Wolfe Wanting by Joan Hohl Page A

“Yes.”
    “Well then, I'd say that chances are it was a wrong number, probably dialed by a person with an unsteady finger, or someone who raised one glass too many.”
    “Do you honestly think so?” she asked, in a small voice so filled with hope it tore at his heart.
    “Yes, I do.” Royce infused adamant conviction into his voice. “It happens.” He shrugged. “It's happened to me. Sometimes you hear a slurred voice, demanding to speak to someone you've never heard of, but more often the offender just hangs up, like the inconsiderate drunk he probably is.”
    “Yes.” Megan gave a quick nod. “I've had a few calls like that at my place in New York.”
    Royce could see her fighting to suppress the panic that had threatened to overtake her. He could also see the enticing peaks of her breasts, and the sweet curves of her hips and tush, barely concealed by the soft cotton nightshirt. Beneath the midthigh hem of the shirt, her long, shapely legs were exposed for his joyful examination.
    Royce dragged his gaze away from her body, back to her pale cheeks and fright-widened eyes. Megan looked exhausted, in need of a lot of hours of solid sleep. Dark shadows pooled in the hollows under her eyes. Weariness tugged her tempting lips into a drooping curve.
    He smothered a sigh, and managed a smile.
    “Why don't you go to bed?”
    “Bed?” Megan's eyes grew wider still, and she shook her head rapidly back and forth. “No. I can't... No!”
    “Megan, honey, c'mon,” Royce said, smoothing his palms down her arms. “I'll give the area a good once-over, make sure there are no intruders lurking about, before I leave.”
    “Leave!” Megan yelped, bringing her hands up to grasp his shirt and inadvertently digging her nails into his chest. “You're going to leave? You can't leave! What if the phone rings again?” Though she had asked, she didn't wait for an answer, but rattled on, “I couldn't sleep, not now, not if you leave. I just know I'd sit staring at the phone until morning.”
    Feeling the stab of her nails in his skin, all the way down to the burgeoning heat of his desire, Royce heaved another, deeper sigh.
    “Okay, okay....” He surrendered, purely in self-defense. “I'll stay, but—”
    “Oh, Royce, thank you.” Megan eased her nails from his skin to smooth her palms over the front of his shirt—unconsciously, he felt sure. “I know it's a dreadful imposition, but I'll sit up with you. Uh, are you hungry, thirsty? I can...”
    “No, we just ate, remember?” he said, interrupting her. “And you will not sit up with me. You're going to bed.” Letting his hands fall away from the allure of her soft arms, he motioned toward the darkened living room. “I'll stretch out on the recliner in there.”
    A frown tugged at Megan's brow as she shifted her gaze from him to the recliner, then back to him, sweeping a glance down the length of his body.
    “You can't rest in that chair,” she protested. “It's not nearly big enough for you.”
    Since she wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know, Royce merely shrugged. “What would you suggest?” he asked, rather dryly. “The sofa?”
    “Uh, no....” Megan shook her head. “If anything, the sofa's even smaller than the chair.”
    “Right.” Royce nodded. “So?”
    “There's the guest room.” Megan indicated the second door along the hallway with a flick of her hand.
    “I don't think so.” Royce shook his head. “I don't want to get too comfortable.”
    She bit her lip, and gave him a helpless look.
    “Uh-huh.” Royce returned her look with one of his own—not helpless, but knowing. “I'll stretch out on the chair.”
    “Oh, Royce...” she began, in a low tone of contrition. “I'm sorry, but—”
    He cut her off, gently. “Not to worry. I've managed to catch some zees in worse positions.” He laughed easily. “Believe it or not, I actually dozed off standing up on a train some years back.” His smile grew into a grin at the