A Mate's Forgiving Touch Page 3

  With a sigh, Bailey turned her attention to the stack of papers under the weight. The top sheet had a number scrawled across it, enclosed in the outline of a heart. Arrogant bastard! Who the hell does he think he is?

  He’s our mate. The unfamiliar voice whispered in her mind, and she froze. In twenty-five years, her wolf had never before spoken to her. But, I have. You just stopped listening.

  Chapter Three

  He tugged his belt through its large silver buckle as the phone on the dressing table buzzed. He checked the time and grinned. A quarter before seven. Cutting it close, Bailey girl. Her stubborn streak might prove to be the thing he found most attractive. Well, that and her luscious ass. And the sassy leather eye patch. There were few injuries a wolf couldn’t heal, so the secret behind the patch intrigued him. Her left eye provided a sapphire-blue window into every thought she’d tried so hard to conceal from him. He adjusted himself in his pants. He’d been rock hard from the second her sweet cherry and almond scent teased his nose. Those yearning thoughts for Hannah had disappeared in an instant, and he understood what Caleb had tried and failed to describe when he talked about his attraction to his mate.

  Bailey Clarke belonged to him. Period. All five foot four of seething glory in shiny, sexy fuck-me heels. Damn, he hoped she still had them on when she opened the door. Nothing else, just the heels. Maybe a smile, but a snarl would do. He liked the fire in her belly. Tucking his dark-green shirt into the back of his black jeans, he scooped up his phone and keys.

  1218 Pine Wood Drive.

  He shouldered his leather jacket, following his nose to the kitchen where his landlady, Donna, bustled around. She glanced up. “You look nice, dear. I don’t suppose you’ve dressed up to take me dancing?” With her ever-present smile in place, he couldn’t help but respond.

  Ducking down, he brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Next time, Miss Donna. I promise. I’ll take a look at the back door for you tomorrow, okay?”

  She reached up to pat his cheek. “You’re such a good boy. I don’t expect you to waste your free time running around after me.”

  “Hush, now you know it’s my pleasure. Can you help me out with some directions?”

  Miss Donna had given him an appraising look, but withheld comment when he told her the address he needed to find. Parking his bike outside, he studied the imposing two-story wooden structure. The way the design blended sensitively into the surrounding woods impressed him. A broad promenade circled the first floor, sheltering the large picture windows on either side of the front door. Raising his hand to knock, he paused, scenting a masculine presence. The man who opened the door raised his hackles instantly. His pale, freckled complexion and graying, once sandy hair bore no resemblance to Bailey’s black-haired blue-eyed Irish beauty.

  Connor tested his scent. Human, although a heavy taint poisoned his natural scent. The man glared down his nose at Connor, a feat only possible because he remained on the top step. The attempted insult rolled off like water, but Connor adjusted his approach. Tucking his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, he adopted a pose of slouched insolence. He would not defer to this human, not for one second.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” Disdain and ice coated the man’s voice, making it clear where Bailey got her snooty attitude from.

  “I’m here for your daughter.” The words were nothing less than a challenge. Best to get it out in the open. The man scowled, but whatever response he had died on his lips as Bailey ducked beneath her father’s arm, placing herself between the two men.

  “Dad, this is Connor. Connor this is Donald Clarke, my father.” Words rushing forth, she placed her hand on Connor’s chest, backing him away from the door. Contrary to his request for something pretty, she wore jeans and a cream sweater which enveloped her from throat to mid-thigh. The cute running shoes on her feet left her a good foot shorter than him. He smiled at the little act of rebellion and fought the urge to swallow her mouth in a claiming kiss.

  She stopped dead at the sight of his motorcycle. “Are you kidding me?”

  He tugged his leather jacket off, draping it around her shoulders. It dwarfed her frame, but would protect her in the unlikely event he dropped the bike. Flipping open the rear box, he lifted out a spare half-lid and handed it to her. “Come on, lover. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Bailey! You can’t go tearing around town on the back of that thing,” Donald Clarke sneered from the porch.

