Keri Arthur - Beneath A Rising Moon

She'd also spent time studying the mansion's floor plans before coming here, and she had talked to

Betise, a regular customer at her family's diner. Though barely thirty-six, Betise had been attending moon dances at the mansion for a good twenty years and knew the place almost as well as the Sinclairs themselves. It had been Betise who told her that Duncan Sinclair rarely joined the dance before midnight, and that before then he could usually be found close to his rooms on the west side of the mansion.

She hurried out the rear doors. The night breeze stirred her flimsy skirt. Its touch was cool against the fever-kissed skin of her thighs. She glanced skyward again, judging the time by the position of the moon she could feel, not see. Close to midnight. She had to hurry. She tugged the delicate material clear of her bare feet and ran to the back of the mansion.

A cherub-filled fountain came into sight. She slowed, scanning the windows until she found his. Her heart was beating so fast it felt as if it would tear free of her chest, and she knew its cause was fear, not exertion. She'd never done anything like this before. Didn't know if she even had what it took to attract, and hold, a wolf with Duncan Sinclair's experience.

But she had to try. It was the safest way to gain full access into the mansion.

She could only smell one wolf in the rooms above, and there were no others in the immediate area.

Betise's information had certainly been accurate. If she pulled this off, she was going to keep the woman supplied with free coffee for the next year.

She walked over to the fountain and stripped off the flimsy excuse for a gown. Then she stepped into the icy water, avoiding the worst of the water-tossing cherubs as she turned her attention to his window.

Everything she'd learned about him suggested he liked a chase and preferred his mates to be sexually adventurous. While she could never claim to be that, she was a wolf and the moon was high. And Betise had offered more than a few tips.

But she couldn't exactly send out a blatant invitation to the man. The rules of the moon dance said no names, so she had to be a little more devious. The Sinclairs were the only other wolf pack who were strong telepaths, so she just had to make it seem he was catching her thoughts. Lord, I ache tonight.

She kept her mindvoice breathy, wistful. For several tense seconds, nothing happened, then his presence stirred and walked across to the windows. She dipped her fingers into the water and wet her neck, letting the cool droplets dribble between her breasts.

Hunger surged through the night, a force so strong it almost knocked her over. His need for the dance was high. Very high. The thought churned her stomach, but she was here now and would not back away.

She let her gaze roam the windows until she saw him. If his shadow was to be believed, he was big.

Bigger than she'd expected. She cupped another handful of water, sipping it quickly to ease the dryness in her throat. Why do you ache? The moon is high and the night free. His mind voice was rich, husky, and stirred her senses with longing. She clenched her fists. She had to remain in control. She couldn't let the wildness free. Perhaps I am choosy.

You can be choosy as many times as you like on a night such as this. Amusement swam across her senses, warm and sensual.

Perhaps I long for a more careful seduction once the initial fire has passed.

His silhouette stirred. She caught the brief glimpse of a muscular arm before the shadows closed in again. A difficult request when the moon rides high. So it would seem. She arched her back, stretching her arms skywards. The emotive swirl of his thoughts became a wall of heat. He wanted her, of that she was certain. Whether he would take her was unclear. He hadn't yet moved from his dark hideaway.

Perhaps I should go home. The moon, it seems, offers me no comfort tonight.

He hesitated. Perhaps we should talk on the matter. The bait had been taken. Now to snare him fully.

But the elation that ran through her was tempered by the knowledge that true victory would mean spending the rest of the week in this man's bed. But it was a small price to pay when her sister's life hung in the balance. She considered him a moment longer, not wanting to seem too eager. You are little more than a shadow to me. I cannot discuss possibilities with someone I cannot see. The French window opened, and he stepped out onto the balcony. Her heart slammed into the wall of her chest, then it seemed to drop somewhere in the vicinity of her toes.

He was tall, close to six foot, if not over, his build quietly powerful, but lean like an athlete's. His hair was dark and long, full of unruly waves that brushed his shoulders. His face was that of a dark angel's--

beautiful, and yet somehow sinister. And while it may have been true that the eyes were the mirror of the soul, this man's were shuttered and painted black. There was nothing to be read in his expression--or the lack of it. If not for the sensation of hunger that burned between them, she would have thought him uninterested.

Do you like what you see?

She gave a disinterested shrug. Looks are not the measure of the man. Even though this man's looks were stirring her in ways no man ever had before. A wise statement for one so young.

She raised her eyebrows, a smile teasing her lips. And that is a very condescending statement fr om one so young. Amusement touched his sensual mouth. He crossed his arms and continued to regard her in that disinterested yet oddly disturbing manner of his.

I have squeezed many years of living into this young body, believe me.

So his reputation had suggested. Had she any other choice, she would have stayed far away from this particular wolf and his wild, hungry ways. But he was the only Sinclair the rangers did not have under suspicion and, therefore, her safest route into the Sinclair stronghold. Ah. Then perhaps you have little interest in one less well travelled. She picked up her gown and pulled it on. The sheer material clung to her damp breasts and caressed her aching nipples. Again his need swam around her, a blanket that smothered, leaving her breathless. I did not say that.

No. She hesitated and stepped free of the water, then raised her gaze challengingly to his. I intend to leave. But if you can find me before I depart these grounds, we shall…talk…more on this matter.

She turned around and walked away, not looking back. Yet his gaze burned into her back as surely as his hunger sent a fever blistering across her skin. He would come for her, she was sure of that.

Now all she had to do was pray she could hold his attention for more than just this night.

Duncan Sinclair moved through the crowd, silent as a shadow. Unnoticed, unseen. The music pounded through his veins, a heavy, throbbing beat that matched the need in him.

He'd had no intention of joining the dance tonight. He'd wanted nothing more than to complete his task here and leave as quickly as possible. But his intentions had flown out the window the minute he heard the wanton, wistful thoughts of the female.

He let his gaze roam the darkness. There was still a wealth of unclaimed women ready for the taking, but most of them were long-time participants of the dance, as jaded as the night itself.

Not so the wolf who'd played in the fountain outside his rooms. There was a freshness about her, a vibrancy, which suggested she was very new to the mansion and the dance.

She was here somewhere. He could sense her. She was a teasing hint of sunshine in the darkness, a caress of warm shyness that taunted the outer edges of his mind. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her.

He continued on through the crowd and made his way out the rear doors. The night breeze rifled cool fingers through his hair, but it failed to ease the fever pulsing through his body.