Frostbitten Read Online Free PDF Page A

passengers stuck to drinks and peanuts, but no werewolf turned down food, however strange the time. While we ate, Clay talked about the symposium. Then I gave him another update—this one on Reese Williams.
     
    Again, our conversation might sound odd to anyone listening, but as long as we didn’t mention the W word, they’d fluff off my talk of fights and chases as a movie plot discussion. Most people were asleep anyway, as was I after dinner and a glass of wine.
     
    While I napped, Clay read the Alaskan tourism information I’d downloaded earlier. Surrounded by strangers, he couldn’t relax his guard enough to shut his eyes.
     
    When I woke, I looked down to see city lights below.
     
    “Still night?” I said, yawning. “What time—?” I checked my watch. “It’s past six. Where’s the sun?”
     
    “It’s past five local time, and it’s Alaska, darling.”
     
    “Shit. That’s right. Duh. So when can we expect to see the sun?”
     
    “It’ll start rising around eight-thirty, but won’t get over those mountains for a while. An earlier daylight saving time doesn’t do them any favors here.”
     
    “No kidding.”
     
    I could make out the city below, nestled in a valley, surrounded on three sides by snowy mountains and the fourth by the ocean. Beyond those lights of civilization? Miles of wilderness.
     
    I smiled. “Uncharted territory.”
     
    “The best kind.” Clay shifted closer, hand resting on my thigh as he looked out the window. “Still too dark to get to work, checking out those kills or looking for Dennis. We’ll have to find other things to do.”
     
    “We could go to the hotel and get some sleep…”
     
    He snorted.
     
    “Sex or a run?” I asked.
     
    “Do I have to pick one?”
     
    I grinned. “Never.”

 
PLAYTIME
     
    Once in the terminal, naturally we had to check for Reese, in case his flight had been delayed or he’d decided to hang out here rather than pay for an extra night’s hotel room. We went in search of all the secluded, tucked-away places he could hide. Unfortunately, post-9/11 these places are increasingly hard to come by in airports.
     
    “Goddamn it,” Clay muttered after our third possibility proved to be staffed by a security camera. “Where the hell is a mutt supposed to hole up around here?”
     
    Before he stormed down the car-rental hall, I caught his arm and I pointed to a sign warning of construction ahead.
     
    “About time,” he grumbled.
     
    He hurdled over the barrier, pushed back the tarp and disappeared. I waited for any indication that the coast wasn’t clear—screams, shouts, foul language—then followed. When I caught up, Clay stood beside a pile of drywall, his head tilted, nose lifted, trying to catch the sound or smell of workers.
     
    I turned down a side passage. It was short, ending at a—a locked door. I was considering the wisdom of snapping the lock when Clay strode up behind. He caught me around the hips, flipping me around, mouth going to mine.
     
    He kissed me hard. Lips crushing. Hands grabbing. Fingers digging in. The smell of him filling my nostrils, thick and heady as hashish smoke. Brain spinning. Body screaming. Hands pulling his shirt up. Fingers gripping his sides. Skin to skin, touching, stroking, making that connection I’d missed so much.
     
    A growl vibrated up from his chest, coming out in a long, low moan. Fingers in my hair. Winding. Pulling. Kissing harder. Teeth scraping. Tongue tasting.
     
    His hands dropped to my waist. Button flicking. Zipper whirring. The chill blast of air against hot skin. The rough rasp of jeans shoved down. Warm fingers moving under my panties. Tugging. Fabric catching, pulling, stretching. A growl. A rip. A laugh.
     
    Hands on my thighs, pushing them apart, as if I needed the encouragement. Back against wall. Wriggling. Straddling. Legs over hips. Come on, come on! Then…
     
    Oh, God, yes. God, I missed you. God, I love you. Yes, please, yes…
     
    Clay