Priceless

not be thinking about. The feel of her skin, the flush in her cheeks, the curve of her ass under his hand. What was wrong with him? Ever since the . . . incident at the farmhouse, he couldn’t get her out of his head, couldn’t stop the thoughts of her naked and writhing below him—maybe didn’t want to. He’d been crawling across the bed toward her. Was this what that blue and green stuff they’d shot at him was doing? That spell? He scoffed at the idea and then his thoughts swung back to Adamson.
    In an attempt to take his mind, and better yet the mind between his legs, off her and to gain back some control, he flicked on the TV. And there he was in full living colour, a wanted man, armed and dangerous, charged with gunning down his own partner and possibly kidnapping one Rylee Adamson.
    “Ah crap,” he muttered, turning the TV up slightly, the clear voice of the female news anchor making his ears buzz. All he could see was that as beautiful as she was, there was no comparison to his girl.
    Everything around him froze. His girl?
    Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried desperately to make sense of what was happening to him. Bullets swerving, magic spells and werewolves? It sounded like a bad joke at a geek convention.
    He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Adamson thought she had a cure for what ailed him. A part of him hoped she did. The other very vocal part wanted nothing to do with any sort of a cure. For the first time in his life, passion overruled his better senses and, though logically he knew it, surprisingly it wasn’t bothering him as much as it should have.
    Eyes closed, he could see her clear as day, smiling up at him; he tasted her lips under his, watched those amazing eyes light up just for him.
    “I am in so much trouble,” he said softly.
    From the bathroom came an unexpected reply from Alex. “You’s in trouble.”
    Yes, when even a werewolf could see you were sinking fast, it had to be bad.
    *-*-*-*
    Lugging three grocery bags back up to the room, I stumbled when the door opened for me.
    O’Shea had his shirt un-buttoned and his hair was a mess. “Alex heard you coming.”
    The werewolf had not listened to me and was even now sitting on the window seat staring out at the traffic below.
    “Alex, stay away from the window.”
    He slumped and slid to the floor in a comical move that left him half sitting, half resting against the chair. I bit back the smile as I took in his chagrined face.
    I wasn’t surprised Alex alerted O’Shea.
    “Come on, Agent. Let’s get you into the bath.” I held up the plastic bags and jiggled them. “Then we’ve got to get out of here. If you can find me that easy, the pack won’t be far behind if they’re tracking us, and close behind the pack may be those little lovelies who locked me in the cellar and killed your partner.”
    I started the bath, the scent of wet dog lingering even with the bathroom fan on. Running the water on full hot, I poured six large containers of salt into the tiny tub. Looking over my shoulder, I considered the options. There weren’t any others. If we were going to break the spell on O’Shea, he was going to have to cram his overlarge frame into the standard-sized hotel bath. Tight fit was an understatement; it would be like jamming a werewolf into a Chihuahua’s winter sweater.
    “Come on, in you go.” I gestured to the tub.
    A smile quirked across O’Shea’s lips. Very slowly, he started to peel out of his clothes.
    “Clothes on big man,” I said. “The spell hit those too, and since we don’t have spare clothes in your size, everything’s getting dunked. The only thing we have to be grateful for is that it seems to have some sort of delay on it; otherwise, the spell would’ve had you in its grip far sooner.”
    His smile slipped, and I wondered at the thoughts whipping through that head of his without his usual control to keep things in line. I had a feeling he was going to be a mighty grouchy man when the spell was taken off him and he remembered how he’d been acting toward me.
    I laughed out loud at the thought. “I mean it, all of you in there.” I pointed at the tub, which seemed to be shrinking by the moment with O’Shea standing there beside it.
    With some difficulty, he squished into the nearly scalding water, a long hiss erupting out of him.
    “Too hot?” I kept my face a mask of innocence.
    “No, I like it.” Again his eyes roved over me. Buggers, maybe he really did have a thing