Page 13 of Enchanted
The taste of male skin, the hot slide of it over her own. Needs rocketing through the mind to be met and met again until the beauty of it brought tears.
She’d never experienced anything like that, not even in life. How could she find it in dreams?
And why should she go to sleep with a wolf and dream of a man?
Of Liam.
She knew it had been Liam. She could all but feel the shape of his mouth on hers. But how could that be? she wondered, tracing a fingertip over her lips. How could she be so sure she knew just what it would be like to meet his mouth with hers?
“Because you want to,” she murmured, opening her eyes to meet those in the mirror again. “Because you want him and you’ve never wanted anyone else like this. And, Rowan, you moron, you don’t have the slightestidea how to make it happen, except in dreams. So that’s where it happens for you. Psychology 101—real basic stuff.”
Not certain if she should be amused or appalled at herself, she dressed, went down to brew her morning coffee. Snug in her sweater, she flung open the windows to the cool, fresh air left behind by the rain.
She thought, without enthusiasm, about cereal or toast or yogurt. She had a yen for chocolate chip cookies, which was absurd at barely eight in the morning, so she told herself. Dutifully she opened the cupboard for cereal, then slammed it shut.
If she wanted cookies, she would have them. And, with a grin on her face and a gleam in her eye, she began to drag out ingredients. She slopped flour, scattered sugar on the counter. And mixed with abandon. There was no one to see her lick dough from her fingers. No one to gently remind her that she should tidy up between each step of the process.
She made an unholy mess.
Dancing with impatience, she waited for the first batch to bake. “Come on, come on. I’ve got to have one.” The minute the buzzer went off, she grabbed the cookie sheet, dropped it on the top of the stove, then scooped up the first cookie with a spatula. She blew on it, slipped it off and tossed it from hand to hand. Still she burned her tongue on hot, gleaming chocolate as she bit in. And, rolling her eyes dramatically, she swallowed with a hedonistic groan.
“Good job. Really good job. More.”
She ate a dozen before the second batch was baked.
It felt decadent, childish. And wonderful.
When the phone rang, she popped the next batch in, and lifted the receiver with doughy fingers. “Hello?”
“Rowan. Good morning.”
For a moment the voice meant nothing to her; then, with a guilty start, she realized it was Alan. “Good morning.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, no. I’ve been up quite a while. I’m …” She grinned and chose another cookie. “Just having breakfast.”
“Glad to hear it. You tend to skip too many meals.”
She put the whole cookie into her mouth and talked around it. “Not this time. Maybe the mountain air”—she managed to swallow—“stimulates my appetite.”
“You don’t sound like yourself.”
“Really?” I’m not myself, she wanted to say. I’m better. And I’m not nearly finished yet.
“You sound a little giddy. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m wonderful.” How could she explain to this solid and serious man with his solid and serious voice that she’d been dancing in the kitchen eating cookies, that she’d spent the evening with a wolf, that she’d had erotic dreams about a man she barely knew?
And that she wouldn’t change a moment of any of those experiences.
“I’m getting lots of reading done,” she said instead. “Taking long walks. I’ve been doing some sketching, too. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it. It’s a gorgeous morning. The sky’s unbelievably blue.”
“I checked the weather for your area last night. There were reports of a severe thunderstorm. I tried to call, but your lines were out.”
“Yes, we had a storm. That’s probably why it’s so spectacular this morning.”
“I was worried, Rowan. If I hadn’t been able to reach you this morning, I was going to fly to Portland and rent a car.”
