Free Wilder's Mate by Moira Rogers

condom, and counting the days frantically on her fingers. Instead he used his fingers, two so thick and wide the stretch danced the line between pleasure and pain until he added his clever tongue and made her see stars. She begged for him to fuck her and he laughed and made her come again. Then he put her on her knees and whispered dirty promises while she worked him with her mouth, illicit words about the way he’d push his cock deep until he was slick and wet, then take her ass.
    Which made the fourth evening’s dinner torturous. She hated herself for wanting to escape the cloying confines of the latest common room and retreat to the darkness of a bedroom and a plain mattress. A better woman would be focused on her mission. The man she’d come to rescue, and whatever mysterious Moira Rogers
    information Wilder swore he would soon have within his grasp. But as long and troubled as her days were, as soon as he walked into her room at night she could think of nothing but the moment when he’d take her back upstairs and drown worry in bliss.
    Perhaps wanton behavior bred true.
    “You’re distracted,” Wilder murmured, his mouth close to her ear. “You’re starting to look antsy instead of bored.”
    She shivered as his breath danced over her skin. Distracted was a mild, ineffectual word. She was frantic. Foolish. She inched her chair to the side and tried to summon a glare. Don’t make it worse.
    “Now you just look angry.”
    Probably because she was angry—at herself. She reached for the banged-up goblet holding wine so tart it wasn’t hard to let her puckered lips and wrinkled nose pass as disdain.
    “That’s my girl.” He leaned back, sweeping his gaze around the room. “I’m starting to wonder if this is going to work.”
    At least the words concerned her enough to banish thoughts of sex. She waited until a particularly amorous gunslinger stopped gaping at her, then chanced a reply, moving her lips as little as possible. “Then what next?”
    Wilder shrugged. “We try something else.”
    They had resources. Their wits. Wilder’s strength. Her stubbornness. She took another slow sip of her wine and gave a small nod.
    Several moments later, Wilder tensed beside her as a blond man approached the table, his hat in his hand.
    He was tall. Shaggy hair and a rough beard gave him a wild look, and dark, feral eyes made every instinct she possessed sharpen in recognition. She’d seen enough bloodhounds to recognize something in the way they walked, as if they owned the world and had nothing to fear from anyone in it.
    The man stopped next to the table and bowed low before glancing up. He winked at her, a sly, amused smile curling his lips as if they shared a secret, then straightened and turned his attention to Wilder. “I have an offer for your lady.”
    Wilder kicked out a chair. “My lady will listen.”
    His lady wasn’t supposed to understand English, which meant Satira had to keep her expression blank and not let on she knew anything was different about this particular man, aside from her protector’s willingness to let him sit.
    The new bloodhound spun the chair around and straddled it, crossing strong arms across the back. “A hundred dollars a week,” he said without preamble. “Her own suite of rooms. Two lady’s maids, three servants. Two nights to herself out of every seven.”
    For the first time, Satira understood why a woman might offer her neck to a vampire.
    44
    www.samhainpublishing.com

    Wilder’s Mate
    “One-twenty,” Wilder countered. “Two maids, three servants, and a coach of her own.”
    “Horse-drawn or steam?”
    “At your master’s discretion.”
    The stranger glanced at Satira, his gaze sliding over her in a manner a hairsbreadth short of too familiar. “Is your continued presence a condition, or is this a short-term job?” He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “That point is open for negotiation.” Satira fought the urge to squirm as the man continued to study