Free Spirit of the Wolf by Vonna Harper

turning his knuckles white.
    “I did a lot of online research last night. When I wasn’t dreaming.”
    Don’t ask me about the dream, his eyes said, so she didn’t. As long as he kept that to himself, she wouldn’t mention waking drenched in sweat with her hands between her legs and her taut nipples aching.
    “I don’t blame you,” she said lamely. “No matter what they did to your livestock, wolves are fascinating creatures.”
    “Are they?”
    She wasn’t going to get in an argument with him. Neither was she going to give in to the impulse to try to smooth away the new deep lines between his eyes. Maybe he knew what she was thinking and had decided to push her limits, because he closed his hands around her hips and drew her toward him with hands that trembled.
    “What?” Letting go of her elbows, she impulsively gripped his shoulders. Bone and muscle capable of riding a Brahma bull spoke to her and nearly allowed her to dismiss his mood. Then his gaze met hers and she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
    “What?” she repeated.
    “The pictures—there’s two more.”
    Going by his tone, she sensed she wouldn’t want to study them, but if Matt could take them, she could study.
    “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? You wanted to watch my reaction to the last ones.”
    “It’s more than that.”

6
     
    I nstead of prodding Matt to continue, Cat worked her fingers under his shirt. Life and energy and something she couldn’t define met her. Then his hands went to her buttocks, and he pulled her close and nothing else mattered.
    Dragging her attention off his features, she studied the growing bulge between his legs. As if triggered by it, her breasts pressed against her bra—the one that replaced the one he’d destroyed.
    Although he remained sitting, she didn’t trust him. Didn’t know this man with his leathered body and darkening—yes, darkening—eyes.
    She wasn’t going to tell him he was scaring her. A woman who’d weathered high-country winters could stand on her own. However, storms and vulnerable horses weren’t the same as strange wild vibrations from a masculine body.
    Somewhere deep inside was the truth of him, the reason for the recent changes in his personality, an explanation for the dusky shadows seeming to surround him.
    Maybe there was only one way to get to the core.
    The teenage girls she’d agreed to work with wouldn’t be here for several hours, which meant it was just her and Matt until his world interrupted them.
    Hot friction along her thighs drew her attention there. He was rubbing her legs—hadn’t he done the same yesterday? She must have slid even closer because her legs now rested between his with her knees pressing against the chair seat.
    Saying nothing, certainly not asking permission, he unsnapped her jeans. Answering his silence with her own, she dug her nails into his shoulders. Next came her zipper, followed by tugging her jeans over her hips. When she lifted her head from her study of what he was doing, she found herself looking into eyes devoid of emotion.
    Of humanness.
    Take the risk. Wrap yourself around what he offers. And maybe in the doing, understand.
    Exhaustion closed in on her until she lacked the strength to continue holding on to him. Leaving her hands to drape uselessly over his shoulders, she again watched what he was doing. Stray dogs were a fact of ranch life. Some were frightened, others aggressive. She’d been able to approach several, while others ignored her crooning voice and offered food. Matt might get mad if she told him she was comparing him to one of those creatures, but right now he seemed more like them than a man.
    All except for his cock.
    And muscles.
    And the hands gliding over her newly naked flesh.
    “This is what brought you here?” She couldn’t get her voice above a whisper.
    “No.” Despite his closed mouth, she could tell he was clenching his teeth. “I told myself I wouldn’t let this happen.”
    “Not