In one deft move, he popped the button free on her shorts and unzipped her. The backs of his fingers brushed her navel, scorching like fire as he delved inside her panties, his touch swift, sure, taking. He probed between her curls, playing with her, brushing the spot hidden within the folds of her sex. She jerked at the contact, moaning, and parted her legs wider.

He groaned, dipping his head close, long strands of dark blond hair brushing her face. Finding her clitoris, he rolled it between his fingers, exerting enough pressure to make her shudder against his hand.

“Definitely hot for it.” He thrust a finger deep inside her. Her head fell back, a silent scream lodged in her throat.

“God, you’re tight,” he muttered, easing in a second finger, stretching her, the pleasure a sweet pain that built the tension inside her.

“See.” His voice rolled over her, drugging, hypnotic. “You don’t want to go anywhere.”

His words sunk into her brain, a wash of cold where there had been nothing but heat before. She jerked away, his hand slipping from her gaping shorts. The backs of her knees bumped the bed, stopping her from total retreat.

The hand that had caressed her fell limply to his side. For several moments she could only stare at those fingers that had wreaked total havoc on her, longing for them to do so again. Horrified at herself, at her reaction to him, she squeezed her eyes in one tight blink. Get a grip, Claire.

“I can’t let you leave,” he repeated, regarding her with grim resolve, reminding her that while she might have been caught up in her body’s reaction, he was still someone who believed she was a werewolf.

Instinct gave way then.

Her leg lashed out with lightning speed, striking him directly between his legs. He hit the ground like a slab of stone. Snatching hold of her suitcase, she ran for the door, not allowing herself a moment of regret.

His groan reverberated on the air and she winced, wondering if shooting him would not have perhaps been more merciful.

Gideon downed the last of the tepid 7-Eleven coffee and wadded the paper cup into a ball. With a curse, he tossed it to the passenger floorboard.

Where the hell was she?

When he got his hands on her…

It was his own damn fault, he reminded himself. He let his guard down, forgot what she was. Her sexuality overwhelmed him. Made him forget everything save burying himself in her body. Her lycan instincts were no less at her disposal just because she was unaware of their existence. Her bolting-fast reflexes and powerful kick could attest to that—as did four packs of ice and half a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol.