Pack Challenge

  “Will you nurse me back to health if it’s a concussion?”

  Sara smiled, even as her entire body tightened at his husky whisper. “No. I’ll leave you alone. Naked. Food for the wolves.”

  “Naked, huh?”

  “Therapy.” She pushed him away or, at the very least, tried. “For many, like you, it’s a viable option.” She walked past him, hoping he didn’t hear her voice catch, or see that her nipples were burrowing a hole through her tank top.

  Zach was doing his best to keep some semblance of self-control around Sara. But she wasn’t making it easy on him. Letting him walk into poles. Touching his shoulders. Using the word “naked”.

  And the woman was completely oblivious to the hold she had over him. She watched everyone but him. Constantly scanning the crowd, prepared for any sign of trouble. He realized while her friends partied and danced she watched their backs and her own.

  What an amazing female. The perfect wolf. The perfect mate.

  Zach slapped the back of his neck to stop the treacherous errant thought. Sara looked up, startled.

  “Mosquito,” he offered to her unasked question.

  She blinked. “Bet he’s really dead now.”

  “You know, we should go out some time. Like a date or something.”

  Sara stopped. “So, let me guess. Is this ‘get the townie into bed’ or do you and your buddies have a bet about who can nail the cripple?”

  Zach turned and gazed at her. Simply stared. But when that big grin spread across his face, Sara didn’t know whether to run or just scream for help. “You are one mean bitch.”

  He didn’t say it with any malice. In fact, he sounded kind of…turned on. Sara took a step back. He took a step toward her. “I do make you nervous.”

  “Bullshit.” Well, at least she sounded like she meant that.

  Zach’s hand reached for her shoulder. Sara stood her ground even though she felt like high-tailing it out of there and heading home to her nice boring house. His fingers went to the Celtic tattoo on her shoulder, tracing the design with his forefinger. She felt her throat get dry and her pussy wet.

  “You know,” his voice was low, like a caress across her skin, “you are an amazing piece of work.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m a bitch. I know it and I’ve learned to accept that flaw in my character.”

  “Sounds like you embrace it.”

  “And if I do, what do you care?”

  Zach’s fingers slid past her tattoo and up to her throat. She fought the urge to flinch, thinking he was going to touch the scarred part of her face. She’d never let anyone that close to her. Not her friends. Not her ex-boyfriends—nobody. And she wasn’t about to let Zach get that close either. Besides, she was feeling that desire again. That desire to lick his tattoo or punch him in the stomach.

  “Nice hat, by the way,” he muttered softly.

  So, it was going to be the punch in the stomach. Good. That she could handle.

  Then Sara dropped to one knee, the sudden flaring pain in her leg nearly blinding her. Nearly as bad as what had hit her in front of her house, she gasped for air, trying not to scream. Trying not to die merely from the pain alone.

  But this was Texas. Someone must have a gun here. Surely they could shoot her in the head, put her out of her misery. She wanted to yell, “Somebody kill me!” But instead she gritted her teeth against just screaming wildly.

  Then she felt strong arms wrap around her and a deep voice in her ear. “Hold on. I got ya.”

  “Get. Off. Me.”

  She heard him chuckle. “Get the fuck over it.”

  One minute she looked like she was about to punch him in the face—he knew that hat comment would get her—looking more and more aroused the more he touched her. Then she dropped, biting back a scream of pure pain. Before Zach knew it, he was lifting her off the ground and taking her away as quickly as possible. He saw the others watching her. Smelling her weakness. Hearing the cry of pain she was desperately—admirably—trying to stifle.

  He took her away from the rave and into the woods he and Conall had just been hunting in a few hours before. They’d found a small shack that had been deserted for what looked to be decades and it would give her some time to get over the pain and get her strength back. He would be there in case she needed some medical attention or something. He was just going to be there as her babysitter. Just what Yates asked him to do. Nothing more.

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter Ten

  Sara felt herself lowered onto something hard and sturdy. She opened her eyes, easy enough now that the pain had begun to subside, and looked around what appeared to be a less-than-pleasing shack.

