Excerpt from Skinwalker's Woman

copyright 2013 Fran Lee

 

It wasn’t a long way to his cabin. Normally he preferred to run naked, but he didn’t suppose a Łigai Izdzán would feel comfortable if a strange man appeared out of nowhere stark naked. He didn’t want to send the nice Anglo woman screaming back to her car. If anything, his looks would do that without adding his intimidating nudity.

 

As he approached the cabin, he could see the big Caddy SUV parked in the long grass. He could smell the acrid stench of burnt oil and hot metal. He could smell his visitor’s barely-there floral perfume, and her sweet female sweat. He caught a tantalizing whiff of her warm skin, the mint toothpaste she’d used that morning…and the frustration that bled off her in waves. She was not a happy camper. He moved silently as he stepped onto the porch. The soft soles of his mocs made no sound. The door was ajar and he gently shoved it wider, leaning against the worn frame as his eyes slid appreciatively over the curvy woman who was rifling through his old chest of drawers, her slim hands holding up a pair of his well-worn boxers. He barely held back a groan.  

 

If the thought of a woman in his place hadn’t already given him the hard-on from hell, the sight of her fondling his shorts definitely would have. Zeke Itsá Łigai had lived alone out here for a damn long time. It felt unreal to see a woman standing here. His cock rose to greet her. He clenched his teeth to keep from groaning at the pain it gave him. His old, worn jeans suddenly seemed way too fucking tight. He swallowed the thickness in his throat but his long-unused voice still seemed to be someone else’s when he spoke.

 

She jerked upright and whirled so quickly that those long, coltish legs got all tangled up and she nearly tumbled onto his bed. The mental image of her sprawled across his bed left him even harder. His dream.

 

Definitely not Anglo. He noted those wide, chocolate-brown eyes and the delicious blush that suffused her sun-kissed cheeks, coming up from the neckline of her sweat-damp shirt. Native American. Not Navajo or Zuni. Certainly not Apache. More likely Northern Plains. Maybe Cheyenne. Maybe Sioux. But it didn’t matter. She was so far out of his league, it seriously sucked.

 

Just his luck to find a woman in his place and know she wasn’t one he could ever hope to have. Yet…His mouth watered for a taste of that soft, perfect skin. He slowly eased his body away from the door frame and watched her lift her hands to her cheeks as if to cool them. But it wasn’t fear in her eyes. It was something else entirely. And those eyes lit a fire deep in his belly.

 

“Oh God. You live here?” Her voice was a rich contralto with a refined accent. He nodded, taking a slow step through the open door before easing it closed, leaving the interior of his cabin in semi-darkness. He could sense the hectic emotions rising in her. The heat of her racing pulse. The warm scent of her hair. The heady, sweet musk of her body. He inhaled deeply. Panic and arousal warred inside her for supremacy. Arousal.  Something he had never before scented on a woman who had looked at him. Surprisingly, she seemed to like what she saw, but she was afraid as well. Now that was his normal effect on women. Usually the fear won. And when that happened, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

 

He wasn’t good with women. He wanted to ask why she had come. He couldn’t make his words come out right as those beautiful eyes moved rapidly down his body and back to his face. He calmed his instincts, because they didn’t make sense—his instincts told him she was there for him.

 

That she was his.