Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

curtains, on the wide window. Half a dozen cardboard boxes formed a ragged pyramid in a corner. The beige-striped couch and two chairs seemed marooned on the forest green area rug, trying their best to look cozy.
    “Not exactly what you’re used to, I know,” Luke said. He stood beside me, hands in his pockets, as I surveyed the room.
    “Well,” I said. “It’s very…clean.”
    He laughed. “I can’t get real excited about decorating when I’m the only one who ever sees the place.” He slid a hand under my hair and caressed the back of my neck. “Now, if I could count on regular company, I’d make it more inviting.”
    I turned into his arms, letting my shoulderbag slide to the floor. We kissed, then I said, my voice muffled against his shoulder, “I should call home and tell them I’ll be a while getting back.”
    “Ah, I like the sound of that. The phone’s right there.” He pointed to a desk that also held a computer.
    If Mother’s Caller I.D. registered Luke’s number I would be barraged with questions. “I’ll use my cell phone,” I said, reaching for my shoulderbag.
    While I talked to Mother, Luke’s arms circled my waist from behind and he trailed kisses down the side of my neck. Somehow I managed to keep my voice cool and even.
    After I snapped the phone shut, Luke asked, “Want something to drink?”
    “Not a thing.” I dropped the phone into my purse and faced him.
    “How about a snack? I’ve got a bag of cookies that might still be fresh.”
    I laughed. “Very tempting, but no, thanks.”
    “I’m just trying to be a polite host,” he murmured against my ear.
    “Oh, Miss Manners would give you an A-plus.” Nuzzling his neck, I drew in the wonderful smell of his skin, like grass and wheat and clean air on a hot day.
    The top buttons of his blue shirt were open, showing a pale gray tee shirt with some sort of picture on it. With a fingertip I traced the outline of a canine ear. “What species are you wearing?”
    He grinned down at me as I undid the rest of the buttons to his waistline and pulled his shirt open. A gray wolf looked back at me with a disarmingly friendly expression. “A wolf fancier, huh?” I said. “I like wolves myself.”
    “Is that right?”
    He smoothly freed my shirt from my jeans waist and slipped a hand beneath it, onto my bare skin. His hand felt hot, but his touch made me shiver.
    “I went to the Wolf Sanctuary once,” I said, “and did the twilight howl thing.” I kissed his neck and ran my fingers up through his hair. It looked coarse but it felt silky. “You know, when they get the people and wolves howling together.”
    His tongue flicked my earlobe. “I’ve got a tape of wolf howls,” he said. “Want to hear it?”
    “Well, I had my heart set on seeing your etchings—”
    “The tape’s in the bedroom.” 
    “What luck.”
    His bedroom looked as unfinished as the living room. The bed was made with white sheets and a couple of pillows. We removed our shoes and stretched out, propped on our elbows, the tape player between us. The glow from the lamp behind him turned Luke’s hair a soft gold.
    From the recording a single wolf’s voice lifted in a long deep-throated undulating howl. One by one other voices joined in, rising and falling in an ecstatic chorus, like a gospel choir at Sunday service, carried away by the joy of being alive.
    I began to howl with them, and so did Luke, both of us lying back and baying at the ceiling until we burst out laughing.
    “The neighbors are going to call the cops,” he sputtered. “God only knows what they think we’re doing in here.”
    He clicked the tape player off and laid it on the bedside table, his laughter settling to a smile. He drew his thumb across my lips and looked into my eyes for a long time. “Are you sure about this?” he said at last.
    Was I? A stab of fear made me hesitate. But then I said, “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”
    We undressed each other slowly, fabric slipping over skin, hands exploring. No one had ever touched me the way Luke did, lingering, savoring the fullness of my breast in his palm, the curve of my hips, tasting the hollow at the base of my throat.
    I moaned shamelessly as he kissed my nipples, my stomach, my thighs, and I cried out when he touched his tongue to the ache between my legs.
    When he slid inside me a sharp flash of alarm froze me and I jerked my head aside so he wouldn’t see my face.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked hoarsely. “Look at me,