by Sam Crescent
I swallow, take a breath. “What do you mean, you let me go? I left because—”
“Because of me.”
“No, Rafe. It was because—”
Because of my father. I’d completed my undergraduate degree at a local college so I could try to help him survive his alcoholism, but every single day was utter hell and absolutely nothing I did helped him. The only reason I didn’t give up and leave this place forever was Rafe. And when Rafe ruined my trust in him, there was nothing else to keep me here.
So, yeah, I guess, it’s fair to say Rafe was definitely the reason, but damn. Has he been stewing in guilt like this for the last three years? A pinching ache fills my chest. We’re going to have it out, it’s inevitable. I get it. I can see he’s not going to let it go until we do.
“Okay, yes. Yes, it was because of you, Rafe.” My blood is rushing hot through my veins, rising to the surface as long-simmering anger bubbles over. “You’re a lying sonofabitch. I trusted you, trusted you like I have never trusted anyone before in my entire life and you betrayed me. You lied to me. And such a ridiculous lie. What the hell were you thinking? If you didn’t want to be with me anymore, you should’ve simply told me.”
“I wasn’t lying, Ina.” He drops my luggage and wraps his fingers around my arms, slowly rubbing his hands up and down my skin. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, I know you think I’m crazy, but I can prove it to you. I would have three years ago, but the way you reacted—I was afraid if I showed you, I’d scare you and you’d never want to see me again. As it was, you ran away anyway. It’s been killing me, Ina.”
Oh, my God. He’s serious. He thinks he can prove his lie to me. My anger fizzles, transforming into nervous fear.
My Rafe is insane. How did this happen? What if he’s suffering some serious, abnormally early-onset dementia? What if it kicked in years ago and I was so knee-deep in my own problems I didn’t notice?
Shit. I’ll watch him closely, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll pay more attention now, now I know what I’m looking for. He’s had my back for all these years, now I’ll have his.
“Take me to the cabin,” I say, my eyes prickling with unshed tears I hope he cannot see. “I’ll stay with you tonight. Once I’m rested, I can start working on my father’s house.”
He blinks, slowly, as if he’s reining it in, collecting himself. His eyes soften. Almost immediately, he’s back to the old Rafe. “I have tomorrow off, it’s Saturday. I’ll help you.”
I nod, air leaving my lungs in a deep exhalation. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath.
Rafe lets go of my arms and picks up my luggage. When he speaks again, his voice is so low I barely hear him. “And when you’re ready,” he says quietly, “when you’re ready, I’ll show you.”
Chapter Two
Rafe
She thinks I’m bat-shit crazy, I know she does. She’s silent as we make our way up the hill to my cabin. I’ve scared her, just as I feared I would, though not in the way I’d expected.
How the hell am I going to fix this?
Carefully. Slowly. I’ll start by putting her up in my bedroom and I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s the right thing, I know, but it sucks.
I walk through my front door and set her stuff down next to the armchair by the fireplace. She follows me in, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. She looks a little wounded and vulnerable, and I hate myself for being the reason. She used to spend a lot of time here with me, lounging in front of the fire on cold nights, making out with me on the couch. And though I haven’t changed a thing, her gaze is searching, roaming around the room like this is her first time here. When she sees the couch, her cheeks redden and I know she’s remembering, but she doesn’t move any closer to me.
“You’re safe here, Ina.” I approach her, my hand outstretched, a plea. “I’m not a lunatic and I’m not going to hurt you.”
She doesn’t seem to believe me. Her trust in me is gone. I’m afraid it’s going to take some time to repair the damage between us. I just hope she doesn’t give up on her father’s farm—or on me—and skip town again before I can change her mind about me. My chest tightens at the thought.
But she takes my hand. Her slender fingers tighten around mine, squeezing. The sensation shoots straight to my heart. I can breathe again.
She even smiles at me. It’s a tentative smile, but it’s a smile, all the same. Looking at her, with her sweet smile and those tired, baby-blue eyes, I know I’m going to do everything I can to make her happy and keep her that way. Starting right now.
“You can sleep in the bedroom tonight. I’ll take the couch,” I tell her, clenching her hand, hoping she feels reassured.
