“Oh,” I gasp.
“Baby, baby, baby,” he murmurs and lifts his head to gaze in my eyes. “The things I want to teach you, that my wolf wants to do to you.”
“Nash.” I murmur, I rest my forehead on his chin.
“You feel it, too, don’t you? The heat between us?”
“Yes.” Oh, yes, I do.
He smiles as though he’s won a grand prize.
I’m so conflicted in so many ways. If I just knew for sure, knew that Nash’s words were honest. How can he have kept it hidden all these years and just turn it on like this?
Call his bluff. Harper’s advice comes to mind. I can’t think of a better way to get to the truth. I look at his mouth and tilt my head to kiss what part of him I can reach.
“Oh, no.” He pulls back, away from my mouth.
There’s my answer. My heart deflates and eyes well up. “You don’t want to kiss me,” I whisper.
“Fuck, yes, I do.” Nash pants a breath. Can that be faked? Yes, it can.
“Then, why don’t you?” I say angrily.
Using his nose, he strokes my lips. “Because I know that one sip of your mouth will make me lose my mind and all sense of control.”
Geez.
He kisses behind my ear. Why is that so erotic? Whispering to me there, he says, “When I taste you for the first time, my sweet Shav, it’s going to be a feast of epic proportions. We’ll need a whole lot of privacy. I promise, you’ll be moaning and screaming in ecstasy — over and over.”
He flexes his hips, pressing his erection into me. “Mmmmmm.” He groans. “Feel that, baby? Can you feel how badly I want to bury myself in you?”
Yes.
I tilt and rotate my pelvis to give us better friction.
“Fuck.” He hisses through clenched teeth and his eyes roll back into his head. His arms wrap around me and he pulls me hard against him. His lips lave my neck, shoulder and nape.
“This is why I avoid touching you,” he murmurs in my ear. “There’s a fire inside me that only you stoke, Shavone. Every sunshiny smile and sweet laugh, the sway of your ass when you walk, the swell and bounce of your tits — it’s like kindling.” He slides his hand under my shirt to caress my back. “This? This incredibly silky skin? Pressing your hot body to mine. Sweet Jesus, it’s like throwing lighter fluid on a flame.”
With one abrupt motion and a mighty deep breath, he drops his hands, stepping away from me. The tent in his pants is unmistakable as is the salacious heat in his eyes.
God, I can’t catch my breath. I want him, too. Oh, I miss the pressure of him already. I close my eyes to gather myself.
With the back of a finger, he strokes my cheek. “I’ve waited so long to have you, Shav. I’m not going to be able to wait much longer.”
I open my eyelids. Our gazes lock for a few moments. Blood flow to my brain returns and my breathing normalizes.
“Why now, Nash? Like you said, you’ve waited years. You had plenty of opportunity, especially this summer. Am I just supposed to believe that all of a sudden you’re attracted to me? That you went from big brother to seducer just like that?” I snap my finger.
“I am not your fucking brother,” he growls.
I raise my voice. “Well, you’ve never acted like this toward me before. It’s more than a little disconcerting.”
“Is it now?” He smiles cockily.
“Is this a game to you, Nash? Are you playing me?” My eyes prick. I blink quickly to keep the tears away. “Do you know how badly that would hurt me if you are?”
The chiseled jaw drops open, caramel colored eyes open wide, he’s horrified. “You think I’d do that to you?”
I didn’t think you’d lie about Ben, but you did. “I don’t know.”
“Seriously? That’s what you think of me?” His voice barely above a whisper.
“I think you’re trying to distract me from finding Val.”
“Damn straight I am,” Nash murmurs.
“And you’d play me to do it.”
“I am not playing you,” he barks.
“You set me up with Ben to get me to move into the mansion.”
Nash’s eyes harden. “Ben tell you that?”
That’s not an answer.
Confess, Nash.
“I just needed to keep you safe, Shav.”
The admission douses my arousal to an incredible anger. “Well, thank you for that. I like Ben. I like him a lot.”
Nash’s eyes blaze with fury.
