Primal Cravings by Susan Sizemore Page A

tiny shower cubicle, fully clothed, face turned up to the spray washing over her. Her whispered words were drowned out by the running water. Droplets hit him. The liquid was indeed cold, yet there seemed to be a sizzling heat haze in the air. He accepted this as some sort of magic at work.
    Jake waited for a pause in McCoy’s chanting before he said, “The store didn’t have sage. The man at the counter gave me this.” He held up a small round plastic bottle. McCoy’s gaze shifted to it. “It’s called poultry seasoning,” he told her.
    McCoy pressed her hands against the shower wall and shook with laughter despite her radiated pain. She managed to glance his way. “Do I look like a turkey?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “I don’t see any resemblance. Will this be of any help?” he asked, holding the container toward her. Water rushed over his hand and wrist.
    “It’ll do. Open it for me.”
    She turned her face back up to the water. He took off the plastic lid and slit the inside cover with a slightly extended claw.
    When he tried handing it to her again, McCoy shook her head. “Sprinkle it on me.”
    “What?”
    She took several panting breaths before she could speak again. “Need your, help, Jake.”
    That was the first time she had ever called him Jake. “Sprinkle it?” He nodded. “All right.” He hesitated another moment before asking, “Will you need basting at some point?”
    This drew another shaky laugh from her. He was stupidly pleased at being able to distract her a bit from her pain. Stupid of him to do this, as the best thing was to get her through this magical medical emergency so they could get on with the assignment.
    “I guess I am simmering in my own juices,” she whispered, so low she probably didn’t think he could hear her.
    He choked on a dirty laugh.
    She flashed him a dirty look. “Sprinkle.”
    She started chanting again, her hands raised so the water poured over her outstretched palms. He took a pinch of the herb mix between thumb and forefinger and dropped it toward the top of her head. The mixture clumped in her wet hair, then was washed across her upturned face. The second pinch rolled to her shoulders and clung to her shirt.
    Jake couldn’t help but notice the way the thin knit shirt clung to her body, how her hard nipples stood out under the material.
    “More.”
    Jake didn’t know how long he’d been doing nothing but stare hungrily at her. His throat ached and his fangs were extended. He gave his head a hard shake. He started sprinkling herbs again. She went on chanting. The water poured from the shower head, drenching McCoy and occasionally splashing Jake. He was grateful that the it was icy cold.
    “Better?” he asked when she reached up and turned the water off. The herb mixture had all been rinsed down the drain but its scent was still in the air. Along with the fresh water and the tangy spice of her heat.
    McCoy rested her head against the tiled wall of the stall. “Some,” she said. She didn’t seem ready to move.
    “Do you need help getting out?”
    “Not ready to be touched. Towels.”
    Jake considered her answer, and decided he’d had just about enough of being accommodating. He was Prime!
    He grabbed up the only two towels in the bathroom and scooped the female out of the stall. It took him a moment to strip the soaking clothes from her shivering body. Claws could come in handy that way. He didn’t look as he vigorously rubbed her naked skin with the thin towels.
    She gasped and moaned and writhed as her skin was rubbed. He ignored that, too. He couldn’t resist lightly slapping her bare behind when he was done. He instantly regretted doing it, as the tempting, tactile memory of her shape lingered against his cupped palm.
    “Get into bed,” he ordered McCoy. “To rest,” he added when she gave him a big-eyed look that was half alarmed and more than half seductively hopeful.
    He reminded himself that any male would do for her right now. Not