Her Wicked Wolf by Kendra Leigh Castle Page B

she was. How much he wanted to explore every inch of that curvy
little body with his lips, his tongue.
    His teeth.
    That last impulse was the most worrisome. It had been a long
time since a woman had stirred his senses this way—if one ever had. No matter
what he tried to tell himself to rationalize it all away, some deep, dark part
of himself kept quietly insisting that Brienne was different. Singular. Which
would explain why he was compelled to spend an unreasonable portion of every
evening simply breathing in her scent, which seemed to permeate every nook and
cranny of the house, and wishing he could just...roll around in it. Preferably
with her.
    Frustrated, Alistair forced the unwanted thoughts away. He had
good reasons for staying a solitary wolf, and he had no intention of endangering
anyone...no matter how mouthwatering she might be.
    “I’m just headed to the grocery store, actually,” Brienne said,
blissfully unaware of the heated images cascading through his thoughts.
“You?”
    “I have a few last-minute things to pick up. Nothing more,” he
replied. Such a casual way to put it, Alistair thought, smirking at the dark
humor in the moment. Brienne was talking about buying milk and bread to weather
a storm. He was talking about making final preparations to take on an enemy that
had been snapping at his heels for years.
    It wouldn’t be long now. He could scent trouble on the wind,
pressing in all around him. Owain was close by, searching. This time, he would
allow his brother to find him...and somehow, he knew that the end of their long
battle would come during this storm. It didn’t just provide convenient cover to
avoid human attention, it was dramatic in a way that would suit Owain—howling
wind, blinding snow, and a bloody crescendo.
    Alistair often wished his brother had decided to channel his
impulses differently and just become an actor instead of a psychopath. In the
meantime, he would rather not give Owain another weapon to use against him.
Enough people had been punished for earning his affection.
    Alistair drew in a deep breath and opened the front door for
Brienne, catching the scent that had slowly been driving him mad for months
now—vanilla and apricot, a breath of summer on a blustery winter day.
    “Thanks,” Brienne said, the look she gave him bemused. It would
be, he supposed. Chivalry was basically dead these days, but old habits died
hard. And his were very old indeed. Old enough to terrify a beautiful young
thing like her.
    “Of course,” Alistair said, hoping his voice sounded steadier
than he felt as he stepped out after her.
    “My first real nor’easter,” Brienne said, her tone as warm as
it always was when she tried to speak to him. “I’m not sure whether to be
excited or worried.”
    She seemed to be both, which didn’t surprise him. Their longest
encounter to date, shortly after she’d moved in, had involved Brienne chattering
happily about the “adventure” of moving to this small Northern town from the
sunny Florida coast where she’d been raised. She seemed to carry that sunlight
with her, he thought. The woman was so damnably inviting . What puzzled Alistair was why she continued to try and
initiate contact with him when he was anything but. He was an unsociable
creature who’d spent too long focused on honor, duty, and nothing else. He was
under no illusions about his meager appeal to someone like her. Most women
seemed to sense his otherness and steered clear.
    And yet here she was again.
    Fascinated despite himself, Alistair fell into step beside her,
letting his eyes rake her from head to toe when she looked away. Brienne’s
beauty was striking each time he saw her. She’d twisted up the loose curls of
her honey-blond hair into a bun, though a few obstinate tendrils had already
escaped to frame the perfect oval of her face. Alistair’s gaze lingered on the
pretty pink rosebud lips, the pert little nose, and the eyes, wide and an
arresting shade of