Jane Bonander by Wild Heart Page A

scalp prickled at her touch. A thickness gathered in his groin. “Your hair is the color of ink. I saw that the first time you rode in on Baptiste. You looked like you belonged together. Both so … so wild … and dark … and dangerous.”
    “What else did you see, Miss Julia?” He wanted to remember everything about this night, because he knew he’d never see her like this again.
    She sighed, hiccoughing again. “Oops,” she said, grinning openly, her smile transforming her features from merely pretty to beautiful. “Well, lemmesee.” She pinched at her lips. “Let me see,” she repeated, saying the words distinctly. “Your face,” she began, touching his cheekbones. “I kinda like it. Everyone thinks I’m a prude, you know. They don’t understand that there’s this part of me, deep down inside, that wants …”
    There was a sultriness about her that tied his gut into knots. “That wants … what, Miss Julia?”
    She stared up at him, her eyes filled with warmth and heat and desire. He ached for this to be the real her, but for him, it would never be.
    She ran one hand along his shoulder to his arm. “I like your shoulders. Big and strong. But,” she said, her gaze turning sad, “you’ve got scars on your back. I saw them.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m sorry someone beat you. Who beat you, Wolf?”
    He caught a tear with his finger, then gently pressed his thumbs beneath her eyes. His name on her tongue was like nectar. He savored it, knowing that at any other time she wouldn’t have said it. “Lady, you are drunk.”
    She whirled away, her mood changing again as she picked up the nightgown that lay on the bed. “Gotta get ready for bed.” She stared at him, still swaying slightly. “Turn, turn, turn,” she ordered, twirling her finger at him.
    Wolf crossed to the window and looked out into the black, bleak night. There was a fierce aching in his gut, a yearning for the kind of life that had eluded him. He looked up, noting for the first time that she was reflected in the glass. Decency told him to close his eyes; necessity made him a voyeur.
    She stepped out of her dress, sending it sprawling with an uninhibited kick. She looked pretty today, all gussied up in a fine dress to get married. He preferred her in trousers, for then he could watch her sweet ass move. But the dress was nice; she had a tiny waist and her breasts were outlined subtly behind the snug bodice.
    Her undergarments were unadorned, like she was, yet so unlike her right now. He told himself he would watch only until her breasts sprang free of the garment that held them, but when it happened, he couldn’t turn away or shut his eyes.
    They were perfect. Firm and round, with nipples so pale he could barely detect them. When attempting to untie her petticoat, she swayed, reaching out to the bedpost to catch herself. Her breasts shook, the nipples tightened hard by the cool air of the room.
    With a shuddering breath, Wolf lowered his head and closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists on either side of the window. He’d never seen nipples that fair, or breasts that firm, for that matter. Every woman he’d ever bedded had dark nipples and dark hair—everywhere. His new wife’s wouldn’t be. The thought of finding out sent waves of hunger nipping at his groin.
    “McCloud?” she said, quiet laughter making her voice shake.
    He took another breath and turned. She stood in front of him, holding the nightgown out by the seams. It was white with wide pink stripes … and the size of a circus tent.
    “Do you think she expected both of us to wear this?” She laughed again, her cheeks brightly stained. She slipped it on over her head, allowing him a view of her breasts again. His mouth went dry until she had the gown on, then he, too, had to laugh.
    She was drowning in a sea of fabric as she struggled with her drawers, kicking them out from beneath the folds of the gown. She unpinned her hair, running her fingers through