Thursday, October 26, 2006


Blurb: Werewolves mate for life. For every wolf, there's a mate out
there. So Tracy Warden is thrilled when she discovers Nick Lawrence,
the sexy Enforcer for another Pack, is her mate.

But sometimes lucky wolves get to double dip in the form of the
extremely rare Tri-Mate-Bond. And so it is when Tracy discovers that
her Anchor bond with National Pack Mediator Gabe Murphy is far more.
Suddenly Tracy finds herself with two alpha males whose hunger for
her never seems to wane. But their bliss is marred by the heavy hand
of the werewolf mafia whose reach goes very high up indeed.

Money laundering, kidnapping, assault and other general mayhem can't
mar the intensity of their bond, but it sure can threaten their

Copyright 2006 Lauren Dane
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave
Releasing November 8!

She led him into the room and closed the door behind her, looking at
him. God he was beautiful. He was taller than Nick but not hard
bodied. A long torso and legs. The jeans he wore highlighted the
power in the thighs that most werewolves had and it had always been
one of the most appealing features on a man's body to Tracy.

Salt-and-pepper sprinkled just a bit at the temples of his caramel-
colored hair. It was short, professional, but not too short. Enough
to run her fingers through. His eyes were deep brown, nearly black
and he had the smallest hint of wrinkles around the outer corners.
They were serious eyes but she'd noticed a twinkle of amusement in
them from time to time. A streak of whimsy was a wonderful quality
in a man with such a serious position.

He had a neatly trimmed mustache and beard that seemed to frame his
lips. His lips were the only utterly soft thing about his face. She
licked her own lips in response as her body reacted to the fleshy
curve of his bottom lip.

She watched as he reached down and pulled his sweater up and over
his head. His chest was impressive. Again, not hard muscle like
Nick's, Nick was a man whose body was a weapon, a tool in his job.
Nick's body was a killing machine. Gabe's chest belonged to a man
who kept himself well. It was nicely defined and more of that sexy
salt-and-pepper spread over the chest hair and the arrow of hair
around his navel and disappeared beneath his waistband.
"I'm incredibly flattered," he murmured.

She couldn't help but grin. "You should be. Because I'm beginning to
entertain some really naughty thoughts about you."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-five. And you?"

"Forty-one. I'm a lot older than you are. I feel slightly perverted."

She dropped the robe, letting it pool around her feet, the spill of
royal blue silk like an expanse of sea.

"Okay, now I'm feeling a lot perverted." He wondered if he'd ever
actually been as hard as he was at that precise moment. How long had
it been since a woman's body had affected him so deeply? She was a
whole lot of contradictions all rolled up into one really appealing
package. The freckles gave her an almost pixiesh look combined with
that nose with the tiny upturn at the end. Her eyes were wide and
bright and definitely filled with mischief. The green reminded him
of moss.

Her breasts were not large. He usually preferred large breasted
women, but her perky little barely B-cups made his mouth water.
Those strawberry pink nipples with silver—platinum, he guessed,
given their resistance to silver—rings dangling from them made him
hot. No innocent miss there. No, those rings made him want to
unleash the things he'd kept deep inside him for a very long time.
He raked his eyes over the series of tattoos—words from the old
language—down her body, over those long legs to the petite feet with
those red-hot painted nails. She was a lot of things in one woman
and that was incredibly beguiling.

"You're so beautiful," he said in the quietest of voices and she
stood, rapt, as his hands went to the buttons of his jeans and
popped each one open. She wasn't even sure she could blush, she was
so spellbound by the sound as each button popped free and a tiny bit
more of his body showed.

My! No underwear. Who'd have thought that a man like Gabe, who
seemed all business, would be going commando? A shiver ran through
her. He shoved the pants off and got rid of them and his shoes and

They stood there facing each other, both naked and intensely
aroused. Somewhere in the back of her mind she felt guilty for being
this turned on by another male and it seemed odd to her that with
the mate bond she could be so utterly devastated by his presence.
She chalked it up to the whole anchor thing. She couldn't explain it
any other way.

"I really have to touch you, Tracy."

She nodded and stepped out of the robe at her feet, toward him. And
when their bodies touched, Tracy felt faint. The intensity of desire
and connection between them was overwhelming.

"What is this?" he murmured just as his hand went into her hair and
angled her head to receive his kiss. And it wasn't just a kiss, it
was a ten-car pile-up. A collision of two people meshing into one.
His mouth was insistent and he devoured her, took from her and
delivered back in spades. His lips were hot against hers, tongue
sure and steady as it slid into her mouth and stroked against hers.

His taste was intoxicating and consumed her. Took over her brain and
her body and sucked her under like a siren's song.

"Oh, god. Please, fuck me, Gabe," she all but sobbed when he broke
the kiss to move his mouth—his hot, carnal mouth—to the spot just
under her ear. Her legs nearly buckled.

"I will, little rebel, I will. Don't rush me." The words were
murmured, his lips against her skin, and all she could do was
writhe. "I have plans for every inch of your body. If I can only
have you once, I'm going to burn my name into your skin."

He wasn't even sure where the hell the words came from but once he'd
touched her, it was like instinct had taken over. He certainly meant
what he'd said. He wanted her to think of his lips just there, at
the place where her jaw met her neck, before she fell asleep each
night. Wanted his fingers splayed over her hips to brand into her
memory forever because damn it, if he couldn't have her, he'd damn
well have part of her memory.

A sense of desperation crept into him as the thought of only having
her once registered. How could he live for the rest of his life only
being able to make love to her one time? Knowing that another man
had her every night and day? He knew it was madness to feel that
way, knew she belonged to another. But he felt it nonetheless.

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