A Highland Werewolf Wedding - By Terry Spear Page 0,6
as the rest of her. Dark brown hair tinted with natural highlights of red and gold softly curled to her shoulders, the wind catching it and tossing it to and fro in a playful way. Her mouth was still pursed, looking quite kissable.
One of her brows arched heavenward.
Normally he thought himself easygoing, except when someone destroyed his property. In her case, he would make a rare exception. He smiled at the realization that she wasn’t thoroughly intimidated by him. If she’d been human, she would have been. Even a female wolf outside her own territory should be. But the little American she-wolf wouldn’t give an inch.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Elaine Hawthorn.” She stared him down like a wolf that wouldn’t be cowed, but she didn’t ask his name or act as though she wanted it.
He eyed her more closely, sure he had seen her somewhere before. A long… very long time ago. That was the problem with living for so many years. He wasn’t good at remembering new names and faces in the short term. Long term? Even worse.
Something about her appearance and something about her reaction to him had him wondering.
“Have we met before, lass?” He felt less hostile, but he still had a mission and her driving him off the road wasn’t going to thwart him.
She shook her head too quickly, as if she realized he couldn’t recall who she was, and she wanted to keep it that way.
“Do you know my name?” he asked, even though he assumed she’d say no. He could judge by her reaction, even if it was subtle, if she was telling the truth.
“How could I? I only just arrived in Scotland.” She was too aggressive in her response, instead of just politely saying, No, I don’t know you.
He might not be real good at names and faces, but as intriguing as she was, he remembered her from somewhere before. “I’m Cearnach MacNeill.”
She frowned a little. “How do you spell your name?”
He spelled it out for her, then added, “It’s pronounced like ‘Care-knock’ with the ‘ck’ at the end kind of sliding off to a ‘och’ sound.” He waited for some form of recognition.
She gave it, even though she fought to keep her control… a subtle change in her scent, worry, maybe. Not a strong sense of anxiety. Just something vague. She licked her lips nervously, not in a seductive way. Glistening with fresh moisture, they looked too appealing.
She dropped her hands from his chest, as if she didn’t want to touch him any longer and maybe trigger some deeper memory. Or maybe he was looking too interested in her in a feral way.
He hated losing that intimate touch, even though she had used her hands as a barrier to his being so close to her. The exchange felt like so much more to him.
Suddenly remembering why he was here in the first place—to attend Calla’s wedding—he said, “You’ll give me a ride to the wedding I’m attending. I’m already late.” At least he assumed he was late. He hadn’t calculated any extra time into his travel plans, and he’d already figured he’d arrive about the time everyone else took their seats in the church.
“Wedding? Don’t tell me…” She put a finger to her chin, the skin beneath her eyes crinkling with wry amusement. Then she pointed at him, the point of her fingertip hovering so close to his chest that he was just waiting for her to make the intimate connection again. This time she didn’t, to his disappointment. “It’s your wedding.”
“If it was, would that make a difference?” He watched her expression, seeing the sparkle of humor in her eyes. He didn’t know why he’d asked, except that he could smell the way he intrigued her, just as much as she intrigued him. He really wanted to know—did it matter to her?
“It depends. I might be saving the bride from a fate worse than death if I delayed your marrying her.”
At that, Cearnach grinned. He loved a woman with a sense of humor. “It’s my friend’s wedding.”
“Ah, then that’s a different matter. Can’t disappoint a friend.” She truly sounded sympathetic. “Why don’t you have a spare tire? I guess it would be inconvenient to change a tire in all this wind while wearing a kilt.” This time she raked him up and down with a sassy viewing of his whole body, her expression one of pure feminine delight.