Legs suddenly too wobbly to support herself, she slid down the wall in a boneless pile. Her entire body shook. Yet strangely enough, not from fear. Her body thrummed for sexual release. She ached in places that had never experienced sensation before. Another second and she would have torn off her robe and pounced on him, wrested off his clothes, and explored that throbbing erection she had felt at her backside. What the hell was wrong with her?

With only one past lover, she didn’t feel those sensations. She hardly ever had. She didn’t have those needs. She didn’t indulge in primitive urges. They were things other women felt. Not her. Those urges were too wild, too primitive, too beastly. Especially to feel for a self-professed killer who broke in to her apartment and spouted insane allegations.

His smell swirled around her as if he were still in the room. She even thought she heard the echo of his steps well past her apartment door now.

She rose and moved toward the phone sitting on her bedside table, thinking she would call the police. Her hand hovered over it for a moment before pulling back. What would she tell them? Some guy returned her purse and warned her that she was going to turn into a werewolf on the next full moon? They’d lock her away, and then where would she be?

Besides, Claire had other problems. Like finding out what had happened to Lenny. No way did she accept that he was dead. He probably just took to the streets to get away from his foster father. And she needed to come up with an explanation for missing Sunday dinner. The flu seemed the easiest excuse. The way her body ached and throbbed, she certainly felt as though she were recovering from some malady.

Monday was off to an ominous start and she wasn’t taking any chances. Picking up the phone, she called the automated substitute system and reported her absence for the day.

She ended the call and made her way back to the mirror. The stranger with the wild, silver eyes was still there, waiting for her, preventing her from hiding and pretending everything was okay. As much as she longed to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over her head, and forget Gideon March, her desire-flushed face and tingling body wouldn’t let her.

She could, however, take care of one nagging ache, even if it wasn’t the bewildering, unwelcome ache between her legs. Grabbing her purse off the bed, she headed for the nearest Krispy Kreme.

CHAPTER FOUR

Self-grooming is an instinctive trait for many species, most often employed when trying to attract a mate.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs