. And now here he was, striding up her front porch with a sack of groceries under his arm. Apparently, when he said he was doing dinner, he really meant it.

  And did the man ever do anything but stride? Mind you, he certainly had the body to pull it off. A fleeting memory of him walking away a few hours earlier crossed her mind. He had to have one of the best butts she'd recently had the privilege to perv on. Nice, tight ass-cheeks, a good handful-and-a-half to each. Mmmm.

  Then he was right in front of her, his nose practically touching hers, and that sexy smile just begging her to lean a fraction forward and…

  Bad Gina. Bad.

  Maybe yesterday's accident had done more damage than she'd realized? Her brain had been scrambled. Had to have been. What other reason could she possibly come up with for this completely out-of-character behavior?

  Well, out-of-character intention, she amended. She hadn't actually done it.

  Even while she was smiling automatically, moving aside, holding the door open for him, thoughts of a totally different kind were running wild in her head. He was seriously sexy, and he did seem to be coming on to her.

  Unless she was reading him completely wrong?

  Nah. The only local realtor didn't personally cook dinner for every tenant.

  Did he?

  Mrs Chapman's words dribbled into her mind. Perhaps he did cook dinner for every single, female client of the agency. It could help explain his reputation. And it was a pretty damn good seduction technique.

  "Can I borrow some pots?"

  His cheerfully called request echoed down the hall along with the sound of her kitchen cupboards opening and closing. While she'd been standing here daydreaming, he'd made it all the way into the kitchen and—

  And unpacked all the groceries…

  Spread them out over the counter…

  And half prepared a meal?

  She stared in sheer disbelief. A large pot of water was bubbling on the cook top and he was calmly tipping a packet of pasta into it. Beside it, some kind of pasta sauce was simmering away, the dreamy scents of cream and bacon wafting towards her.

  Hadn't it been only a few seconds ago that he'd been asking for pots and pans? What the hell was happening to her?

  * * * *

  Nate turned back to the stove so she wouldn't see his grin. Definitely hadn't lost his touch. Werewolves didn't go in for the whole mind-control thing like vampires did, but that wasn't to say they didn't have some abilities in that area. It had been years since he'd bothered…enhancing…the 'Moore experience' for whichever woman he'd chosen—usually they were so busy throwing themselves at him it was just a waste of effort.

  But Gina was definitely different. For one thing, he'd actually had to work a little to get her to notice him properly. His grin widened as he listened to his own thoughts. He didn't sound half arrogant, did he?

  He grunted softly. Well, so what? He had good cause for his confidence. All you had to do was ask any one of the women he'd had sex with. They'd all walked away very satisfied—if a little stiff—and so would Gina. He smiled again at the idea. There was something about that lithe little body that just made him want to drop his trousers and take her up against the bench, or the fridge… or on the kitchen table.

  Even this close to full moon, his control wasn't usually so shaky, or his imagination so vivid. He could almost feel his balls slamming against her cunt as his cock filled her until she screamed… Yeah, he

  did like to make a woman scream.

  Nate glanced back towards Gina. She was still standing near the door, leaning against the architrave, a soft mistiness to her eyes. She was following his every movement, but her gaze kept dropping lower, before skipping back up to watch what he was doing at the stove. He turned fully towards her, grinning openly as he caught her staring at his bulging crotch.

  It was probably time to let her off the hook, he figured, and let her gather her own thoughts—for a little while at least. He'd never used his mind skills to coerce a woman into sleeping with him—he'd seen what Sebastian, and his father before him, had done to the werewolves who had—but didn't think it hurt to focus her mind a little more specifically. Less thoughts about shopping lists, and more about just exactly what she wanted him to do to her. And if he could decipher those thoughts, well then, that was all the better.

  "Would you mind setting the table?" he called cheerfully, watching as his words broke the spell.

  Her eyes cleared and as her pupils contracted, the hazel brown of her irises seemed to change. Almost as if she was waking from some kind of luscious dream, awareness slowly etched itself across her features. Her eyes swept abruptly to his face, and a blush slowly stained her cheeks as she realised where her eyes had been so firmly fixed.

  "Where will I find the placemats?" he asked placidly, unwilling to embarrass her, and turned away to stir the sauce. "I hope you like carbonara, and I brought some fresh fruit for dessert," he continued.

  "Yes?" she ventured cautiously, and crossed

  towards the cabinet closest to him.

  She bent over, the same long skirt as this afternoon draping gracefully over her rear and highlighting her curves. She stood quickly upright, probably well aware of exactly what he was looking at, and placed two mats on the table.

  He could hardly bear to take his eyes off her, to stop watching her unconscious sensuality as she wafted around the kitchen, casting the occasional hesitant glance back his way. Obviously, although she had no idea about the gentle mind games he'd been playing earlier, she knew something was awry.

  Hell! Something was awry, all right! Since when was he entranced by softness, and femininity, and grace? If he didn't know better, he'd have said she was the one messing with his head.

  Nate dumped the pasta into the drainer, cursing softly to himself. This wasn't supposed to be how it happened. He was here for simple, straightforward, recreational sex. Not that that wasn't still what he wanted—he wanted it with a vengeance. It was just that his emotions weren't supposed to be involved, and he certainly wasn't supposed to be getting the warm fuzzies over a woman who appeared to be some modern version of Doris Day. Nice, and wholesome.

  He shook his head abruptly, totally annoyed with himself. He was making her sound like some kind of food group, not a luscious woman he just couldn't keep his eyes off.

  Chapter Four

  Gina fidgeted with her cutlery, twirling her fork aimlessly between her fingers. When she noticed herself doing it, she used sheer mule-headed will power to force her hands to rest quietly in her lap. A few minutes later, she'd find herself playing with her wine glass, or her napkin, or the saltshaker, and the cycle would start all over again. She'd force her hands to her lap, only to find herself restlessly moving something else within moments.

  This was so unlike her and, if anything, she was curious at the reaction he was causing. She certainly couldn't recall ever being so nervous around a man before, and definitely not in the exact same way that Nate made her nervous.

  Really nervous.

  She was no virgin, but nor could she say she'd ever

  been quite so aroused by something as simple as the single sideways
glance he'd just cast her way. His eyes had been somehow…veiled—more an impression than a reality, she thought—but the heat in them had seared her, reducing her to a pile of ashes.

  Very needy ashes, but ashes nonetheless. She couldn't imagine finding the energy to stand up and move away from the table ever again. Which was a pity, really. A single smoldering glance from those amazing eyes and all she could imagine was herself and Nate reduced to a tangled jumble of naked limbs on crisp linen sheets.

  She wanted him, she longed for him. Her whole body was a blaze of electricity—surely he could see the tiny sparks glittering every time her skin brushed lightly over anything? The scrape of the tablecloth on her thighs was an unbearable mix of pleasure and pain, and the solid coolness of her fork in her hand was a pure torture to her overstressed senses.

  She'd be certain it couldn't get any worse, positive it was nothing but her imagination's sex-starved response to having a genuinely handsome man sitting across from her at the table, then he'd look at her. A slow sweep from under those disgustingly long lashes, the darkness of his eyes seemingly beckoning her to him, drawing her closer, swallowing her, consuming her. Then he'd smile—a slow, ruthless smile—and somehow the intensity of the moment would glide away as easily as mercury, leaving no trace of its presence.

  All she was left with was a gnawing sense of need, and a body demanding relief. Immediate relief. She wasn't sure she could sit through dessert without incinerating.

  An interesting concept, that… Was it actually possible for her body to get any hotter than it was, or for the fine hairs on her arms to be any more affected by the prickle of electrical current than they already were? She doubted it, but shifted uneasily in her seat at the idea.

  Her nipples had hardened, were scraping against her bra, and she could feel an embarrassing trickle of fluid between her legs. She just didn't get like this. All horny and aroused and…desperate. She wanted him inside her like she'd never wanted another man. Her pulse was throbbing out her need, and she could feel a faint flush spreading across her cheeks and covering her body.

  And on the opposite side of the table he was just sitting there calmly, smugly secure of his own desirability. Her blush deepened, her cheeks tinged a deeper red, and she tried to retreat within her own head. Okay, so she was apparently in dire need of release. Why else would her body behave like this around a man she barely knew?

  The few things she did know about him weren't all that promising: he was arrogant, the town playboy, a salesman, and he was arrogant. Don't forget that bit, she cautioned herself as she stared over the table and into his eyes. She resisted the drowning suction but sat mesmerized, enchanted by what she saw.

  No matter what, she had to accept that he was seriously good-looking—possibly the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on in real life. And he'd invited himself into her life, cooked her dinner, and now he was staring right back at her, his eyebrow hitched in question and his eyes gleaming in silent amusement.

  Damn the man!

  He knew she was trying to fight off her attraction to him and that…that…that…cocky bastard was just sitting there, grinning at her. Her temper flared. She'd show him!

  Show him what? An insidious little voice inside her head was clinging onto the vision of them in her bed, her slight body overshadowed by his heavier legs, his hips holding her submissively beneath him as he stoked the fires somewhere deep within her, fanned them until her body was a raging wildfire, desperate for release.

  Gina trembled. Could he really do what her imagination promised? Could a man really make her feel like that?

