Blue moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,83

well I meant finish me off. Kill me. Murder me. Dump my body somewhere it'll never be found."

His mouth fell open. "What?"

"Someone shot a crossbow at me."

His gaze drifted over my body. "You seem all right."

"I'm fine. Mandenauer isn't."

His eyes snapped back to my face. "Dead?"

"Is that what you'd like?"

"I don't even know the man. Why would you think I'd try to kill you with a crossbow? I could have done pretty much anything I wanted to you at my place."

And had. My cheeks warmed.

"You've got a crossbow."

"Me and about a hundred other guys."

"What's it for?"

"My grandfather. It's a gift." He threw up his hands. "If I'm a werewolf, I don't need a damn crossbow to kill you. Why would I be that stupid?"

He had a point.

Cadotte took one huge step and grabbed the barrel of the gun. God, he was fast. I held on tight, figuring he'd wrench the thing out of my grip. Instead, he put the business end to his chest.

"Shoot me. See what happens."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Yes. I love you, Jessie. I'd rather die than have you look at me as if you think I'm going to hurt you."

As declarations go, it was pretty impressive, I never thought a man would tell me he loved me. Especially one like this.

Of course my skeptical mind whispered: Is he telling you he loves you because you told him ? When he was a big black hairy wolf?

Did it matter? My chest ached. My eyes burned. No one had ever said they loved me before, not even my mother. Suddenly I understood why people did anything for love.

I eased my finger from the trigger. I'd rather die than be the one to kill him. Even if he was a werewolf...

I couldn't do it.

The pistol was too heavy to hold any longer. I let it fall back to my side, then placed the weapon on the couch. Cadotte pulled me into his arms, buried his face in my hair. "I missed you."

He smelled like the wind and the night, the forest. When I was in his arms, everything I believed became jumbled and confused. I could only think of touching him skin to skin, of feeling him move inside me, of letting him make me forget who he was or what he might be.

I pulled his T-shirt from his jeans, slipped my fingers beneath, spread my palms across his back, his shoulders. He had the most beautiful skin, smooth planes, hard muscles. I could touch him forever and never grow tired of the game.

He stepped back and drew the shirt over his head. I became fascinated with the ripples across his stomach and chest. I wanted to taste his skin while his muscles danced against my lips.

I dropped to my knees and did what I'd only dreamed of, placing openmouthed kisses across his hard, supple belly, sucking his flesh between my teeth, laving my tongue over the curve of his navel. He groaned and forked his fingers into my hair, pulling me closer, showing me he liked my fantasy as much as I did.

His erection pressed against my chest. The rasp of his jeans across my nipples, covered only by an old, thin T-shirt, was as arousing as his hands or his mouth.

Suddenly he slid to the floor and crushed his face to my breasts, filling his hands with me. It was my turn to thread my fingers through his hair and press him ever closer.

His earring dragged across one tight nipple as his mouth closed on the other. For a minute I wished he had long hair and that he would swish the tresses all over my body.

The thought was soon gone when he ripped my T-shirt down the center. My breasts spilled free, and he moaned as if he'd been given a gift.

"Hey!" I protested.

"I'll buy you another. I'll buy you a hundred. With lace. Red, blue, purple."

The words were muffled against my skin. The puff of his breath against me made my hands clench on his shoulders. I wanted to say something sarcastic about me in purple lace, but I couldn't quite manage it.

"That shirt was old anyway."

"And ugly. You should wear silk, Jessie. As soft as your skin right here." He placed a gentle, sweet kiss at the curve of my hip and I shivered, then smoothed my palms over his biceps.

No man had ever spoken this way to me. Hell, in my experience men didn't do much chatting during sex. Mostly, "oh, yeah," or,