Hot Blooded

have to take a few months off,
while he heals. But after that, I may just join you." She stared deeply into his
deep, brown eyes. "I love all you are, Samuel. All of you. I love your wolf
side, your wild side, and I swear I'll always keep your secrets."
    "Just as I'll keep yours. I love you, too, Jenny."
    He kissed her deeply, passionately, held her tight to his body as he lowered
them both to the ground. As he peeled away her clothes, and she tugged at the
shawl that covered him, Jenny heard him growl. She growled right back, and
nipped his lip with her teeth as he moved his body to cover hers.
    Somewhere in the distance, she heard a wolf howl.
    And a few minutes later, she joined in the song.

The Night Owl
EMMA HOLLY
    Â 
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----
    Â 
    To Suzanne Powell, animal-lover extraordinaire
    Â 

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Chapter 1
    Â« ^ »
    THE naked man stood at the edge of the forest, looking back over one
broad shoulder at Mariann. His hands were braced on a tree trunk and he was
leaning forward, as if he were a runner she'd caught stretching out his calves.
Partly obscuring her view, his long, dark hair spilled over rugged musculature
to his waist.
    It was night. She should not have been able to see him, but light shone
from him in the darkness, a scintillation of moonlike shine. Whatever the source
of the glow, it made his beautiful form even more distinct. His hips were
narrow, his buttocks a tight, lip-licking curve. One of his statue-perfect legs
was bent. In the space between his thighs, she could just make out the hang of
his scrotum.
    Watching him, wanting him, Mariann's body tightened with awareness.
Fingers curled against her urge to touch, she swallowed and took a step. She
knew there had to be a reason she could not see the rest.
    The man knew the reason. He smiled with wicked self-assurance. "I've been
waiting for you," he said. "Don't you want to come with me?"
    Â 
    "CRAP," sighed Mariann O'Faolain as her old-fashioned, windup alarm clock
started jangling at 3 A.M.
    Her body pulsed with frustration. The last thing she wanted was to shake off
her dream. It was, after all, the closest she'd come to getting lucky in the
last six months. But that was no reason to hug the pillow. Rolling over, she
slapped the ringing silent with a single blow, then blinked into the country
dark.
    I'm a vampire, she thought, breaking into a crooked grin. Up with the moon
and down with the sun.
    Her mood improved, she threw the sheets off with a flourish no one was there
to see. She had half an hour to shower, dress, suck down a mug of espresso and
feed her cat. Then it was off to O'Faolain's, to get in a few uninterrupted
hours of baking before the first of the muffin-and-coffee crowd stumbled in.
Mariann enjoyed her customers, but she loved baking even more. How could she
not? For nearly forty years O'Faolain's had been her second home—more of a home,
in fact, than the suburban rambler she'd grown up in. As to that, her current
residence, a drafty, nineteenth-century clapboard farmhouse inherited from her
grandparents, was much closer to her heart. Fake wood paneling and two-car
garages would never be Mariann's style.
    Her mind ticking away at her to-do lists, she barely noticed she'd been in
and out of the bathroom until she unwound the sopping towel from her mop of
tight black curls. A fresh white T-shirt, courtesy of Maynard's Laundry, no-iron
chinos, and a pair of sky-blue Keds comprised her uniform for the day—for every
day, actually, but Mariann couldn't be bothered to dress like some freaking
beanpole out of
Vogue
.
    She was a working girl, thank you very much. Comfortable and clean was good
enough for her, and naked was strictly for dreams!
    Her body still buzzed in memory as she clattered down the creaky stairs. The
stove light from the kitchen provided just enough light to see, and she promised
herself for the umpteenth time that she'd hire a carpenter to fix the missing
spindles on the railing. Her mind skimmed over the vow without a ripple. The
peaches had been fantastic this week: juicy, firm, their flesh a rich, ripe
yellow that made her mouth water by itself. She'd bake tartlets for the chamber
of commerce supper, and maybe whip up a batch of peach caramel ice cream.
    Ginger, she thought, pausing on the final tread to have a reverie. Ginger
would add the perfect bite.
    Coming back to herself with a snap, she skidded across the kitchen's cracked
green linoleum