Tags: Erotic, Paranormal, Romance, BDSM
Nikita Ashton and Raoul Saint Germain have been friends for five years, so when Nikita is attacked, there is only one place she can run to—straight into Raoul's arms.
Raoul is the Alpha of his pack and he is furious that the woman he loves has been harmed on his territory. Were it not for the fact that Nikita does not believe in anything even remotely paranormal, his wolf would have claimed her aeons ago.
Nikita is in need of tender, loving care, not his baser needs that are threatening to overtake him.
However, when Nikita admits that she knows about his being in the lifestyle, the Dom in him cannot resist the challenge to make her his submissive.
Blissfully happy in their new Dom/sub relationship, everything changes when Nikita is kidnapped. Can Raoul get to her in time to save her life?
"We will have to have a conversation about this warped self-image of yours soon, but now is not the time or the place. You're a beautiful woman, Nikita, and anyone saying otherwise will have me to answer to. Now drop the robe and stop stalling, before I have to drag you to the hospital to get these properly checked over."
Nikita tensed at the mention of the hospital, and he chuckled.
"I'm not going to any damn hospital. You can't make me." She glared at him over her shoulder, and he quirked an eyebrow at her in that irritatingly superior way of his that always turned her insides aflutter. She dropped her gaze to his throat instead and immediately wished she hadn't. This close she could see him swallow, the movement of his Adam's apple strangely erotic, and her fingers itched to trace the veins down to the thatch of dark hair she could just about see in the V of his polo shirt. A shirt that clung to his muscular frame and only served to outline the bulging biceps, as he raised an arm to brush his dark hair out of his eyes. He was in need of a haircut, his hair longer than she had ever seen it, the perfect length to grab hold and…
Nikita bit her lip and shut her eyes for a second at the wayward direction her thoughts were taking.
"You know I hate hospitals. I don't ever want to go back there."
Hospitals meant death and grief, and she had sworn on her mother's death bed that she would never set foot in that place again, if she could help it. Unbidden, the tears fell as they always did when she thought of her mum, her grief still as fresh and raw as it had been two years ago.
Raoul made a rough sound in the back of his throat, and then his hands were cupping her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears.
"I'm sorry, squirt. That was thoughtless of me," he said.
She forced her eyes open, and the quiet compassion she saw in his azure gaze made her cry harder.
"No, I'm sorry. It's been two years. You'd think I wouldn't go into meltdown mode every time the hospital is even mentioned. Whoever said time is a great healer is a blasted liar, and I'm such a goddamn watering pot. Dammit, I'm sorry. That's the second time today I got you all wet."
Raoul laughed—a deep belly rumble that trembled through her until she had no choice but to smile back at him. He always managed to do that to her. One of the many reasons why she loved him.
Her heart clenched painfully, as the truth dawned on her. She did love him, and sometime over the last five years, that love had blossomed and deepened, until she couldn't imagine her life without him in it. Nikita wanted more, so much more, but he was her friend and only saw her as the little squirt he always pulled out of one scrap after the other.
"Don't you worry about me, squirt. Now drop that robe and hold still while I see to these."
Nikita did so, and a tense silence fell between them, only interspersed by their combined breathing. She winced a few times, as his nimble fingers smeared the ointment over her wounds, and he murmured his husky apologies. His hot breath skittered across her slick flesh, and Nikita swallowed her groan.
"What's in that stuff?" she finally asked to break the tension and to distract herself from the tingles of awareness his touch created.
"Oh, this and that. It's an old family recipe. It aids the healing process and staves off infection. Works better than any of that new fandangled mumbo jumbo as my grandfather would have said."
She heard the wistful note in his voice and turned slightly to see his expression. The action exposed her breasts, and she made a hasty grab for the robe to pull it up over her front. Again, Raoul's hands on her tightened and then released. He hastily wrenched his eyes up to her face and sat back on his haunches, before straightening up. She hadn't realized that he had been kneeling on the floor behind her, and the thought of this big strong man on his knees for her made her feel quite light-headed.
Raoul wiped his hands on the hand towel and then screwed the lid back on the old-fashioned jam jar that held the family ointment.
"We'll have to reapply that several times more overnight, for maximum effect, so I'm afraid you're stuck here with me for the foreseeable future."
"I don't want to impose on you, if—"
"Don't be an idiot." He cut off her protest with a wave of his large hand. "If you think for one minute that I would let you walk out of here, after what almost happened to you tonight, then you're insane. You're staying right here with me. You can take the bed, and I'll sleep on the couch."
"You can't sleep on the couch." The thought of his six foot five frame sandwiched on this couch was ridiculous. "You're far too big. I'll take the couch. I can't turf you out of your own bed."
"And you can't sleep on the couch. Your back needs tender care. It's not up for discussion. You're on my bed."
He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw, but Nikita was in no mood to back down from this. She could be just as stubborn if she had to be.
"Fine, then you'll sleep in there with me. I'm sure a man with your reputation has a nice big bed, and I won't take up much room at all." Her voice wavered slightly as his face grew murderous, but she plowed on regardless. "So that's sorted then."
"This is far from sorted." Raoul was growling again, and Nikita thanked the universe she was still seated, as she very much doubted her legs would have been able to carry her right now. He bent, putting his hands either side of her on the back of the couch, until she had to lean backwards to escape him.
"What reputation, squirt?"
Glutton for punishment would be a good description for Doris... at least that's what she hears on an almost daily basis when people find out that she has a brood of nine children, ranging from adult to toddler and lives happily in a far too small house, cluttered with children, pets, dust bunnies, and one very understanding and supportive husband. Domestic goddess she is not.
There is always something better to do after all, like working on the latest manuscript and trying not to scare the locals even more than usual by talking out loud to the voices in her head. Her characters tend to be pretty insistent to get their stories told, and you will find Doris burning the midnight oil on a regular basis. Only time to get any peace and quiet and besides, sleep is for wimps.
She likes to spin sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, BDSM to F/F, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.