  Connor owed the old fool a drink for his intervention as the look on his mate’s face went from truculent to rebellious. Setting the helmet on her sleek, shiny hair, she buckled the strap and stuffed her arms into the sleeves of his jacket. The tips of her fingers peeked from the bottom of the cuffs. She looked sexy, adorable. He stepped closer than necessary to tug the zipper up to her chin. “I like you in my clothes,” he whispered. “Almost as much as I’m going to like you out of yours, later.”

  “Bailey!” her father shouted again.

  “Get on the damn bike and get us out of here.” She could scowl all she liked, but it didn’t do a damn thing to disguise her desire perfuming the air between them. The feel of her small hands at his waist settled wolf and man when she slid on the seat behind him. He lifted the bike upright, kicking the stand free, thumbing the start switch. Glancing in his side mirror, he could see the outline of Donald Clarke illuminated in the doorway. He didn’t need his wolf instincts to tell him the man was pissed. Tough shit.

  Keeping his speed even, he stuck to the back roads, winding his way out of town. He didn’t think Bailey would enjoy being the subject of small town gossip, and he didn’t want an audience for what he had in mind. Surprise in her scent faded to curiosity and a hint of wariness as they rolled through the outskirts and onto the highway. Slowing, he turned the bike onto a rough track leading into the woods, and they bumped along for another mile.

  Holding the bike steady, he waited until she dismounted before he switched off the engine and set the machine on its stand. She removed her helmet and shook her cute page-boy cut back into shape. The scent of cherry blossoms filled the air, and his cock stiffened. Trading her helmet for a blanket he pulled from his saddlebag, he shouldered a small backpack. Taking a few steps into the tree line, he paused to glance over his shoulder when she didn’t follow him.

  “Are you serious?” She lifted the blanket in her hands, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “As much as I love Miss Donna, there isn’t a lot of privacy at the boarding house, and I can’t imagine your father would be too impressed if I deflowered his daughter under his roof.”

  “Deflowered?” She snorted a laugh.

  “Debauched? Sullied? Fucked into a mindless state of bliss?” By the time he finished speaking, she had bent double, her shocked laughter ringing out. Taking advantage of her distraction, he grabbed her around the waist and swung her up into his arms. Ignoring her struggles and squirms, he carried her into the woods, his wolf coping with the dim evening light.

  “Put me down.” Her wriggles were halfhearted at best, but the glower on her face promised trouble. She looked ready to bite him, and, damn it, he couldn’t wait to feel the edge of her teeth in his skin.

  “We’re nearly there now. Are you going to fight me on everything?” I seriously fucking hope so. He strode into a natural hollow in the trees, the bottom lined in lush grass that would provide a perfect cushion beneath the blanket. Turning Bailey in his arms, he lowered her to the ground and tugged down the zipper on his leather jacket.

  Bright fire sparked in her blue eye. She shrugged off the heavy material, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud. “This is not my idea of a date.”

  He lifted the blanket from her folded arms, laid it over the soft grass, and knelt before her. Placing his hands on her sweet curving hips, he tugged her close, pressing his face into her torso. The miracle of holding his mate close sang in his veins, and Connor sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods
for bringing her into his life. Her hand rested on his head for a moment before she pulled her weight away from him, and he let her break his hold.

  Reaching for the backpack, he removed a couple of containers and a bottle of wine. He busied himself laying out cheese, fruit, and crackers, waiting to see if she would stay or leave. The glasses he’d borrowed from Miss Donna clanked together when he lifted them from the bag, and he dug around for the corkscrew. Suppressing a smile of triumph when she sank down on the far corner of the blanket, he kept his expression neutral, offering her a glass of wine.

  Their high metabolism would process the alcohol with little effect, but he enjoyed the crisp taste, and it provided a good accompaniment to the light meal he’d brought for them to share. She stared at him in suspicion for a moment or two before accepting the glass and taking a tentative sip. Her wary appreciation made him smile—his Bailey had a snobbish streak and clearly hadn’t expected a simple carpenter to have decent taste in wine. Turning on his side, he rested his head in one palm and raised his wine to his lips. The clean, fresh flavor burst over his taste buds, and he closed his eyes in appreciation. When he raised his lids, her bright-blue eye fixed on him.