“We’ve already connected.” I say, not caring if he takes it the wrong way. “Ben and I have bonded pretty quickly.”
Nash nostrils flare. “What the fuck does that mean?” He takes a menacing step toward me. “What did you do with him?”
I shrug. Let him stew in his anger. He’s the one who hooked us up.
“I’ll send him back to Texas.” Nash pulls out his phone.
Can he do that? He probably can as the second in command of the French nation.
“Go ahead. Do it. I’ll go with him. Maybe find Val while I’m at it.”
Nash snorts in derision. “She ran away for a reason. Leave it be,” he barks. His eyes harden to ice.
Shit. I can’t handle this. I blink fast. I am not going cry. I step backwards toward the exit. “I’m going to find my sister — with or without your help.” I spin, and hurry out of the building.
“Shav!” He calls after me. I don’t stop, even though I hear his footsteps behind me.
My flats crunch across the gravel to my car. I yank open the door and pitch my purse in. The birthday cake. There it sits on the passenger seat. For half a second, I give thought to neatly handing it to him.
Screw that. I march to the other side of the car. Opening the door, I pay no mind to protecting the cake — just snatch the plastic carrier by the handle.
As I stroll to Nash’s truck, I unlatch the lid and unceremoniously dump the cake, icing first, onto the hood.
“Happy fucking birthday,” I hiss.
Nash presses his lips together in a tight line, his expression an odd mix of anger, shock and mirth. “Thank you.”
Mirth wins out over the other emotions.
Me angry is funny?
“Your bag.” He holds out my gym bag, desperately trying to hide a smile.
I stomp over to him and yank it from his hand. A grin bursts out on his face — a big grin that shows his dimple.
“Boy, I’d love to wipe that smile off your face.”
“Would you now?” He crooks the fingers on both hands to taunt me. “C’mon.”
“Arrrgh.” I want to scream. If we weren’t in a parking lot full of police cruisers, I would.
Nash chuckles. “I forgot how cute you are when you’re pissed as hell.” His arms dart around my waist. Stunned momentarily by his sudden playfulness, I freeze.
I’m speechless at the range of emotions Nash is allowing me to see. I’m thrilled for a moment, only to wind up as puzzled as ever.
Gym bag in one hand and cake carrier in the other, all I can do is wiggle my body in an attempt to get out of his grasp. “Nash. Let me go or I’ll cream your balls.” I grin mischievously, feeling his growing erection. “And you’re not wearing a cup right now.”
He doesn’t seem concerned. Holding on to me, his touch becomes softer, his expression more earnest. He grips my still wet hair and gently tilts my head up, so I’m forced to stay still and look into his eyes.
“You’re mine. Do you understand?” He flexes his hips into me. “Mine. My sweet, sexy little Shavone.” With a quick peck on the lips, he releases me.
While I stand there with my mouth agape, he saunters to his truck. He dips two fingers into the chocolate mess. Scooping a big chunk of cake, he puts it in his mouth.
“Mmmmm.” He hums. “Yum.” He licks his fingers clean and goes back for another taste. “You’re a much better cook now.”
“Whatever. I’m still mad at you,” I say, getting into my car.
“Oh b
aby, mad isn’t what you’re feeling, is it?” He cocks his head sideways in an infuriatingly way, grinning from ear to ear.
Cocky asshole.
Ben wants dressy.
Sliding hangers, I look through my wardrobe. But my thoughts distract me so much that I can’t focus on the clothes. I plop onto the bench by the shoe rack and close my eyes.
Trying to make sense of Nash’s behavior — and my ping-pong like reaction to him — has my brain working overtime.
The little girl who once had a crush on him is over the moon ecstatic that he actually noticed her all those years ago. The grown woman wants him, yet can’t get past the suddenness of it all.
My phone chimes. It’s a text from Ben. ‘Can’t wait to chill with my kitten tonight. Are you almost ready?’
I smile and tap a text back. ‘I have nothing to wear.’
‘Right on. Let’s party in the nude right here at home.’
