He smelled of the forest, of the rain. Of animal. And, oddly, of something … familiar. She grew bolder, running her hands down his back, over his flanks, back to his head. “You’ll dry here by the fire,” she began; then her hand paused in midstroke, and her brows drew together.

“He wasn’t wet,” she said quietly. “He came through the rain, but he wasn’t wet. Was he?” Puzzled, she stared out the dark window. Liam’s hair was as black as the wolf’s fur, but it hadn’t gleamed with rain or damp. Had it?

“How could that be? Even if he’d driven over, he had to get from the car to the door, and …”

She trailed off when the wolf moved closer, when his handsome head nuzzled her thigh. With a murmur of pleasure, she began to stroke him again, grinning when the rumble in his throat reminded her of a very human, very male sound of approval.

“Maybe you’re lonely, too.”

And she sat with him while the storm shifted out to sea, the thunder quieted and the whips of rain and wind turned to soft patters.

It didn’t surprise her that he walked through the house with her. Somehow it seemed perfectly natural that he would accompany her as she blew out candles, switched off lights. He climbed the stairs with her and sat by her side as she lit the bedroom fire.

“I love it here,” she murmured, sitting back on her heels to watch the flames catch. “Even when I’m lonely, like I was tonight, it feels right being here. As if I’ve always needed to come to this place.”

She turned her head, smiled a little. They were eye to eye now, deep blue to dark gold. Reaching out, she skimmed her hand under his powerful jaw, rubbing the silky line of his throat. “No one would believe me. No one I know would believe me if I told them I was in a cabin in Oregon talking to a big, black, gorgeous wolf. And maybe I’m just dreaming. I do a lot of that,” she added as she rose. “Maybe everyone’s right and I do too much dreaming.”

She crossed to the dresser and took a pair of pajamas from the drawer. “I guess it’s pretty pitiful when your dreams are the most interesting part of your life. I really want to change that. I don’t mean I have to climb mountains or jump out of planes …”

He stopped listening—and he had listened all along. But now, as she spoke, she tugged the navy sweatshirt she wore over her head and began to unbutton the simple plaid shirt beneath.

He stopped hearing the words as she slipped the shirt off, stood folding the sweatshirt, wearing only a lacy white bra and jeans.