Wolfe Wanting by Joan Hohl

the cradle and lunge for her constricted throat.
    It rang again.
    Oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god! A low, keening wail broke from Megan's throat. No. No. Please, no.
    A second ring, and then a third.
    Not breathing, afraid to think, Megan extended a shaking hand and grabbed the receiver.
    “Who is this?” she cried. “Why are you doing this to—”
    “What the hell?” Royce exclaimed into her ear. “Megan! What's going on?”
    “Oh, Royce! Oh, Royce!” Megan's voice was little more than a sobbing gasp. “I...I just had a phone call...but nobody spoke. It was him. I know it was him! ”
    “Megan, listen to me,” Royce commanded her in a calm, stern tone of voice. “Don't fly apart. I'm on my way. I'll be there in a few minutes. Keep it together, honey. I'm coming.”
    He disconnected. The dial tone buzzed in Megan's ear. Gripping the receiver, she stood, repeating his promise over and over to herself.
    I'm on my way. I'll be there in a few minutes. Keep it together, honey. I'm coming.
    Honey?
    A chill of a different nature scurried down Megan's spine. Surely it had been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment expression. Royce certainly hadn't meant it as an endearment—had he?
    Megan swallowed, and felt a spark of something in her stomach.
    Honey?
    The beeping noise from the phone penetrated the speculative thoughts distracting her mind.
    “If you want to make a call—” the tinny voice of the recording grated against her ears, and patience “—hang up and dial again.”
    “Take a flying leap,” Megan muttered, sighing in relief when the instrument went silent.
    Clutching the now-dead receiver to her chest, Megan kept it together as best she could until, at last, after what seemed like hours, but in actuality couldn't have been more than ten minutes, she heard the blessed sound of crunching tires and squealing brakes from Royce's car in the driveway.
    The telephone receiver landed on the carpeted floor with a dull thud. Megan didn't hear it—she was already dashing from the room to the foyer and the front door.
    “Megan!” Royce yelled, rapping his knuckles hard against the door. “Are you all right?”
    Unaware that she was sobbing, Megan fumbled with the lock with trembling fingers. Cursing, she finally released the lock, pulled the door open, and literally flung her shaking body against the reassuringly solid wall of Royce's chest.

Six
    R oyce's arms automatically closed around Megan's shivering body. Holding her tightly to him, he stepped into the foyer and nudged the door shut with a backward tap of his heel.
    She was even taller than he had first decided; her nuzzling face fit neatly into the curve of his neck.
    The broken sound of her uneven, hiccuping breaths impelled him to tighten his arms protectively, drawing her pliant form more closely to his alert-tautened body.
    Royce immediately knew he had made a mistake. The feel of Megan's soft curves pressed against him caused an instantaneous reactive response.
    He was at once hard and hurting.
    Fortunately, Megan appeared to be too upset to notice the pressure against her abdomen.
    Silently cursing the inconvenient and inappropriate, if normal and natural, reaction of his flesh and senses, Royce exerted iron-willed control over his gathering response and murmured words of comfort and reassurance.
    “It's all right, Megan. I'm here,” he said, loosening his arms to clasp her shoulders and move her back a step, away from physical contact with him. “I'm not going to let anything or anybody hurt you.”
    “But...but suppose it was him? ” Megan cried, raising a hand to swipe at her wet cheeks. “That...that hulking, horrible man?” she went on, voice rising.
    “Calm down, calm down,” Royce said in a soothing voice, flexing his fingers gently in her soft flesh, attempting to instill his strength in her. “You told me you had never seen the man before, and that he hadn't called you by your name. Didn't you?”
    Megan gulped and nodded.