A flicker of relief passes over her face and she nods. “Thanks, Rafe.”
I try to ignore the pang of disappointment twisting within me. I don’t know why I thought she’d respond any other way.
“Of course,” I manage to say, all neutral and cool, like I honestly don’t care. But I release her hand and turn away so she can’t see my face.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, making for the tiny kitchen adjoining the living room.
“Ravenous.”
“I’ll make dinner.”
“I do love a man in the kitchen,” I can hear her smile in her voice. It’s something she often said to me. Before. A spark of hope flares, deep inside me.
I divert my attention to the fridge, but I can hear her taking her luggage down the hall to my bedroom. I hope it’s clean enough in there. I haven’t had anyone in my bed in three years, four months, and sixteen days.
Not that I’m counting.
God. The thought of Corina in my bed again. Her soft, sweet scent of roses and vanilla. Her satin-smooth skin. Her thick, silky hair fisted in my hands.
Damn. I haven’t thought this through. The beast in me wants out right now. Bad. I’ve gone too long without her.
Ina was my first. My one and only. Coyotes tend to mate for life, but Ina doesn’t know—she doesn’t know she’s the only girl for me, doesn’t know what I am, doesn’t know how sorry I am for fucking everything up between us. But I plan to help her understand, plan to show her everything. If she’ll let me, if I can do what I’ve got to without scaring the shit out of her.
I intend to start tonight. That is, at least, if I don’t shame myself in front of her first. Looking at her is enough to get my blood up, pumping all through my body and into certain places that are causing me some serious pain right now.
It doesn’t help she’s so damn beautiful, wearing that tight, blue t-shirt, the same color as her eyes, with a thin, gauzy little skirt. Her dark hair is longer than it used to be, swinging low down her back. She looks healthy and strong, and I can’t help but think that being away from here has been good to her. But what if—
What if she’s found a new guy?
No. Why didn’t I consider this? What if she’s totally over me? What if I pissed her off so badly three years ago, she decided to forget about me altogether?
Fuck.
My stomach clenches. I feel sick. I lean my forehead against the cool refrigerator door, my hands white-knuckled around the handle.
“Rafe, what’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet.”
I nearly jump out of my skin. People don’t usually sneak up on me. Animal instincts and all. But Corina, she’s thrown me so off-kilter. I know I should give her more time, but fuck it, I can’t help it. I have to know.
“You—are you—” I take a ragged breath and turn to her, liberating the refrigerator door from my death-grip. “Have you started dating someone else? Since me? I know it’s been a long time, so I understand…”
I can’t finish. I don’t understand, not really. If she says yes, I’m not sure I can take it.
She places a hand on my chest, her eyes wide and staring. I wish I could see inside her head. Since I can’t, I lean into her touch instead, willing her to tell me what I want to hear, even if it’s not the truth.
She sh
akes her head. “No. No, there’s no one else.”
My breath escapes me in a harsh exhalation. My eyelids slide closed as I savor the extreme relief washing over me.
“What about you?”
I open my eyes and try to read her expression. Curiosity? Concern? I want her to feel the same level of apprehension I did. I know it’s selfish, but I can’t help it. I remain silent for a minute, and another, watching the muscles in her jaw tighten, watching those soft pink lips of hers press firmly together.
I want to kiss her. I need to kiss her. If I don’t, I am going to die, this very second. My inner beast trembles inside me, wanting out. Wanting her.
“No, Ina,” I murmur, struggling to find my voice. “You know it’s always you and me and nobody else.”
The muscles in her face relax and I see a relief that mirrors my own. Before she can pull away, I bring my mouth down to hers, claiming those lips with my own. She doesn’t draw back. Instead, she responds to my kiss, pushing up onto the balls of her feet to reach me better.
Yes, yes. The beast is prowling under my skin, finally coming awake after all this time. Gently, I deepen the kiss, probing my tongue against hers. She reciprocates. I groan, low and long, and she suddenly shoves her body, hard, against mine.
I can’t stand it. I wrap my arms around her and push her up against the refrigerator, sliding my hands down, grasping her hips, pulling them against mine until I’m grinding against her.