  At least this time I didn’t pass out.

  “Where the hell am I?”

  Zach lit a lantern someone left behind. “Feeling better?”

  Sara glanced down at the dirty, dust-covered cabinet she sat on. “Nice digs.”

  “Well, you know, we try.” Zach stood in front of her. “So, feel better or what?”

  Wow, the man simply radiated warmth and charm. “Much better thank you. I’m ready to go back.”

  “No,” he stated simply.

  Yup, she still wanted to punch him in the face.

  “Does the pain get like that a lot?”

  Sara shrugged casually. “No. Not really.” He knew she was lying. She saw it on his handsome face. The way those hazel eyes slowly rose to meet hers. The little half-smirk on his lips and the slightly raised eyebrows.

  “Look it didn’t used to, but lately…” Sara had to stop because she’d begun to cry.

  For months, she’d been fighting the pain and terror all on her own, not even telling Miki and Angelina. She knew her friends well enough to know they’d worry—and drive her crazy in the process. Besides, they’d insist she go into the hospital. Lynette had always warned her, “Hospitals only kill ya.” And, except for the constant pain, she’d been remarkably healthy her entire life. What exactly where they going to do for her now, after all these years? So she’d decided to continue living with the pain, and had. Quite successfully, in fact. Until the last few months when everything went from bad to worse.

  Sara buried her face in her hands and quietly wept for several long moments…until he touched her. Not on the shoulder or her knee. He touched her scar. Problem was she had successfully hidden it under her skirt. Her sexy slit wasn’t even on that side.

  With a growl, Sara’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before it could move further up her leg. The rough tips of his fingers dragging lightly across her scar didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt at all. Instead, it felt damn amazing.

  “What the hell?” she barked, trying to ignore the sudden burning desire she had to get this man naked.

  “I needed you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Only thing I could think of.” She tried to push his arm away, but it was like steel and it wasn’t moving. Didn’t help he was smiling at her either. And that he had the sweetest smile she’d ever seen. She wanted to slap that smile right off his face. Smug prick.

  “You know, it’s amazing you lasted this long. After what you’ve been through.”

  “You being a smart ass?”

  “If I were being a smart ass I’d say something else about your hat.”

  Sara tore the hat off her head. “Happy now?”

  “Thrilled,” he muttered as he pried her hand off his arm. Once accomplished, he pushed her skirt up above her scar.

  Working hard not to panic or fall all over the man like a slobbering puppy, she demanded, “What exactly are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” he lied as he ran his hand over her thigh, increasing her pleasure, although she did her best not to enjoy it. The bastard wasn’t even looking at her but kept watching his own hand move over her flesh. Eventually, the other hand joined in to move along the back of her knee and the bit of exposed calf above her boot. She watched his hands too, marveling at how big they were. They had light scars, faded over time and ta
nned from exposure to the sun. Nails clipped or bitten down as low as possible without hitting the quick. And now those tanned, scarred hands were slipping between her thighs and slowly pulling her legs apart.

  She bolted straight up, but he shook his head, still not looking at her. “Don’t. You’re distracting me.”

  Distracting him? Was he serious? She was distracting him?

  His right hand moved back to massaging her scar while his left hand went deeper between her thighs. His thumb ran along the seam of her ultra-fancy Jockey For Her bikini briefs for about three seconds before he simply ripped them off. Sara gasped, her body jerking forward. And, before she could stop herself, before she could think about the logic of this one action or punching herself in the face, she slammed her lips against his. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, while his thumb slipped between the folds of her sex. She leaned into his hand and his thumb slowly circled her clit.

  Moaning into his mouth, her arms went around his neck, but he pulled back .

  If he stops I’m going to wring his big neck.

  But he didn’t stop, instead his hands went under her hips and roughly yanked her to the edge of the cabinet she was on. Crouching in front of her, he pushed his head between her legs. Grabbing the sides of the cabinet, Sara held on for dear life.