  “What’s with the patch?” A little blunt maybe, but he had a lot of questions for his lone wolf and best to start as he meant to go on.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  He sat up abruptly. “Lover, let’s be clear. From this moment forward, everything about you is my business. Your past, your present, and most definitely your future.” Her head dropped in the face of his intensity, and he clamped down on his wolf. The animal needed to know who had hurt their mate and so did the man.

  Fiddling with the stem of her wineglass, she glanced up at him through her heavy fringe of glossy hair, and his fingers itched to run through the gleaming threads. He wanted to pet her, to stroke and comfort his mate, but his instincts told him to let her come to him.

  “I don’t know what to do with you. You unsettle me, and I hate it. I met you six hours ago, and you’ve turned everything upside down. Turned me upside down. You talk about this curse we have like it’s no big deal.” She grabbed the edge of her patch and ripped it off, revealing a bright-golden wolf’s eye. “We’re monsters, Connor.”

  Fuck. Someone had done a number on her, and he had a damn good idea who. There would be a reckoning between him and Donald Clarke in the very near future. Tamping down his anger, he set his wineglass aside and crawled on hands and knees across the blanket toward her. She twitched slightly, but didn’t fight him when he gripped her chin and turned her face to better study the right side. Her wolf blinked back at him. He could sense its presence, but Bailey seemed unaware of it. He could see no sign of damage around her eye to indicate a previous injury. There were instances where wolves had been hurt and unable to shift fast enough to fully heal—their new alpha included—but they were extremely rare. Wolves could heal the most grievous injuries with time, rest, and the assistance of a healer, such as his sister-in-law Hannah.

  His gut twisted when he fastened on an unpalatable solution. “Bad shift?”

  Her bitter laugh stung his ears. “Aren’t they all?” Gods, what has she been through?

  “No, Bailey,” he muttered softly, smoothing his hand through her hair. “When you are taught correctly, shifting becomes as natural as breathing.” Two very different emotions shone in her eyes. Disbelief in her human left and hope in the golden wolf eye on the right. It frightened him to see such an obvious disconnect between the sundered halves of her being.

  “You expect me to believe it doesn’t hurt when you shift?” she scoffed.

  “I didn’t say that. It hurts every single time, but I accept the pain as a part of the gift.” Rising to his feet, Connor toed off his boots and began to undress. Her eyes widened when he stripped his jeans and underwear, and her cherry scent ripened. His cock twitched, but he ignored it and dropped to all fours. “Watch me.” He growled the words, his wolf already present in his voice.

  He opened himself to the other half of his nature, pain rolling through him as his limbs twisted and reshaped. He embraced it, recognizing it as the pathway to strength and freedom. Gray fur rippled the length of his body, and he raised his muzzle, testing the air for signs of danger. Satisfied they were safe for the moment, the wolf stretched his spine and padded across the blanket to their mate.

  The wolf halted inches from Bailey’s face and stared. She lowered her head, and he grumbled low in his chest, pressing his nose beneath her chin to force her eyes up. In a true mating, even the most submissive of wolves could meet their dominant partner’s gaze. She stank of fear, and both wolf and man hated it. Pressing close, the wolf settled against her shivering frame, resting his big head on her shoulder. Minutes passed and the fear in her scent ebbed and flowed, making his muzzle itch, but he remained still. Connor pushed at the wolf to cede control, but it refused to yield, reminding him of the time his brother’s wolf had done the same when wanting to protect their mate.

  Time stretched, the sky darkening to full night overhead, but, eventually, the most tentative of brushes stirred his fur. The wolf licked her ear, raising a giggle. She ducked away from the wetness, and Connor breathed a sigh of relief. Settling on his haunches, the wolf nudged her hand, and, this time, she stroked his head more firmly. He let her pet him, wishing he could do the same to her, but he couldn’t get past the woman to the wolf inside her.

