Wolfe Wedding by Joan Hohl Read Free Book Online

mused, staring after him. But he didn’t. Quite the contrary, she realized. To her eyes, he appeared utterly natural, in his element, breathtaking and magnificent.
    The Lone Wolfe.
    Sandra shivered; her reaction owed nothing to the chill in the spring air.
    “Is it safe for me to come in?” Cameron called from the hallway. “Or are you clothing-armed and to be assumed dangerous?”
    “I’m unarmed, Officer,” she called back, suppressing an urge to giggle like a teenager. She felt good—wonderful. No, glorious, more vibrantly alive than she had ever felt before. “And I’m escaping into the shower,” she went on in sudden inspiration. “You won’t catch me, Copper.”
    Cameron burst into the room like a member of a SWAT team on a raid, immediately assuming the position, legs apart, knees slightly bent, arms extended straight out in front of him, hands clasped, as if around the butt of a revolver.
    Sandra’s expression of wide-eyed surprise was unfeigned; Cameron’s appearance, buck naked, in that familiar stance, was more than surprising, itwas flat-out hilarious. She clapped a hand over her lips to contain her laughter.
    “Don’t move, lady,” he ordered, in a low, menacing voice. “I’ve got you covered.”
    “Not yet,” she responded, laughing through her spread fingers. “But I do have hopes in that regard.”
    Cameron’s blue eyes glittered with sheer devilment. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into protective custody.” He indicated the bathroom with a quick movement of his head. “In there, lady.”
    “Whatever you say, Officer.” Tossing aside the nightshirt she’d pulled from a drawer along with her robe, which she’d been holding in front of her nude body, Sandra started toward the bathroom in a sashaying stroll. Glancing back over her shoulder, she gave him a smoldering look and a throaty invitation. “Walk this way.”
    “Well, if you insist,” he said doubtfully. “But I’m going to look pretty silly.” Lowering his arms, he straightened and crossed the room to her, mimicking her hip-swaying stroll.
    Sandra lost it.
    So did Cameron.
    Roaring in laughter, he swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom, there to indulge in what she would later decide was probablythe longest shower on record, possibly in history.
    She reveled in every minute of it.
    “That was wonderful.” Sandra patted her lips with a paper napkin, then dropped it onto her empty plate.
    Several hours had elapsed since their showerlovemaking marathon. Long spears of lateafternoon sunlight lent a mellow glow to the room.
    After an energy-restoring nap, they had dressed, picked up their clothing from the living room floor, unloaded and unpacked his gear, then headed for the kitchen for much-needed sustenance.
    Cameron had insisted on preparing the repast.
    “Thank you, ma’am. I aim to please.” He grinned at her over the rim of his coffee cup.
    “No, I’m serious,” she said. “That western omelet was perfect, golden brown outside, creamy inside. You really are a very good cook.”
    “Thanks again,” he said quietly, setting the cup on the table. “But I owe it all to my teacher.”
    Sandra’s eyes widened in surprise. “You went to a cooking school?”
    “No.” Cameron shook his head, dislodging a lock of hair as golden brown as the omelet had been. “My teacher was a mother who firmly believed that being born a male did not excuse a child from lessons in the basics of domesticity.” Hisquick, soft chuckle was threaded with loving remembrance. “She insisted that her sons be housebroken.”
    “Sons?” Sandra asked, suddenly realizing how very little she knew about him, this Lone Wolfe who was now her lover. “How many are there?”
    “Four.” He pushed back his chair and got up to walk to the countertop. Sliding the glass carafe from the heating plate of the coffeemaker, he returned to refill their cups. “I’m the eldest.”
    “Four sons,” she murmured