Free Wolf Island by Cheryl Gorman Page A

his direction. “Why
didn’t you say something?”
    Devlin
leaned against the dark granite counter and stuffed his hands into the back
pockets of his jeans. “And stop the performance? No way. It’s not every day a
man gets to see a woman jiggle her fanny in a sexy dance before breakfast.”
    She
raised a nervous hand and smoothed back a stray tendril of hair that had fallen
from her hair clip. The blush of color still brightened her pale skin, and he
could see the tension in the rigid set of her shoulders.
    He
watched her lick her lips and swallow, trying desperately to pull herself
together. Abby had been together since he met her. About time she loosened up.
“How long have you been belly-dancing?”
    Murmuring
absently over her shoulder, “A couple of years,” Abby headed for the coffee
pot.
    Devlin
glided down the edge of the counter until he stood next to her. The aroma of
soap and woman slid past his nose but failed to smother the emotional warmth
that emanated from her. Her warmth settled the uneasiness that continuously
hammered at his soul. “Did you take lessons, or learn from a videotape?”
    She
straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. “I took lessons.”
    “Have
you got one of those little harem outfits, or do you always practice in your
regular clothes?”
    She
threw him a sharp look. “No, I don’t have a harem outfit.” Sarcasm ripened her
voice. “No one was around, and I thought --” She bunched her hands into
fists. “It was rude not to speak up.”
    “You’re
just angry because I’ve discovered your little secret.” Devlin grinned. “I
would never have pegged you for a belly-dancer, Abigail.”
    She
sucked her lower lip into her mouth, then let it slide out all wet and dewy. “I
belly-dance strictly for the cardiovascular benefits. I saw this belly-dancing
class advertised as the next generation of Jazzercise.” He liked her precise,
matter-of-fact tone.
    “Is
that so?”
    She
raised her chin and looked at him. “I’m hoping you’ll forget about this and
pretend it never happened.”
    The
way those simple words fell from her tongue in that precise British accent of
hers burrowed deeper under his skin. “Not a chance. Sleep well?”
    Abby
reached for one of the large blue mugs Otis had placed on the counter. She
turned her head and glanced at him over her shoulder, relief shining in her
eyes that he’d changed the subject. “Very well, thank you. You?”
    “No,
I didn’t. I don’t think you did, either.”
    Abby
poured herself a cup of coffee, stirred in a spoonful of sugar, and added a
dollop of milk before she turned around. She leaned against the counter, took a
sip, and eyed him over the rim. “Odd choice of words, considering we didn’t
sleep in the same room together.
    An
unexpected image of Abby lying naked in his arms in the center of his bed
flashed like a freaking neon sign into his brain. Devlin laughed and shook his
head. After witnessing her very sensual dance, he wanted to let go and ease the
aching sexual need that rode him every minute they spent together. Only, he was
afraid his unwanted need for her went way beyond sex.
    Something
else about Abby nudged at him, something he didn’t want to uncover and look at
with his heart. Something he had to fight down to the rough edges of his soul,
especially with the delay in her departure due to the storm.
    To
keep from reaching for her, Devlin paced over to the kitchen table, pulled out
a chair, and sat down. “I just got off the phone with the ferryboat captain.
They aren’t making any runs to the mainland today, so you can’t leave. You’ll
have to wait until tomorrow.”
    She
set her mug down on the counter. “Great, it will give me a chance to talk to
the locals about Miranda and see if they’re interested in a website.”
    He
slid his gaze to the rounded neck of her shirt, to the sweet, sensitive hollow
he’d kissed. She was like a pristine package wrapped up snug and warm, one he
wanted