  Sara knew she should stop him. Knew she should slap his face and limp off, her head held high. She should be home, safe—and alone—in bed watching another episode of “Seinfeld” for the four-thousandth time. She definitely shouldn’t be here, leaning back, letting a stranger bury his head between her legs and ever so slowly swirl his tongue around her clit, taking up where his finger left off. No, she really shouldn’t. But Sara didn’t want to stop him. Instead, she snaked her hands through his brown hair and spread her legs farther apart. And then, to ensure her place as a slut, she arched her back and pulled his head closer into her. She felt him chuckle against her burning flesh and a low growl erupted from her throat.

  Big hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as Zach worked his tongue around and in her. No one had ever gotten her this crazy before. This hungry to be fucked. And Zach was doing it all with his tongue. Christ, what was she doing? Had she lost her mind? Maybe she finally had, but who was she kidding? Nothing in her life before had ever felt this good. Absolutely nothing. Her fears of the last few months, her pain—all forgotten as Zach’s tongue fucked her.

  It was the way he did it. He didn’t rush it or her. He took his time, savoring the taste of her. Eating her out like she had the most important pussy on the planet.

  And when he began to swipe his tongue up and down her clit, the low growl he’d steadily pumped out of her exploded into a scream as an orgasm tore from her gut and straight up her spine. She gripped his head tighter as she came and came, and his tongue kept moving and licking, bringing on wave after wave of killer pleasure.

  In the same moment, she felt a sharp pain in her thigh where her scar was, but it only lasted a second and was gone. Compared to what she’d put up with the last few months, she barely noticed it.

  Panting, Sara slumped back against the wall, her eyes closed, her fingers finally loosening from his thick hair. He slowly pulled away but not before he licked the inside of her thigh which, inexplicably, Sara found really sweet.

  Maybe she would go to sleep right here. In this dingy little shack. But the sound of cloth ripping forced her to open her eyes. Zach had taken off his T-shirt and was tearing it into several strips. She marveled at his body. Tanned skin stretched over thick muscles as broad shoulders and chest narrowed into a tapered waist. The bastard simply had no idea how gorgeous he was, or the affect he had on her.

  “Looks like I scratched your leg a bit.”

  She looked at her thigh but he’d already wrapped material around it. To be blunt, she really didn’t give a shit. Right at the moment, she didn’t give a shit about anything.

  Until she heard Miki screaming her name a few hundred feet from the shack. There was no way in hell she’d explain this little scenario to her friends. Not in this lifetime. Without thinking, Sara snapped to attention, kneeing Zach right in the face. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled absently. She pushed him out of the way, slammed her hat back on her head, and charged out the door.

  Zach sat on the floor of what even he would consider a hovel. His favorite T-shirt in shreds, his jaw in complete agony from where her knee slammed into it, and the taste of Sara’s pussy still fresh and sweet on his tongue. And he was busy trying to figure out what the hell happened.

  He had one simple mission for himself when he brought her here. To stop her pain. It was killing her. He could see that as plainly as her cute little nose. And he figured he needed to try Marrec’s suggestion of bleeding her. From there he decided explaining the truth would scare her off, so he had to distract her somehow. Okay, simple enough. Since his hands on her appeared to make her quite happy, why not a hand job? Hell, it couldn’t hurt. Only five minutes out of his day. At least that was the plan. But the more he rubbed her leg, the more his dick got hard. The more she made that sound in the back of her throat, the more his dick got hard. And then she kissed him. Like that first night, but she wasn’t drunk. She knew exactly what she was doing and that made it even hotter. She wanted him. Before he knew it, he was practically on his knees, his face buried in her sweet little pussy. He could still feel her hands in his hair and hear that growling sound she made…

  Zach gave a growl of his own and stood up. “Fuck this shit.” He angrily yanked off his boots and jeans. Standing naked in the middle of the room, he shifted.

  A few minutes later, a two-hundred-pound dark brown wolf silently padded out of the shack. He smelled her scent in the air and knew exactly the direction she’d gone to meet up with her friends—so he turned and trotted off the opposite way.

