Stranded with a Cajun Werewolf Read Free

against him for the better part of 250 years. He’d learned to keep his head down, his nose clean, and say no to distractions.
    After wrestling the door open at the top of the stairs and juggling the pixie in his arms, a blast of warm air enveloped him. Thank goodness for small favors. His housekeeper had gotten here before the storm to turn the heat on. Who knew how long before the storm killed the power, but he’d certainly enjoy it right now.
    Closing the door behind him, he stepped into the living room, sniffing the air. He glanced around, trying to hear over the howling wind outside. A single table lamp lit the space.
    Nothing appeared out of place. Except for the woman in his arms.
    He couldn’t help but glance down then. Her pale skin and threadbare clothes fired his protective nature again. He had no idea what he should do with her but found himself not wanting to let her out of his sight. Which was crazy. The most ridiculous idea he'd had since...in a long time. He should just put her in her own room and call for help and be done with it.Right. That's what he'd do.
    Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment and he held his breath, scrutinizing every tiny movement. Then those aqua eyes pegged him again and his breath came whooshing out.
    She looked totally out of it. Tired, sleepy, traumatized. But she didn’t panic in his arms.
    Perhaps she didn’t—
    “Are you an angel?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
    Her question startled a laugh from him. Damn, it felt good to laugh. For a man who prided himself on his easy-going nature, he'd been far too tense these last few months.
    “I’ve been called many things, but never an angel.” I was the guy cursing at you as you almost ran me off the road. I'm the idiot who can’t stop wondering who you are and what you're running away from. And I’m the man who can’t stop looking at your lips, wondering what they’ll taste like.
    A hint of a smile curved her lips and she laid a hand over his heart. “A fallen angel?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I read a book about fallen angels once,” she murmured, her voice husky. “They're supposed to be incredibly hand—some.” During that pause she opened her eyes and snatched her hand back as if she'd suddenly realized what she was saying.
    “Is that right?” he murmured, lost in the moment. “As far as I know, I'm no fallen angel.”
    “Mmm hmm.” Then, as if her brief outburst was all the energy she could spare, she went limp in his arms again, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks.
    The lamp flickered. He watched it, willing the bulb to remain on. Burke had roughed it in much worse situations. The question was, had Kendall?
    Standing in the middle of the living room he glanced from the rustic log stairs to the master bedroom door. Take her upstairs, he told himself.
    Her breath fanned against his neck again. Practicality won out over his need for sanctuary. At least, that’s what he was telling himself as he headed for his bedroom. Why heat the whole house when he could heat one room?
    As he laid her on the big bed and tucked his jacket around her, he glanced at the ring finger on her left hand and found it bare. Did she not wear a wedding ring or was she not married?

    Her marital status doesn’t matter, Deveraux.
    Gin stood at the patio door and gave an impatient bark. Burke took three steps across the room and let the big dog outside. Gin paused on the covered terrace looking out at the thick blanket of snow. He glanced back at Burke and then darted off, a singular black dot in a blizzard of white.
    Burke pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked the reception. Still nothing.
    A moan drew his attention back to the beauty sleeping in his bed. Her eyes fluttered behind closed lids. Everything about her called to him. Cried out for his protection and warmth. Begged him to wrap his arms around her and sooth away her fears.
    But he’d fallen for that before. He’d allowed himself to be