by Olivia Arran
This time instinct had me sliding back, prey recognizing the predator.
Something that looked like disappointment streaked through his eyes, gone in an instant and replaced by something I couldn’t read. He took another step, putting us toe to toe.
I leaned back, the wall unyielding and lending me support. Because, damn, did I need it. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only cling tight to the last of my pride. Don’t throw yourself at him.
“Why did you come here, Scarlett?” His deep baritone sank into me, commanding me to answer. He leaned forward, caging me against the wall with his arms.
Avoiding his eyes, I glanced down. Big mistake. His biceps bulged against the cuff of his short sleeves, his shoulders straining the thin cotton. His scent was all around me, in every breath I sucked in, every exhalation. He was everywhere, and all I wanted to do was sink into him. To have him hold me and tell me that everything would be okay. That I hadn’t screwed up my life. But I couldn’t; he wasn’t mine. “I can take care of it.”
“Am I going to have to make you tell me?” He paused, waiting until I met his eyes. “Because I will.” His voice was heavy with both warning and promise, a hoarse whisper of sinful fantasies.
A month ago—no, even just a week ago—I would have snapped back with some sassy remark. Flirted a little. Hell, flirted a lot. I might have dragged his face down to mine and kissed him until he had no choice but to carry me off to his bed.
But that was before. Now, my head was a mess, twisting and turning and questioning every damn thing I did. Not wanting to cause a reaction, cautioning me to play it safe, and trusting no one.
I looked down, biting my bottom lip hard.
“Dammit, Scarlett,” he growled in a low voice.
Wait … he sounded like … he was in pain? But why? I snuck a glance at his face. It took my breath away. It was as if he was at war with himself, though only the Mother knew why.
And then I realized. I wasn’t shaking. I wasn’t scared, or terrified, or crapping myself. His eyes weren’t hard—they were hot. Blazing with heat. He wasn’t taking about beating the shit out of me, or forcing me, he was talking about… persuading me.
Okay. Resume melting. I swallowed back the lump in my throat, reaching for the shadow of my former self and yanking hard. “Go on then.”
A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You don’t want to call my bluff, sweetheart.” But underneath his heated words, he sounded … pleased? Relieved?
My confidence swelled, only a fraction, but it was enough to have me blurting out, “Why? What are you planning to do about it?” My voice sounded all breathy and soft, kind of like take me, please! I wrinkled my nose. Dammit!
His hands moved to my arms, fingers tracing a meandering path down to my wrists.
I sucked in a breath, dizziness stealing over me as his touch sizzled into my skin.
“Exactly what you are hoping I will,” he murmured, curling his fingers around my wrist and inching them up my sides.
Was he toying with me, like a cat playing with his mouse, knowing I was powerless to resist him? That he could do anything he wanted and I wouldn’t be able to say no? Wouldn’t want to.
My shoulders burned with that good kind of ache as he stretched my arms above my head, resting them against the wall. “Now, where were we?” he murmured, leaning into me until our bodies were a scant inch apart. His breath caressed my skin, tracing a hot, wet path down my cheek.
My head fell back, my back arching as if in silent plea. Kiss me.
He leaned closer, drawing a deep breath into his lungs. “I can smell how much you want me—your arousal, so tangy and sweet and intoxicating.”
His fingers burned into my wrist, a constant reminder of the only place we touched.
“If I were to lick you there, would your pussy be slick and juicy? Creamy and sweet?” His breath trailed up my jaw, circling around to my ear. “Would you scream my name when you came?”
A whimper escaped at the images he conjured, my thighs clenching of their own accord. The wall pressed against my back, cool and unyielding.
His free hand trailed a path down the wall, tracing the outline of my curves. “Would you beg for my cock inside you? Offer yourself to me and satisfy my every demand?” He paused, as though waiting for an answer.
Heat beat at me in relentless waves, his dirty whispers weaving a fog of lust so thick, I struggled to breathe. My lashes fluttered shut, blocking everything out but him. His voice, his words. My mate demanding that I give myself to him. “Yes…” It was a moan. A plea. A whisper of surrender.
“Good.” Approval coated the word as he whispered it in my ear. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb stroking over the soft skin at my temple. “What is his name?” Steel coated his words, but his touch was soft, featherlight and soothing, at odds with his earlier dirty talk.
I sank into his hand, thrilling in his touch. “Who?”
“The man who hit you.”
Chapter Eight
Greg
She stiffened, confirming what had, up until this point, been a guess. “Tell me his name…” My voice carried the throaty growl of my wolf, his power surging up inside of me and demanding a target for the white hot anger that consumed us.
“I—I can’t.”
“You’re protecting him.”
“I’m not.” No hesitation.
“Then let me kill him.”
She wriggled in my grip.
Releasing her wrists, I planted my hands on the wall. Fun and games were over. For now.
“You can’t kill him.”
I couldn’t help the macabre grin that crept onto my face. “Sweetheart, you haven’t got the first clue what I can do. Trust me.”
Still caged by me, she folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself. “Just let it drop, okay?”
“No.” Nobody hurt her and got away with it. Nobody.
“He won’t do it again.”