I laugh. His flirtation is nonstop. Why do I find Ben’s sexual teasing sweet and Nash’s maddening?
Big breath, I scan my minuscule wardrobe from where I sit. Not much in this ragtag collection is dressy. Classic black and white could work.
I choose an Alexander McQueen pleated black mini skirt I scored at a consignment shop last year. I pair that with a twenty dollar Express white bra cami and barely there discount store black stiletto sandals. I’ll take Mom’s vintage black cardigan for when it gets cooler later. I have always loved the flouncy sleeves and sophisticated beaded neckline. I put ID, a bit of cash, lip gloss and my phone in a small simple white clutch.
Looking in the full length mirror, I sigh. No denim and no logo t-shirt. Black and white is dressy, isn’t it?
Shit. Hair. Messy bun or braid? Braid. I quickly pull it all to my left shoulder and, starting below my collar bone, create a loose side braid that rests over my breast. I tie it off with a sparkly black band. It’ll work.
For a shot of color, I slip on my coral drop earrings — a gift from Mom on my sixteenth birthday. The modern, gold wrapped setting works beautifully with my ever present coral spiral pendant. Mom was the last to charge the gemstones on the earrings and I feel her presence every time I wear them. A swipe of blush, dab of lip gloss and I’m done.
“Damn, girl.” Ben whistles as I enter the great room right at the stroke of six.
“Dressy enough?” I twirl.
“With those legs, you’d look dressy in a potato sack.” He grins. “I was thoroughly looking forward to naked, though.”
I return his smile. “You look pretty good yourself, Sir Benjamin.”
We match. In black slacks, a white dress shirt — open at the neck and no tie, and a gray sport coat that fits his broad shoulders impeccably, he looks as though he stepped off the pages of GQ. I’ll have to beat the women off him.
chapter twenty-six
“THANK YOU, KITTEN.” I kiss her lightly on the lips. “These are pretty.” I touch her dangling earrings.
“Coral. My favorite gemstone.” She touches her necklace, too.
I nod. I want to remember that for when I buy her presents. She looks hot. Something’s off, though, in her eyes. Dropping my hand, I frown at the sweater draped over her arm.
“You don’t like my sweater?”
“I want to offer you my jacket later,” I say. I’ve always wanted to do that with a girl, but never had a chance to.
Shavone tosses the sweater over a chair to leave behind and smiles up at me.
“You are so damn sweet.” I kiss the bridge of her nose. “C’mon, hot legs.” With a gentle hand on her lower back, I show her to the garage and open Hannah’s passenger door. “My lady.”
Before she gets in, she kisses my cheek. “My gallant knight and his noble steed.”
Man, I could get used to this. If all chicks were like Shavone, there’d be no bachelors. Once she’s seated, I reach in to buckle her seatbelt.
“I can do that.”
“I want to,” I murmur. Tugging on her braid, I kiss her — a slow, sweet kiss.
At first she kisses me back. After a second or so, she pulls back with a guilty look on her face.
“You okay, kitten?”
She plasters on a smile and nods. I close her door to walk around to my side. What the hell was that?
Sliding in, I start the engine and glance over at her. She smiles, but something is wrong.
“Hannah,” I say as I pull out of the garage. “Play Shavone's songs.”
“Shavone’s songs?”
“Uh huh. I put together a contemporary soul playlist for tonight.”
There’s a real Shav smile. “That is so sweet. And I love Leela James.”
You love her. I love her. “What song is this?” I ask.
Shavone laughs. “It’s called Music.” She leans over to kiss my cheek. “I love it. Thank you.”
Right on. Happy she’s happy, I put a hand on her knee.
“She’s one of my favorite artists. How did you know?”
“I’m starting to get a feel for what you like,” I murmur.
Through the neighborhood roundabout, we exit the gate and turn north onto University, heading toward downtown Denver.
“We’ve got reservations at The Avenue.” I glance over to make sure she’s cool with that.
“Oh, I love The Avenue.”
“Good.” I smile. I caress her soft inner thigh. “I sure do like this skirt.”
