Trapped With A Luna Werewolf

ChapterFour

Closing the door behind him, he stepped into the living room, sniffing the air. He glanced around, trying to hear over the howling wind outside. A single table lamp lit the space.

Nothing appeared out of place. Except for the woman in his arms.

He couldn’t help but glance down then. Her pale skin and threadbare clothes fired his protective nature again. He had no idea what he should do with her but found himself not wanting to let her out of his sight. Which was crazy. The most ridiculous idea he'd had since...in a long time. He should just put her in her own room and call for help and be done with it.Right. That's what he'd do.

Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment and he held his breath, scrutinizing every tiny movement. Then those aqua eyes pegged him again and his breath came whooshing out.

She looked totally out of it. Tired, sleepy, traumatized. But she didn’t panic in his arms. Perhaps she didn’t-

Are you an angel?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Her question startled a laugh from him. Damn, it felt good to laugh. For a man who prided himself on his easy-going nature, he'd been far too tense these last few months.

“I’ve been called many things, but never an angel.” I was the guy cursing at you as you almost ran me off the road. I'm the i***t who can’t stop wondering who you are and what you're running away from. And I’m the man who can’t stop looking at your lips, wondering what they’ll taste like.

A hint of a smile curved her lips and she laid a hand over his heart. “A fallen angel?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I read a book about fallen angels once,” she murmured, her voice husky. “They're supposed to be incredibly hand—some.” During that pause she opened her eyes and snatched her hand back as if she'd suddenly realized what she was saying

“Is that right?” he murmured, lost in the moment. “As far as I know, I'm no fallen angel.”

“Mmm hmm.” Then, as if her brief outburst was all the energy she could spare,she went limp in his arms again, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks.

The lamp flickered. He watched it, willing the bulb to remain on. Spencer had roughed it in much worse situations. The question was, had Nita?

Standing in the middle of the living room he glanced from the rustic log stairs to the master bedroom door. Take her upstairs, he told himself.

Her breath fanned against his neck again. Practicality won out over his need for sanctuary. At least, that’s what he was telling himself as he headed for his bedroom. Why heat the whole house when he could heat one room?

As he laid her on the big bed and tucked his jacket around her, he glanced at the ring finger on her left hand and found it bare. Did she not wear a wedding ring or was she not married?

Her marital status doesn’t matter, Moore.

Lucky stood at the patio door and gave an impatient bark. Spencer took three steps across the room and let the big dog outside. Lucky paused on the covered terrace looking out at the thick blanket of snow. He glanced back at Spencer and then darted off, a singular black dot in a snowstorm of white.

Spencer pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked the reception. Still nothing.

A moan drew his attention back to the beauty sleeping in his bed. Her eyes fluttered behind closed lids. Everything about her called to him. Cried out for his protection and warmth. Begged him to wrap his arms around her and sooth away her fears.

But he’d fallen for that before. He’d allowed himself to be tempted by a damsel.

He couldn’t allow himself to succumb to another woman who would leave him and take his heart with her. Who would look at him like the freak of nature that he was. A man’s pride could only take so much. And his had been far too bruised for too many years.

He could tend her. He would tend her. But that’s where it’d stop. He wouldn’t look at her pretty eyes or cute nose. He’d ignore her long silky hair. He wouldn’t notice her eyebrows, the creaminess of her cheeks or her thighs. He would remain impartial, like a doctor tending his patient.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, he stepped to the edge of the bed. He brushed her hair aside and noticed a purple bruise forming below the smear of blood at her hairline. Was that from her accident or God forbid, something… someone else?

He reached for the land line and punched number five. On the third ring Doctor Jerry Peter gave a brisk hello. Spencer made it a point to know a healer in every region he traveled to. Jerry was a big black wolf with a hearty laugh and a medical degree from Harvard university among other places.

“Dr. Jerry, Spencer Moore here. I hate to call so late in the day but I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

A human problem.

After he explained about Nita’s accident he asked for advice. Between the snowstorm and the tree there was no way Jerry or anyone else was coming to Nita’s aid.

Which left him.

“Keep her warm. Resting. Inspect her for injuries and clean them the best way you can.

“Wake her up a couple of times and check for –“

Spencer headed to the kitchen for a notepad. So much for his quiet, uneventful vacation.

He scribbled more notes and thanked the doctor, secretly praying that Nita injuries were superficial.

When he pressed number one on the speed dial, expecting to hear his brother’s voice, the line was dead. So much for touching base.

He strode into the bathroom for a warm washcloth and the first aid kit he’d seen in the linen closet when he’d first moved in six years ago.

With great care he dabbed at the blood on her forehead and checked her hairline for any more serious damage.

As he pulled his jacket away from her, he tried to ignore the way the material molded to the generous swell of her breasts. The sweet scent of her blood swirled around him. He grit his teeth and averted his gaze for a moment, struggling to detach himself from the situation.