  "Are you cold, babe?"

  His voice reached around her, wrapping her in velvet warmth, comforting her sudden unease. The whole idea that a man could have so much control over her body scared her silly.

  Or are you scared that a man could give you that much pleasure? the voice whispered enticingly. Try it, it urged, What can you possibly lose?

  Myself?

  Bah! Her conscience—or was it her very own personal devil?—went quiet, apparently disgusted with her indecision.

  Other women have one-night stands. The voice was back, silky soft, enticing her to take action, to go get what she wanted.

  He hasn't asked, she hissed back, feeling ridiculous. Was she going insane, or was she really having an argument with herself?

  The little voice positively smirked. He will.

  And that was it.

  Through it all he'd been silently watching, his expression never changing, with that indolently amused grin firmly in place. Her eyes widened as she realized he'd observed the whole struggle and had actually enjoyed watching her fighting her own inner demons—and losing.

  He knew.

  There was a hint of complacency in the depths of his chocolate brown eyes. It was also in the humor lurking at the edge of his lips. Then there was the indefinable male arrogance in the way he watched her, as if he'd known all along she was going to be his that night. Damn him!

  Gina squared her shoulders and smiled sweetly back. He may have thought she'd be panting in her eagerness to be his latest sex toy, but she was more than that. It was her choice and, tonight, she planned to be the one doing the using. His eyes promised lust and fulfillment, and she'd take it all without qualm.

  Her lips twitched. Just the thought of using him as a kind of walking, talking human vibrator had sent a fresh trickle of warm moisture down her thigh. To have that kind of muscular strength totally at her command… Mmm.

  * * * *

  Nate struggled to hold his least threatening grin in place. Her thoughts crossed her face as blatantly as a child's. He'd watched desire, then need, then doubt all flying across her face, and been inordinately relieved when the hunger returned to her eyes.

  He would have known what her body wanted from streets away. His wolf instincts were fighting to the surface, the strong scent of her arousal inciting him to lean across the table and pull her to him—right now. Her blush had faded, but the pink of desire remained, and the tip of her tongue traced a soothing line around the lips she'd been unconsciously nibbling all through dinner.

  He fought down his predatory instincts, the need to take her, to mate her, to make her permanently his, and instead reached a lazy hand across the table.

  "How about we go into the living room for coffee?" he suggested mildly, careful to hide the ragged edge in his voice.

  "Dessert?" she queried, her voice a siren's song beckoning him to rip her clothes off and fuck her senseless on the spot. And then think about all the wonderful things he could do with her body and the fruit he'd taken so much care choosing.

  He smiled instead, ignoring his own body's demands for the moment. "I'll bring it in with the coffee," he said, accompanying the comment with a tiny mental push. If she didn't get herself out of the kitchen in the next few seconds, she'd end up as dessert. Which wasn't altogether a bad idea, he mused, glancing at the collection of berries and tropical fruits he'd rinsed and put aside while the pasta was boiling.

  Fresh cream? He opened the fridge and upended the carton he'd bought into a jug he found in the dresser.

  Bowls? He considered for a few seconds then grinned, once again wholly the predator. Nah, totally unnecessary.

  Spoons and a knife, however, he'd need if he didn't want to scare her. He may have had perfectly good claws that were ideal for peeling fruit, but he couldn't imagine her lying there quietly while he shapeshifted. He almost laughed at the image in his head— that of a werewolf calmly hulling and eating strawberries—and went back to his preparations.

  "How do you take your coffee, baby?" he called through the door. Even in human form, his nose told him she drank it black with one sugar, but he didn't want to have to explain where he'd got that knowledge.

  He waited for her reply, a little time-lagged by the slight compulsion he'd placed on her, and placed two mugs of sweetened coffee, the jug of cream, and a plate heaped high with fruit on a tray. Two spoons and a paring kn
ife clattered as they landed on the tray and he glanced up, aware the sudden sound had broken his concentration. His gentle mind-spell had shattered.

  His eyes gleamed hungrily and his teeth lengthened into fangs as he thought of the woman waiting on the other side of the door. By the time he stepped through, nudging the door closed behind him, his appearance was perfectly normal.

  Gina had arranged herself on the lounge, curled into a corner of it to leave plenty of space for him. He accepted the unspoken invitation, watching her eyes travel over the tray. She looked up at him expectantly as he settled and he smiled back, letting his reassuring warmth flow towards her. Before he'd thought about what he was doing, he'd let his body follow the same path as his mind. He leant towards her and scooped her into his lap, enfolding her protectively in his arms. As his mouth lowered over hers, he inhaled her scent and forced the wildness of the forest to lurk