“Do I have to go down to your pack and hunt this lowlife down?”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Setting my lips in a line, I stared her down. “Try me.”
“You—you’re insufferable!” she blurted out on a huff of air.
“And you’re mine to protect.” I was mentally cursing the words before they’d even left my lips. But they were the truth.
“You’ve made it very clear that I mean nothing to you, no matter how much you like to toy with me.”
I leaned closer, until my lips traced the shell of her ear. “And I haven’t even gotten started yet.”
A cross between a strangled howl of frustration and a breathy moan exploded against my chest. “If you don’t mean to follow through, then don’t play with me. Please, Greg.”
Her quiet plea ripped through me, hitting me square in the chest. Pain slipped into a heart that I had long ago declared a dead husk. “You don’t want me.” It was a plea of my own, for her to take a leap and trust me on that.
“You’ve not even given me the chance.”
It was a verbal slap, a reminder that the woman in front of me wasn’t going to sit back and let me feed her excuses. Underneath, she was the same woman she’d always been—the woman who’d stormed into my life and turned it upside down, sending me careening off the carefully controlled structure that had always allowed me to maintain my fabrication of a normal life.
“I’m broken.” It was all I could give her. All I could admit.
Her answer stole the ground from under my feet. “Right now, so am I.”
Chapter Nine
Scarlett
He had walked away from me without looking back, his expression as unreadable as his earlier one had been plain to see. But not before I’d clocked the flare of anguish in his eyes, a cloud of pain hovering at the edges threatening to storm.
Then, he was gone.
I hadn’t given him a name. For a second, I’d wanted to, but I couldn’t. It would destroy more people than it w
ould save.
Hugging my arms around my waist, I leaned into the wall, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me. Complex and intense; it seemed that as every hour passed, I learned something new about Greg. Another facet of his personality, each altering what I’d thought I’d known and painting a very new picture.
Do his friends know this side of him? I didn’t think so; I hadn’t seen any hint of it when I’d stayed at the house the last time. Would he change when someone eventually came home? Because we wouldn’t be alone forever, the odds weren’t in my favor.
Mulling it over, I made my way into the living area and perused the well-stocked bookshelf. Plucking a well thumbed paperback off the shelf, I curled up on the couch, tugging a blanket off the back and tucking it over my legs. I’d give him an hour to pull himself out of his funk, that was all he was getting.
Satisfied, I let the words wash over me, tugging me into a world that wasn’t my own. One that was filled with romance by the bucketful, and dashing heroes who fought for the love of their life. An unladylike snort escaped as I tried to picture Greg down on one knee, declaring his love with wild, abandoned fervor. Begging me to be his, beseeching me with his eyes, and groveling at my feet.
I closed the book with a thud, wrinkling my nose in distaste. Give me hot, dominant, Greg any day of the week. Especially if he kept on whispering dirty, filthy words in my ear.
Giving up on that particular form of relaxation, I got to my feet and started to limber up. Yoga always relaxed me—grounded me in a way that sank into my soul and refreshed my spirit. Sliding into the sun salutation, I centered my chi and closed my mind to everything going on around me, focusing on my breathing. In and out, my body gliding through the movements with a familiarity born of hours of practice. Muscles stretched and relaxed, the hum of my mind fading. Toes flexed, I lifted up into what was commonly known as the downward dog.
A strangled groan echoed through the room, cutting through my zen. Peering between my legs, I spied the man himself leaning against the doorframe, appreciation curving his mouth into a crooked smile.
“I’d forgotten that you did yoga.”
Powering forward into a lunge, I brought my feet together and straightened, tucking my head into my knees. A second glance confirmed his mouth wasn’t the only thing curving up, his groin area looking distinctly uncomfortable. Serves him right. Though the knowledge that I affected him thrilled me, probably more than I should let it.
Stretching up, I reached above my head, bending back then finishing by drawing my hands together in front of my chest. Any chance of relaxation had flown straight out of the window, my insides bubbling from his sheer presence. Settling for a short session, I tugged my T-shirt back down into place. “I’m not into running.” I mean, I could run, after all, I was a wolf shifter, but I didn’t enjoy it. “What’s your chosen poison?” Translation: what do you do to calm your beast and burn off the extra energy?
Pushing off from the wall, he led the way back out into the foyer, pausing at the bottom of the stairs as I made my way up. “I’m down to my second choice for now.”
Caressing the slick bannister, I ignored the flare of heat his eyes stirred inside of me. “Which is?”
“Running and weights.”
“That’s two things.”
He flashed me a smirk. “Well, my first choice is usually a lot more satisfying.”
His hidden innuendo didn’t pass me by. “I can’t say the same.”
His brows narrowed, pale blue darkening. “You haven’t been doing it right, or more accurately, someone hasn’t been doing you right.”
No way was I admitting that it had been so long, I barely remembered. “Or maybe it’s just that I have great stamina.”
His frank appraisal had my toes curling. “I’m sure you have.” His voice was a low, husky drawl, each word weighed and deliberate.
I cleared my throat, hoping to hide the fact that I’d stopped breathing for a second there. “Uh … is there any chance I could borrow a car?”
