Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Desert Wolf

Surely her father’s lawyer would have pointed out to Grant that buying her out would be to his benefit? The truck had stopped without her noticing. Grant got out, took her bags from the back and again came around to open her door.

“Small and cheap,” he said with a nod to the motel.

Funny, Paxton thought. That’s exactly what she felt like as she watched Grant Wade enter the lobby of the two-story U-shaped building ahead of her. Small and cheap. She’d sell the land for a song if it meant getting back to her life without taking Grant Wade up on whatever emotion he hid behind those sunglasses.

Reluctantly, she followed Grant to the lobby, trying hard not to stare at the way his jeans emphasized his magnificently compact backside and how his auburn hair, badly in need of a trim, brushed his shirt collar. Taking stock of those things made her uneasy. Still, she had to assess her opponent and hope that the best person would win this argument.

As the hot wind caressed her face, Paxton felt even stranger, in a déjà-vu kind of way, as if it wasn’t actually possible for a person to get over their beginnings.

She looked at her feet, then tipped her face toward the motel’s neon sign. Her gaze flicked to the light of the lobby’s open doorway, filled at the moment by Grant Wade. He was waiting. But what, exactly, was he waiting for—the woman to tag along behind him, or the completion of a deal in his favor?

Maybe she was just projecting her own thoughts on the matter, because, damn it, the man was messing with her sense of justice. Grant Wade, in the flesh, suddenly seemed like the perfect guy to manage a ghost town in the Old West.

And he was looking at her in that way he had, making her feel as though she was the only woman in the world on his mind.

Chapter 5

What did Paxton think he was going to do with the old ghost town?

Grant had taken to swearing under his breath and did so repeatedly in honor of the situation he found himself in now as he stood on the threshold to Paxton’s room. Half the space in that room was taken up by a bed, and in a perfect world, he and Paxton might have worked through their differences on top of it. Of course, they weren’t going to do any such thing. He had to get in and get out without lingering.

Cautiously placing one boot inside, then the other, Grant set Paxton’s bags down on the carpet. With his hands now free, he thought seriously about reaching for her and got the feeling she might have been willing to have that happen.

Then again, maybe not.

Besides, he was needed elsewhere.

Open curtains at the window allowed the evening moonlight in. That light was a reminder that he’d need to be on guard again tonight for the return of the slippery rogue he hadn’t been able to catch in the months before. His pack would already be prowling near the hills, careful to avoid ranchers doing the same thing. After four months, most of the valley was in an uproar.

Paxton stood in the doorway behind him. She hadn’t followed him inside. Her watchful gaze burned a hole in the back of his shirt, and that was bringing up all sorts of wayward emotions that were never good for a werewolf to have in a closed space.

“Well, guess I’ll head out.” Grant brushed his hands on his jeans as if wiping away the idea of an imminent and untimely appearance of his claws. He was usually good at compartmentalizing his emotions.

“My thanks are piling up,” she said when he turned to face her. “Pretty soon I’ll be the one owing you a meal.”

Grant nodded. “No thanks are necessary. It’s an awkward situation we’re confronted with. I’ll be the first to agree.”

She remained in the doorway, blocking his exit. Maybe Paxton was afraid of what he might do if she came inside. Maybe she could read his mind about that bed.

“I’ll need a car,” she said.

“You can have the truck if you need to go somewhere.”

He fished in his pocket and tossed her the keys.

“I’m going to Desperado in the morning,” she reminded him.

“I’d advise against it, Paxton, unless I’m riding along.”

Palming the keys, she said, “How will you get home if I have these?”

“Friends.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“I live on the ranch near Desperado’s gates, as you quite possibly already knew.”

“In my old house?”

Grant noted how her voice had lowered. She’d likely be remembering the house she grew up in. My house, she had said. Did she think of it fondly?

He said, “It’s still there. A little worse for wear, but standing. I’ve made some necessary repairs.”

“After you sell, or I sell, will you go back to Texas?” she asked, which Grant thought was pretty cheeky for someone facing an opponent in a motel room located in a state she hadn’t set her stilettos in since she was six years old. Just how far would her confidence take her, though?

He didn’t glance again to the window. Didn’t need to note where the moon was. He was looking at Paxton with his wolf’s eyes, watching her unfasten the top button of her shirt because she was used to a more moderate climate.

Sensing his attention, she dropped her hands to her sides. “That was not an invitation.”

Ignoring the comment, Grant pointed to the floor-model air conditioner. “Press the button on the left and you’ll soon feel better.”

Paxton’s cheeks colored slightly. He noticed that, too. Now that dusk had come and gone, and darkness had arrived, moonlight flooded the motel’s balcony behind her as she tossed his keys back to him.

“See you tomorrow,” Grant said, with his hat in his hand like every good Texas boy under a roof. “Breakfast?”

She shook her head. Paxton’s hands were shaking, too. Why? Were her quakes a sign of pent-up anger? Maybe the moon was finally affecting her in some small way?

That was bound to happen sometime.

Moving to the window, Grant closed the curtains halfway to mute the moonlight. A random thought crossed his mind that moon children all over the world would be tuning in to that bright silver disc in the sky.

But this wasn’t the time for explaining anything about that to the woman across from him. She wouldn’t have believed him, anyway.

“I’m leaving. It’s safe to come inside now,” he announced, heading for the doorway she hadn’t yet entered.

They were face-to-face, very close for a few seconds before Paxton stepped back. Close enough for Grant to feel her warm breath on his chin and to observe the tight line of her full, lush lips. There was no eye contact between them this time, which was for the best. Any further connection with those haunted amber eyes of hers, and he might have...

Well, he might have forgotten about who she was and why she was here, and also about proper decorum with strangers.

“Breakfast?” he repeated to scatter the images of what he might have done in this room with Paxton Hall if she had been anyone else.

“I’ll meet you out there,” she said soberly. “At Desperado. I’ll find my way.”

Her black silk shirt had opened just enough below her collarbones for him to get a quick view of Paxton’s flawless ivory skin. It was rare to see pale people in the West, and the contrast between the black silk and the porcelain skin beneath it seemed to him a metaphor of sorts. All this time, she had assumed she was human. How could she have thought otherwise if things had never been explained to her? But the silk was only a top layer. Peel that back, and what lay beneath would reveal the real Paxton Hall.

Bathed in moonlight and the slanted glow from the motel’s neon sign, Paxton seemed vulnerable and alone. Her mother had died long ago. She’d never known her father. Grant hated to leave her, but he had to.