“Only if I get the same treat,” he said, walking toward her, hand slowly popping the buttons on his shirt open.

“Oh don’t worry, by the time you pass out, you’ll know where all my tattoos are.”

He stopped for a moment and laughed. “I do like your sense of humor, Tracy.”

“If it gets you naked faster, I’ve got loads more material up here.” She tapped her temple and he grinned just before he let his shirt fall from his body and stood there, candlelight gleaming off his skin. Like most wolves whose ancestors came to the Americas in the Diaspora, his roots were southern European. His hair was dark and his skin had an olive tone.

His upper body was perfectly proportioned. Wide shoulders with layers of hard, compact muscle tapered into a V shape with a narrow waist and flat abdomen. He had just the right amount of hair on his chest, not too much but not hairless either.

“My. What a lucky wolf I am. The pants too,” she murmured as she took the sight of him in.

He unbuckled his belt, undid his pants and let them slide to the floor and shoved the boxer briefs down.

To say that he was well endowed would be an understatement. She’d only seen the briefest of glimpses of his c**k earlier and had certainly felt it fill her up, but the whole package made her a bit lightheaded.

“Do you like what you see?”

She nodded mutely. There were no words and even if there were, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to form them in the dryness of her mouth. He was beautiful. Beautiful and masculine and big and strong and oh-so tough. She shivered at the sight of him. She saw him notice her reaction and his smile in return was filled with sexy promise.

“Now you. Show me your tattoos.”

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she yanked it up and over her head, tossing it to the side. She’d toed off her boots in the other room and now she unceremoniously shucked her jeans, panties and socks.

“Damn but you’re gorgeous. Those freckles like sprinkled cinnamon across your nose and cheeks belie the naughty girl the piercings expose. I like that.” He approached her and cupped her br**sts. “And these little br**sts are delicious.”

If anyone else had said “little br**sts” to her, she’d have died on the spot, but coming from him, it was a compliment.

He traced a finger to her shoulder where one of her tattoos was. “This is pretty.”

“It’s in the old language. It means ‘liberation’.”

He laved his tongue over it and she shivered.

“And this one?” he asked, touching the one at the inside of her hip.

“That one is Sheela Na Gig. A goddess of life.”

“Hmm, very fitting.” He traced the outline of the little round goddess. “Where else?”

She held out her wrists and showed him the insides. Those tattoos, too, were in the old language. “This one is destiny. And this one is courage.” He pressed a kiss to each one and those eyes pulled back to her own again.

She turned slowly and looked back at him over her shoulder. “That one is a raven.”

He bent to look at it more closely. It was more than that, it was a raven on the back of a wolf. “This is beautiful, Tracy.”

“Thank you. When I was ten I had this series of dreams and I kept changing into a raven and as the raven has such a big part to play in our own mythological structure, it’s always stuck with me as sort of my touchstone animal.”

In werewolf mythology, the raven was the source of knowledge, a guide in all things.

He couldn’t quite believe how utterly turned on he was by her body. He’d never in a million years been attracted to women with piercings and tattoos and yet this one turned him on past bearing. He loved that edge about her, loved her naughtiness, and it made him feel that way too. Certainly he was no prude but he’d never had sex outside in a hedge maze. He’d never seen a tattoo on someone and wanted to lick it.

Unable to resist, he licked each tiny dimple at the base of her spine and she gasped. Standing, he moved around her, so hard his c**k tapped his stomach. “Champagne and chocolate and a bath await you.”

Stepping in, he held out a hand and she took it, letting him help her into the tub. Sitting in the water across from him, she sighed, her eyes going half-lidded. “This bathtub is something else. My house was built in the Forties, the bathtub is very utilitarian. This is a sex bathtub.”

“It is with you in it. I can’t say I’ve used it for sex or taking a bath even. But seeing you here with the water running down your body, all wet and glistening, makes me reevaluate my position on that.”

He handed her a glass of champagne and touched his own to it. “To us.”

“To us,” she echoed back and took a drink. “Very nice.”

“Thank you. I’ve had this bottle since I graduated from business school. I’m glad I had something worthy of you.”

“Flatterer. You’re so getting lucky.”

He looked surprised for a moment and then laughed. “I already have.”

He picked up a chocolate from the gold box and moved toward her with it. Thinking he’d feed it to her, she leaned in.

“Oh no, I’m eating this one,” he said as he brushed the truffle over a hard nipple, smearing it across her flesh. Because they already had a high body core temperature and the water was so warm, it melted against her skin, a ribbon of chocolate trickling down her nipple.

“Mmmmm,” she murmured inarticulately. She’d been about to say it was a waste of good Godiva chocolate but she changed her mind when his tongue swirled around her areola to taste it and her too.