  The wolf growled in his mind. Our mate is broken. Fix her.

  No shit.

  Without offering any practical solutions how he should do that, the wolf backed away from Bailey and withdrew, forcing Connor to rise and assume control of their form. The abruptness of their shift left him panting on his side, and it took a few moments to adjust to the altered sensations of the night around him. Pushing himself upright on shaky arms, he braced for her reaction. She would either welcome his help and try to connect with her wolf, or she would reject him. It didn’t matter which one she chose; he would stick by her regardless. That’s what mates did.

  Proving once again his Bailey would always do what he least expected, she launched herself at him, sending him sprawling on his back. Blood rushed from his brain to his cock as she settled her slight weight over his hips. The prick of her nails digging in his shoulders made him growl in approval as her mouth swooped down to claim his. Her tongue thrust between his lips and he opened willingly to her demands. He’d always pictured a docile, sweet submissive as his mate; the perfect foil to his dominance. She moaned into his mouth, her hand burrowing between them, and seized his cock in a tight grip.

  What a fucking idiot I’ve been to dream of anything other than this.

  Chapter Four

  Rule number one in the Bailey Clarke Guide to Survival—attack is always the best form of defense. Unable to cope with the roiling emotions stirring inside her after Connor showed her his wolf, she needed something to distract her. The mouthwatering sight of his body outlined in the pale moonlight offered the perfect excuse to stop thinking, and she threw herself at him. Fear, shame, anger—all the ugly things she hid inside added fuel to the flames of her desire.

  His skin felt soft, like satin over the rock-hard steel of his muscles, and she dug her nails into his flesh, grinding her aching core against him. The contrast of his nakedness to her fully-clothed form excited her, too. She’d never met a man who could hope to match her natural aggression, until Connor. He opened his lips, welcoming the invasion of her tongue, but there was nothing submissive about his response when she shoved her hand between their bodies and gripped his cock.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head at the feel of his thick shaft. Everything about him was big. Every. Thing. She pumped his shaft, and he thrust his hips up, lifting her clear off the ground with apparent ease. Thick fingers gripped her ass as he rocked his hips again, rubbing both her hand and his cock between her legs. His tongue dueled with hers, and they fucked at each other’s mouths in c
omplete abandon. He released her ass to burrow beneath the thick folds of her sweater, using his blunt nails to scratch up and down her back. The hint of pain sent her skyrocketing, and she wrenched her lips free from his with a cry of pleasure.

  Stars shone above her as he flipped their position, pinning her hard against the blanket. “I need you naked, lover. Need your tits in my mouth and my fingers in your pussy.”

  He growled tugging at her clothing. Holy hell, the man had a dirty mouth on him. He lifted off her enough to let her sit up, yanked her sweater over her head, and then pressed her flat on her back, hands diving for her waistband. Her jeans and running shoes disappeared in one fluid motion, leaving her clad in a cream lace thong and matching bra.

  “You’re a goddess,” he breathed, pressing his face against the damp lace between her thighs. “A fucking goddess.” A deep growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her clit better than any of the toys she kept in her bottom drawer. She spread her legs wide, making room for his broad shoulders, but he didn’t linger, sliding upwards until his mouth drew level with her breasts.

  “Better make it good,” she murmured, biting her lip to hold in a laugh when his head shot up to stare at her. “You promised me debauchery, lover.”

  Turning the infuriating moniker back on him spurred him into action, and wet heat engulfed her when he yanked down the lace cup and sucked her entire left breast between his lips. He used his tongue to roll her nipple against the roof of his mouth, sinking his teeth into the meat of her breast. He sucked hard, sending pleasure spiraling through her body, and she clawed at his shoulders to ground herself. His hands glided over her body, pausing to shape the indent of her waist and then continuing down to her hips. He tugged hard at the sides of her thong, shredding the lace like paper. A cry flew from her lips as he dragged his fingers once, twice, through the slick heat of her pussy then thrust two digits hard into the depths of her channel.