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 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 en couragement. 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 pressed me against the wall, nuzzling my neck as I shuddered and gasped.
"Speed record?" he asked.
"For us? Probably not."
He chuckled and kept kissing my neck, inhaling deeply, telling me how good I smelled, how much he'd missed me, how much he loved me, until the distant clang of a door had us jumping apart.
"No sign of Reese here," I said as I pulled my jeans back on.
"You can tell Jeremy we checked every nook and cranny. Now time for that run."
FIRST WE HAD to get the luggage and rental car. As much as Clay disliked dealing with people, I sent him for the car, since Clay and crowded baggage claims really don't mix. If someone picks up one of our bags by accident, his territorial instinct kicks in. Usually one glower makes the offender drop it and scuttle away, but on our last trip, a guy tried to take off with my bag even after I politely suggested it might not be his, and Clay... well, it was really best for all if I got the luggage alone.
Having also seen a young woman at the car-rental booth made the task-splitting decision that much easier. Jeremy would have reserved us a decent vehicle, but we can always use a free upgrade... and Clay gets a lot of free upgrades--double butter on his popcorn, an extra-large coffee when he orders medium, high-test fuel for the price of regular. I think it has something to do with being drop-dead gorgeous. Muscular body, chiseled face, bright blue eyes, golden curls. At forty-seven he looks midthirties, which is no longer a "hot young thing," but apparently a "hot mature thing" is still serious catnip.
Clay hates attracting attention of any kind, and to him, when he has a wedding band on his finger, attention of that kind is an insult. He makes no secret of his feelings, which only seems to earn him more freebies and upgrades, as women try harder to coax a smile.
"They were out of Explorers," Clay said as he met me pulling the luggage. "We got an Expedition."
"Uh-huh."
"And this." He held up a navigation system. "It was some kind of monthly deal."
"Did they have any free T-shirts? Ball caps? Travel mugs?"
"Nah. Got some maps, though." He held up a handful. "Good ones."
"Monthly deal?"
"Guess so."
We found our vehicle--a massive SUV with tinted windows.
"We didn't need to find a quiet corner inside," I said. "We could have just crawled in the back of this."
"Huh." He opened the hatch and looked in. "Could try it out..."
"I'm sure we will. Later. Right now, I want my run, followed by my postrun romp. Once took the edge off. Twice would spoil my appetite."
"Wouldn't want that," he said, and heaved our bags in.
THE PRESUMED WOLF kills had both occurred about twenty miles south of Anchorage, so with my laptop open to a newspaper article's rough map, we headed out, planning to run in the same general area in hopes of picking up a wolf or werewolf scent.