“Technically, that isn’t the skirt you’re touching. That’s my leg.” She teases.
I chuckle. “If you want to be technical about it.” I flatten out my hand to touch more of her. “I like your legs in this skirt.”
With a smile, she looks out the window, bobbing her head to the music. The chick’s asking where the music went in the song. I like the beat. Shav has good taste. And she’s very quiet tonight — biting her lip and frowning every so often. Only one person I know who makes her like this — Nash.
“You alright?” I frown. Whatever he did, it must be bad.
“Yeah.” She doesn’t even look my way, just stares out the passenger window.
I turn onto the interstate and hit the gas.
“This car is really something,” she says.
“You like it, don’t you?”
She nods. “It has good bass.”
“What?” I laugh.
“The sound of the engine. It’s booming. I like how it feels.”
“Ah. I get it.” I press the gas pedal. The sprint forces her back in her seat.
She giggles.
“That’s better. Hannah and I will do our best to wipe that frown right off your face.”
She wrinkles her nose and looks out the window again. What the hell is wrong?
I raise her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “You’re really something, too, Miss Shavone.” I hold on to her hand, resting it on my thigh.
The music changes to a different female singer. “Who’s this?” I ask.
Paying attention, she listens. “Kristina Train.” Shav smirks at me. “You made a playlist of artists you don’t know?”
I shrug. “I Googled soul playlists. This one sounded the best so I downloaded it.
“You chose extremely well. It’s an excellent playlist.” She giggles.
Yeah, well, it’s a shitty song, whining about dark black being the color of her world. It’s just feeding this odd mood Shavone’s in.
“Would you let me drive Hannah?” Shav looks at me.
Um, yeah. I cock my head to the side. No one except me and my mechanic has driven Hannah.
“Never mind.” She pouts.
I chuckle. Her pouts are sexy. “Maybe. Someday. If you’re a good girl.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“That’s blackmail.”
“Uh huh.”
But it makes her smile — for all of ten seconds. She’s silent, staring out the window again, thinking hard about something. Lips pursed, forehead creased, she sighs every now and again, bites her bottom lip, too.
How do I break this funk she’s in? I shake my head. It’s my cousin’s fault, I just know it. Let her think it through. I’ll get her to spill at the restaurant.
Following Hannah’s directions, I pull into a parking spot outside the restaurant. I glance over at Shav. Her bottom lip is quivering. And she’s blinking fast. Fuck. She’s going to cry on me.
“Earth to Shavone,” I say real soft and touch the baby hairs on the back of her neck.
Gray eyes scan where we are. “Oh, we’re here already.”
“Kitten, you were a million miles away.”
“I’m sorry.” She forces another smile.
With a frown, I pull my door open and go around to help her out.
At a table in the restaurant, I hold her chair. Before I sit in mine, I pull it closer to her. A waitress delivers a giant slice of chocolate cake to the table next to us.
“Oh, baby, save room for a slice of that,” I grin at Shavone.
Instead of laughing or smiling or even complaining about the calories, she looks mad — like she’d like to take that cake and put it in someone’s face.
“Okay, Shav, what’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” She smiles.
“You looked like you’re about to cry in the car — and right now, you wanted to hit something with that slice of cake.”
She holds her head. “Forgive me? I just had a rotten afternoon and I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.”
“Aw. Whose ass do I need to kick?” I grin.
“Don’t worry about it.” At least she smiles.
“It’s Nash, isn’t it?”
Before she can answer, the waiter comes to take our drink order.
“I’m buying you a glass of wine tonight. Do you prefer red or white?”
“White.” She lifts her chin. “And I might even have two glasses.”
I smile, pleased. “The lady prefers a citrus flavor.” I speak to the waiter, but keep my eyes on my girl.
“We have an excellent pinot gris from Oregon with wonderful notes of citrus,” the waiter says.
“That sounds lovely. I’ll try it. Thank you.”
“It’s happy hour for five more minutes,” the waiter smiles. “Would you like two glasses, miss?”
“Yes, she would,” I say.
“For you, sir.”
Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1) Page 19