Free Scout: Reckless Desires (Norseton Wolves Book 7) by Holley Trent

shoulders.
    Right over her. Staring down.
    “Well?”
    “You should check my ribs,” she said. “They’ve been aching.”
    “Have they, now?”
    “ Mm-hmm . With every breath.”
    “There’s not much I can do for a rib. Wrap you in heating blanket, maybe. Make you comfortable.”
    “Don’t you want to be sure?” She planted one of his hands on her lower ribcage and, daring him with her gaze, slid his palm up to just beneath her breast.
    Yeah, he’s gonna fall for that , the rational, cautious lady inside her said.
    He dragged his thumb down her sternum, tracing along the arch of her ribs and back up to where her breast met her chest, and then beneath. He moved her breast aside and strummed the bony ridges beneath through her shirt.
    “Maybe you should unbutton it,” she said.
    “I don’t need to. Your ribs are fine.”
    “They don’t feel fine. I don’t feel fine.”
    “That’s probably just the painkiller making you dizzy. Give the feeling a few minutes to pass. You’ll probably be asleep.”
    “I don’t want to sleep.”
    If the good doctor wasn’t going to respond to subtle clues, she figured she’d take matters into her own hands. Fingers , rather.
    She started at her top button, and quickly worked her way to the bottom of the shirt placket.
    “You said I should give the shirt back to Arnold anyway, right?” She shrugged out of the flannel and handed the shirt to Paul before lying back down. “There you go. Toss it toward his room, if you’d like.”
    Paul flicked the garment to the floor, and didn’t even pretend to be only clinically interested in the form of her body. Hovering over, his gaze raked over her legs—crossed at the ankles—her boring white panties, her belly, and her bruised ribs.
    Her breasts in the soft form bra that didn’t hide much of anything.
    In the past, she might have been self-conscious about how visible her nipples were through the flimsy cotton. She would have tried to hide herself from the preying gazes of wolves and other predators.
    Paul may have been a predator, of a sort, but he was no wolf.
    Aren’t Vikings supposed to plunder? Perhaps he needs more inciting.
    She raised herself onto her elbows dragged her knee along the inside of his leg, stopping just shy of his jewels. He couldn’t hide much in scrub pants.
    “You nearly died last week,” he whispered. “Apparently, you need a reminder.”
    “I’m trying to show you how alive I am. I don’t need a reminder about what happened.”
    “I think you’re delirious.”
    “You must be, too. Otherwise, you would have walked away.”
    “So this is my fault?”
    “ Mm-hmm . All your fault.” She unsnapped the clasp at the front of her bra and let the garment hang open.
    He didn’t look down. He kept his cool gaze locked on her eyes and gritted his teeth.
    “I can smell you,” she whispered. “The pheromones. I may not look like a wolf right now, but I’ve got a wolf’s nose. You’re interested in me.”
    He let out a dry scoff and turned his head toward the side of the bed, likely to the clock on the nightstand.
    Because he’s a responsible adult and has to go to work.
    And she was a distraction.
    The part of her that was more human than beast swam back up through the murk in her brain momentarily, but the wolf pushed her back again.
    Let me , the wolf said. Get out of the way, or you’ll ruin this. We’ll lose our shot.
    Petra didn’t know what shot the wolf was talking about. She didn’t know what she was doing at all, but the wolf had never steered her wrong. The wolf had kept her alive for all those years—she’d told her to run when Arnold had left, and that staying would have meant abuse or worse.
    “Don’t you want to touch me, Viking?” Petra could hardly recognize the words, or the husky voice they’d been delivered through. She could, though, recognize the look of lust on Paul’s face and predict that, adult though he was, he could be convinced to ignore his