Calla knew just what Guthrie wanted—to kiss her as if they’d been on a date, which they hadn’t been. Just because they’d shared some wine and talked a little about past relationships earlier, that didn’t mean anything, although she was feeling relaxed and comfortable with him. And she felt sexy in her toga. That didn’t mean they should kiss or anything. Probably shouldn’t. Yes, she was certain they shouldn’t.

So why was she eagerly waiting for him to do something?

Rebound, she kept reminding herself. She wasn’t going to encourage him in any way—not by mannerism, speech, or eye contact. Nothing. And then he smiled. And she smiled back.

And that was it.

They quickly closed the distance between them, though she didn’t remember moving. But she must have because she wasn’t standing next to the sofa any longer and their lips were melded together as if they were meant to be that way. The wine on his lips and tongue tasted as divine as he did. His hands were on her bare shoulders, holding her in place while he worked miracles with his kisses.

He swept his mouth over her jaw and down her neck, and licked the hollow of her throat, making her tingle with his touch. Standing next to the fire, she was burning up, scorched inside and out by his sensuous kisses. His warm mouth stroked across her bare shoulder, his hands holding her still, lest she melt onto the sofa. She felt ready to collapse, and she was afraid of where this might lead.

Wolves could not have sex without mating for life. It was a condition of their wolf nature. It wasn’t a moral issue, but the natural order of things, an inborn trait, a way to continue their lupus garou species, just like strictly wolves continued theirs.

Yet, damn, if she didn’t want to take this all the way with Guthrie. Not to mate with him, but to satisfy a sexual craving she couldn’t deny. They were both breathing hard, their hearts pounding, their pheromones kicking each other’s into higher gear—and she knew she had to stop this. He was getting close to brushing his mouth against her breast, her nipples surely visible beneath the silky gown, as aroused as she was already.

She should have reminded him that she was tired and going to bed, yet she barely breathed as his warm breath caressed her breast.

He brushed his cheek against her aroused breast and she touched his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. Her breath hitched as she waited for him to take her nipple in his mouth. The feel of his warm face rubbing against it, the silky fabric of her toga sliding over it made her wet for him.

She kept telling herself they couldn’t go too far, yet she wanted to pull down the top of her toga, letting it fall over her gold braided belt, to bare herself to him.

His hand cupped her breast and he moved his mouth back to hers, his thumb sliding over the nipple, teasing it. His tongue pushed between her lips, and she sucked him in like a ravenous wolf, making him moan. She ground her hips against him, wanting to feel his arousal. His cock was as hard now as it had been when he’d been pressed against her under the Christmas tree. Despite knowing they shouldn’t indulge in the fantasy, she didn’t want to stop—couldn’t stop.

His thumb was doing wicked things to her nipple, just as she moved wickedly against his erection.

Then he pulled away and she wanted to scream, “Don’t stop!”

His green eyes were cloudy with lust, his look unreadable otherwise, and she thought for a moment he was worried about taking things too far. But then he looked down at her breasts, leaned down, and licked a nipple through the fabric of her toga, and oh my God, she thought she would come right then and there. She’d never experienced anything so erotic in her life.

He pulled down the shoulder-less part of the gown and massaged her bare breast with his big hand, while he suckled her other nipple through the fabric.

Somehow he’d maneuvered her back to the soft sofa.

The next thing she knew, he was pulling her gown off the other breast and then his mouth was again on it—the sensation of his tongue and mouth touching her flesh too pleasurable for words.

He paused, taking her in with his hot-blooded gaze, then held her face in his hands, his touch tender.

He was waiting for her to tell him how far she wanted to take this. Surprised, she hesitated. She was used to Baird lunging right ahead, even if she wasn’t quite ready.

With Guthrie, she wanted this. She appreciated how he took her feelings into consideration and allowed her to set the pace and boundaries. She should have pulled up her gown, smiled sweetly, said her good night, and vamoosed back to the safety of her guest bedchamber.

Instead, her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. The next thing she knew, she was pulling off his wool sweater and he was helping her. He tossed it onto another part of the sectional sofa, and then she helped him off with his shirt.

Chest to chest they began kissing again, her hands on his back, his on her arms, sliding, caressing, enjoying the intimacy. She ran her hands over his hard muscles rippling beneath her fingertips.

It didn’t take long before he leaned her back onto the sofa, his leg wedged between hers. Keeping most of his weight off her, he kissed her mouth with ardent enthusiasm, their breathing heavy, his tongue and hers passionately dueling.

His hand swept down her leg once, twice, his warm fingers sizzling against her skin, sliding the silky fabric up her thigh, making her feel erotically sexy. He took deep breaths, smelling how wet she was for him, how much she wanted him. It could only turn him on more—wolf that he was. He slid his hand down her thigh again, except this time he pulled her gown up slowly, seductively, his hand brushing it up so that his touch against her skin continued to scald her.