The appraising look faded to be replaced by one of speculation. “You need to go somewhere?” Folding his arms over his wide chest, he waited.
“Just to run a few errands.” I kept my answer as vague as possible, but it didn’t do me any good.
His eyes narrowed, pinning me down.
A wild idea flashed into my head. Meeting his stare, I leaned forward, ever so slightly. “Please, Greg…” I murmured.
Bingo. Heat flared in his eyes, his lips parting a fraction as he exhaled a long, drawn out breath. A muscle twitched in his jaw, his shoulders bunching as he rolled them back and forth, as though searching for control. “I’m driving,” he gritted out, the mask settling back in place and stealing the heat.
“But—”
“You want a car; I’m driving.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Fine,” I muttered, carrying on up the stairs. “You can drop me off.”
Silence met my little huff. But what did I expect from—what I was now coming to understand—a control freak like Greg?
I raced up to my room, throwing myself in and out of the shower in record time. Shucking into my nicest pair of jeans and a tank top with matching sweater, I pulled my hair out of it’s band, fluffed it up and raced back down the stairs.
Greg was still standing exactly where I’d left him, the perfect picture of a man relaxing at home, hands tucked into his pockets and his shoulder propped against the wall. Even his expression was serene, not a hint of emotion shining through. None of the turmoil churning a whirlwind in my gut, that’s for sure.
Fishing a set of keys out of his pocket, he twirled them in the air. “Ready to go?” Ushering me out of the door, we followed a path around the house to a large, three-door garage tucked out back. A beep sounded and a door slid open.
“That’s your car?”
He shrugged, opening the passenger door with manners his momma would have been proud of. “You sound surprised, you know I like gadgets.”
But even still. Sliding into the bucket seat, the leather hugged me, as soft as butter and scenting the air with that brand new smell that expensive cars always seemed to have. “I would have guessed at a truck.”
“Not a sports car?” He gunned the engine, his lips curling at the throaty roar.
“Okay. Now I get it.” I snuggled back into the curved seat as he swung the car out of the garage and down the drive, one hand resting on the wheel, the other on the gear stick. I was starting to figure out what made him tick, and was coming to the conclusion that everything revolved around a central theme. Control. “Stick rather than automatic?”
There was a curl to his lip as we tore out of the driveway. “Of course.”
Suspicions confirmed, I checked that my seatbelt was secure and settled in for what I was guessing would be a short drive—if the speed at which he was flicking through the gears was anything to go by. This close to the ground, and traveling this fast, a sense of immediacy hit you square in the face. Urgency. Life flashed by in a blur of houses and the odd spindly tree, the buildings growing closer together as we left the main drag and turned into the city proper. “How did you know I wanted to go into the city?”
“You didn’t?” He made to swing the wheel.
I flung out a hand. “No. I do. This is fine.”
He grunted, swinging the car into an underground garage and sliding it into a space marked reserved. The engine flicked off but the low, throaty rumble still buzzed in my ears.
Hauling myself up and out of the bucket seat, I shook out my legs, vibrations from the road still tingling through them as I looked around. The small parking lot was silent, not another soul in sight. A few cars were parked along the way, each a similar style to the one Greg drove. I raised a single eyebrow.
He shrugged, but a tint of red heated his ears. “I like cars, and the house doesn’t have enough space to store them all.”
“Right.” I dragged the word out, letting him know that, in my book, this was
n’t normal behavior. “The way out?”
“Through here,” he muttered, leading the way to a small door, hidden in an alcove. Sliding it open, we made our way up two flights of stairs, emerging out onto a bustling street, one I recognized immediately as the main one running through the financial hub of the city.
Having gotten my bearings, I set off, crossing the street and heading downtown. Greg following at my heels like a big, bulky shadow. Crisp air filled my lungs, along with the scent of burned hot-dogs, a mishmash of perfumes, and the ever present smog that hung over the main city. It was wonderful in its own way, comforting in its dependability, and I loved it as much as I loved the wide open space of the pack land in which I had grown up. Cutting right, I crossed onto a side-street, scooting between two buildings.
“Where are we going?” His deep voice rumbled in my ear, closer than I had thought and catching me unaware. Moving up to my side, his arm brushed against mine, setting the tiny hairs on end. People flowed around us, parting to create a path that had none of the resistance I was used to when visiting the city.
“Do people always move out of your way?”
“Usually.” He didn’t sound that impressed.
A woman further up the street slowed her walk, her lips parting and eyes widening as she caught sight of Greg. Flicking a cascade of dark hair over her back, she rolled back her shoulders and smoothed her hands over her hips.
I shot her a dirty look, one she ignored, and instead dialed up the wattage in her smile as she stalked toward us.
“She’s not moving,” I muttered under my breath, not wanting to risk looking at him. Not wanting to see the certain hint of lust in his eyes. After all, he was a man, and she was putting it all out there on display, from her perfect body to her unnaturally rounded breasts.
“Who isn’t?”
There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice, or smugness. I risked a glance. Nope. He was oblivious.
The woman closed in, shooting me a look that clearly said no way he’s with you.