Page 62 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

His gaze slides to my breasts. “You still look cold.”

“I’m fine, actually. Running warmed me up.”

One step my way. “Are you sure? I can warm you up better.”

I arch my brows. “Are you trying to tempt me into surrender? That’s hardly sporting.”

Another slow step, but he stops as soon as I lift my fingers. Then he lets out a growl.

“Am I thwarting you?” I say. “Is this game too tough? Maybe we should try another?”

“I like this one. I’m just ready for it to be done.”

My gaze drops to the bulge in his trousers. “I see that. However, I do believe we neglected to properly define the parameters of the game.”

“I believe we set them just fine. When I catch you, I take you.”

A delicious shiver runs through me.

“Are you sure you aren’t cold?” he says. “Or does that shiver mean you’re as ready to be done as I am?”

“You need to catch me. Then you can do anything you like.”

“I have already established what I’d like.”

Another step. Another finger lift. Another growl.

“But what happens if I win?” I say. “That’s the missing part.”

“You can do whatever you like. Luckily for me, it’s also what I’d like.” His tongue runs over his upper teeth.

Damn it. He has a point. However …

“That tree over there,” I say, pointing. “The lightning-struck one.”

“What about it?”

“If you catch me before there, you claim your victory.”

“And if I don’t?”

I shrug. “I still get my overdue wedding night. But you don’t get the pleasure of winning.” This time, I step toward him, my voice lowering. “Of catching me. Of throwing me down. Of taking me.”

He lunges, but I see it coming and knock him back, and then I’m running.

I race full out for that tree, about fifty feet away. I don’t hide under a blur spell. I just run as fast as I can, because if he’s going to win, he really needs to win. There’s no thrill in the victory otherwise.

And here I discover something I didn’t expect. That Bishop isn’t actually faster than me. He’s stronger. He’s more agile. His sense of smell and hearing and night vision are all better. But when it comes to running, we’re shockingly well matched. Or maybe he just expects me to be slower, which I would be … if I were wearing my dress. I might even be faster in a corset, undeterred by the infernal bouncing of my breasts.

I can hear him behind me. The pound of his boots. The pound of his breath. I swear I can even hear the pound of his heart.

And then the tree is right there. Less than ten feet away. I’m struck by the temptation to slow, just a little. Because I do want this to end the way he said. But I also don’t want to give him this win. I want him to earn it. Some primal part of me says that he needs to prove himself. He needs to win me.

So I don’t slow, and I see the tree, getting closer with every heartbeat, and in those last seconds, I’m not actually disappointed. I’m going to win this race and—

A growl as Bishop launches himself at me. His arm goes around my waist, and I trip, and I’m about to fall face-first to the ground, but at the last second, he twists us both, and instead I land on him.

I lift my head, and I see the lightning-struck tree mere feet away, and adrenaline rushes through me. I grin down at him, and then I launch myself up off him, reaching—