  Chapter Eleven

  She sailed through the intense question-and-answer portion of the evening—Where did you go? Nowhere. Did you see Zach? Nope. What happened to your leg? Just a scratch.

  She flew through Miki’s twenty minute analysis on the group’s business. Some of the hottest clubs any of them had heard of in San Francisco, Seattle, New York, London, Milan. The list went on and on. Miki also analyzed why a bunch of so-called club owners would be in a dinky little town in Texas throwing a rave.

  But it was Angelina’s innocent “I had so much fun tonight” while they were driving home that Sara simply couldn’t take the pressure any more.

  “I’m a whore!” she screeched suddenly.

  Miki hit the brakes of the white pickup, causing the vehicle to fishtail. It stopped in the middle of the deserted highway, across two lanes.

  The three friends sat in the truck, not moving, not speaking. They stared out at the big, star-filled Texas sky.

  Miki, her hands still gripping the steering wheel, glanced at Sara. “You’re not wearing any underwear, are you?”

  Sara let out a strangled squeal and buried her head in her hands.

  Angelina and Miki burst out laughing.

  “Bitches,” Sara growled.

  It had been a busy night for Sara. A slammin’ rave, head from a stranger, and shit from her friends. But she was sure it was the mere three hours of sleep making her unbelievably cranky. As soon as she got to work, Randy, her favorite cutie pie pit bull, had taken one look at her and run the other way. She almost took it personally but then she’d ripped poor Marrec’s head off as soon as she walked into the shop. In response, he ran out and got her a large cup of coffee, like an offering to some evil bitch goddess, then scurried away to his workshop to finish off some guy’s order. She didn’t blame him or Randy. She was being a total bitch and she knew it.

  Actually, that wasn’t right. She blamed Zach.

  What a stupid name—Zach. He was stupid. Stupid, big-armed, big-handed bastard. Both Miki and Angelina assured her she would never see the guy again.

  “Honey, he’s a biker. He got his wings and flew.” That was after they arrived back
at her house. During this portion of the conversation, she buried her head in the couch, her hands over her ears, but her friends weren’t giving her a break.

  “Would you prefer we lied to you?” Miki asked. “Tell you he’s going to marry you and take you away from all this?”

  “We love you too much to do that,” Angelina added.

  Yeah, sure. That was it.

  Sara flipped through a magazine she found lying around the store. She figured it must be Angelina’s since it had all the newest fashions, none of which Sara knew or cared about. She wasn’t really reading anything. She wasn’t even seeing the pictures. All she kept seeing were those big hands and those beautiful hazel eyes. She kept remembering how his tongue tasted and the feel of his hands on her legs…between her thighs…and that delicious little “swirly” thing he did with his tongue…

  “Hi.”

  “Nothing!” she snapped, for no reason in particular. She saw Angelina in front of her.

  “Hmm, I wonder what you’ve been thinking about?” her friend asked with mock innocence.

  Sara sneered at her. “Why are you here?”

  “I was just seeing how my best friend was doing after her recent bout with promiscuity.”

  “I’m tired and cranky.”

  “Clearly.” Angelina tugged on her friend’s leather jacket. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here, cranky girl. I’ll get you lunch or something.”

  Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Did Marrec call you?”

  Angelina turned on that dazzling smile. “Well, he’s been hiding in the back now for two hours. You scared the shit out of him.”

  “Honestly.” When did everybody turn into such pussies?

  Sara slipped off the stool and grabbed her backpack. “I’m leaving,” she yelled at the back door. “You can come out of hiding now.”

  Sara came around the corner and moved toward the front door. When she realized Angie wasn’t next to her, she stopped and spun around. “Are you coming or what?”

  The expression on Angie’s face startled her. She was staring at Sara like she’d grown another head. “What? What?” Sara looked down at herself. “Is there a bug on me?” She slapped at her jeans, trying to get off a bug she didn’t really see.