Bonnie Vanak - The Empath

She stuck out a palm to shake. Businesslike, how’s it going? But he picked up her hand instead. His palm was warm, a little calloused and swallowed hers.

Electricity shot through her, pure current that sizzled. Never had she felt such deep, primitive emotion. Dark eyes met hers as Nicolas brought her hand to his mouth.

He brushed his lips against her knuckles. A brief, but intoxicating kiss. Maggie fought a wave of sudden lust. Her body tingled pleasantly. He let her hand rest in his, then released it. Wordlessly, she sipped more wine. For a long minute, she felt as if they were alone, two strangers sharing space and more.

“Are you here vacationing?”

Nicolas gave a slow smile. “Out to see a friend. She doesn’t know I’m coming.” White teeth flashed. “It’s a surprise.”

Lucky girl, Maggie thought with an odd pang of jealousy. “Just a friend?”

His steady gaze burned into hers. “And we will be more than friends before the night ends. I’m a very determined man.”

“Do you always get what you want?”

“Always,” he hinted softly.

Maggie wished someone would want her. She pushed back at her unruly curls. “I’m usually persistent at what I want, but some things are beyond my control.” She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “But that’s life.”

“Sometimes what we think is beyond our control isn’t. We just need a little help,” he observed.

She had the oddest feeling they’d met before. Kismet. Maggie sipped more wine. “Lovely sunset.”

Nicolas nodded. “There is such power and energy on this earth. Only now are most people beginning to understand their world, and live in harmony with the elements.”

“You sound like one of those snotty hybrid drivers who has solar panels and cooks with his own methane emissions.”

Horrified, Maggie bit her lip. But Nicolas laughed. “I drive a truck,” he countered, warm brown eyes twinkling. “I have a ranch in northern New Mexico and hybrids can’t carry bales of hay. I do have solar panels on the roof, only because I hate paying for electricity. And I never fart. Ever.”

He winked. Maggie laughed her first real laugh in weeks.

“But I do host lovely candlelight dinners … when I meet a special lady.”

Tension eased, replaced with something more intense and far more sexual. Wine made her bold. “I bet you even seduce by candlelight. To save power and be romantic at the same time.”

“Not all women. But there’s one special one I would definitely seduce by candlelight,” he said softly.

Daringly, she set her wineglass down, met his smoldering gaze. “And how would you do it? Seduce her? What if she didn’t want to be seduced?” she challenged.

“It wouldn’t matter. Because when I set my eye on something I want, I can be quite ruthless. I would pursue her endlessly, until she surrendered to me.”

She saw in the swirling depths of his dark eyes his determination—the relentless energy of the hunter pursuing what he wanted. A little shiver snaked down her spine.

“And once you caught her? Why should she surrender?”

“I would tell her she’s the only woman in the world for me, someone special sent just for me. That I would die unless I made love to her, and how perfect she is, how absolutely lovely. I would coax a smile to her sad face, kiss away her fears and whisper to her that there was nothing to fear. I would take very, very good care of her,” he murmured.

This man, he sounded so familiar. Must be her alcohol-doused brain. Maggie moistened her mouth, tossed her hair. Flirting couldn’t hurt. When was the last time she’d flirted?

“How good?” Maggie challenged. “Because you’d have to be good. Very, very good.”

He leaned closer, until she could count the black bristles shadowing his jaw. His smoke-and-whiskey voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Trust me. I would be good. Very, very good.”

Heat coursed through her. Maggie sank into his liquid gaze, the dark vortex pulling her down. He looked at her as if she were that woman, and he wanted to love her all over until she sobbed for mercy.

She drained her wine, focused on the crimson-gold sun swallowed by the horizon. “It’s so beautiful. So right. I love this time of night. Dusk.”

“The edge of night filled with promise.” His hooded eyes regarded her. “There’s one sight in nature I find more stirring than a spectacular sunset.”

“That is?”

“A full moon.”

She nodded. “Yes, a full moon can be quite inspiring, can’t it?”

A soft laugh rumbled from his deep chest. “Yes,” he said, gazing at her intently. “Indeed, it can be quite … inspiring.”

Her delectable aroma drove Nicolas mindless.

Primitive lust coursed through him. Her scent hovered on his tongue. Female, musky, aroused. Exciting. Nicolas picked up the brown bottle of beer, took a long swig. The icy liquid slid down his throat but did not cool.

Liquor would not quench his thirst. Only Maggie would now. Sweet, delicious Maggie, the taste of her flooding his senses.

He’d heard of the driving relentlessness of the mating urge when werewolves found their draicara. “When you find her, watch out. Catching her scent turns you totally animal. You forget everything. You just want to rip her clothes off and mount her,” one of the newly mated pack males had said.

Nicolas had always scoffed at such mindless loss of control. As the pack’s fiercest warrior, he prided himself on his restraint. All those times he’d bedded scores of women after a hunt, releasing savage energy built from fighting Morphs, he’d never lost control.

Now he knew the other male hadn’t exaggerated. He’d expected his draicara to be attractive. The chemistry strong, but not this explosive. Not as if the entire world had faded, and the sun’s last rays shone exclusively on her.

A nimbus of silky dark red curls framed her heart-shaped face, pert nose and soft, rosy cheeks. Her large, expressive eyes were the blue of a quiet lake. Her mouth, ah, her mouth! Full, soft and inviting.

Maggie stole a glance at him. Smiled. She tossed her head and moistened her lips. Desire darkened her eyes.

Oh, yes. She was feeling it, too.

Nicolas’s body tightened pleasantly as he imagined the things he could teach her to do with that lovely mouth.

Shorter than he’d envisioned, Maggie barely cleared his chin. Her figure was a bit too thin, her cheeks slightly hollow. He’d fatten her up, personally hunt her fresh game. His gaze flicked to her full breasts. He imagined cupping them in his eager palms, testing their heavy weight. Enjoying her little moans of excitement as he gently stroked his thumbs over the pearling nipples. Then bending his head to taste, he’d swirl his tongue over one. Oh, yes.

Maggie frowned. Two lines, facial punctuation marks, formed between her silky dark brows. Nicolas was utterly charmed.

“Be right back,” his sexual fantasy murmured.

She sprang off the bench, nearly spilling her wine. Drunk with lust, he eyed the white linen shorts hugging the tempting halves of her rounded bottom. His hands itched to squeeze. He imagined feeling the smooth skin of her plump ass caressing him as he mounted her from behind and drove into her in the traditional mating position.

Not the first time. Werewolf sex could be quite rough, too intense and passionate for her first time. Threading through Maggie’s female arousal was the distinct impression of innocence. Sexy, yes. Enticing. Oh, yeah. But experienced. No way. He’d bet a raw steak on her being a virgin.

He imagined gently initiating her in making love. Slow, sensual caresses. Perhaps a hot oil massage, his fingers sliding over her silky skin, caressing and stroking, delving into her secret hollows and making her writhe and plead. Slow for her first time, with lots of orgasms to compensate for taking her virginity. Then finally, igniting her passion and tangling together with her in hot, raw animal sex. He grew hard as granite, thinking about it.