“Rafe.” She gasps my name as she tears her lips from mine.
But she doesn’t tell me to stop.
I plunder her mouth with mine, thrusting into her pelvis, trying to ease the heat, the ache, the insatiable longing.
Her hands slide between us. She unzips my jeans.
Yes, yes, yes. Any and all logic in my brain has completely shut down. I think I’m dreaming. I must be. It’s as if the last three-plus years haven’t happened. I forget waiting, I forgot about giving her time. I forget our last fight, and I guess she does, too, because her hand is wrapped around my—is this really happening?
I thrust into her hands, her warm, slender fingers urging, kneading, gripping me.
My breathing is short, rough. “Ina,” I pant. “Ina, I need you.”
She lifts her skirt, bunching it in one hand while she slides her panties off with the other. I can hardly believe this is real. And I don’t intend to give her a chance to change her mind. I can’t.
I surge into her with one, savage thrust. The beast has taken over, refusing to allow me to be gentle, demanding more, more. I comply, urging myself deeper. Ina writhes against me. Her hands slide over my shoulders and then she’s wrapping her legs around my waist, driving me impossibly deeper still.
Holy hell.
“Rafe.” Her voice is high, breathless. I remember that sound. It’s the one she makes a second before she starts to climax.
Her voice pushes me over the edge, stealing away the last of my willpower. This is going to end, too soon. I shove into her with one forceful thrust after another, my breath dissolving into low, rumbling grunts as she whimpers.
“Ina.” I moan. “Ina, I’m going to—”
“Rafe!” she cries my name as she peaks over the edge. My name, because I’m still the one she wants. The thought finishes me.
I come, hard. I close my eyes, bracing myself. It’s like an electric, white-hot eruption of power blasting through my entire body. A shout bursts from me and I’m trembling as my eyes slide open.
Holy. Shit. I can’t believe I forgot how insanely incredible it is, being with Corina. I want to do this again and again, every night for the rest of my life.
“Ina.” I gasp as my breath returns to me, as my vision slowly begins to refocus.
She’s looking at my face, her eyes no longer filled with desire but instead with—with shame—I think, and regret.
No. I step away from her, watching as she scrambles to redress, her movements jerky and hurried. My throat tightens. “Ina,” I choke out. “Don’t. Don’t regret it. Don’t—”
She turns away from me and doesn’t look back as she disappears down the hallway. I hear the bedroom door slam.
Fuck.
It takes me all of about three seconds to decide I’m not letting this go. But when I try to open the bedroom door, I can’t get in. She’s locked me out.
“Corina, let me in.”
Silence. So it’s like this, then.
“You wanted it. too, you know you did. Come on, Ina.”
She still doesn’t open the door. I pound on it, open-handed, smacking the wood. I really want to break the damn thing. I want to hit it as hard as I can and punch my way through the wood. But, pissed off as I am, I don’t want to scare her. That’s not me. But hell, it’s hard right now. Frustration rolls over me in waves.
“Open up. I want to talk to you.”
The handle jiggles, and then the door opens, ever so slightly, revealing a fraction of her face. But it’s enough that I can see her eyes are red and glistening.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But that was a mistake. I got caught up, remembering how we used to be—”
“It’s how we should be, Ina, and you know it.” My voice breaks. “There’s no reason we can’t go back, pretend the last three years didn’t happen.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s not, I—”
And then it hits me, so hard I slump against the doorframe. I’m never going to get Ina back unless I completely give up trying to convince her that I’m a shifter. But it’s who I am, what I am. Can I live the rest of my life keeping my true nature a secret from her?
I must. It’s not a choice, not really.
I can’t live the rest of my life without her.
“You’re right, Ina.”
She blinks, her hold on the door faltering. “What?”
“I’m sorry for—” For what? I can’t tell her I lied to her when I told her I’m a shifter. What do I do now? Lie about lying? “I—I’m sorry for chasing you away. I’ll not bring it up again. I’ll not lie to you.”
Her eyes flash, the delicate blue irises darkening with anger. I’ve said the wrong thing. Again.
“Goodnight, Rafe. Thanks for letting me stay here. I’ll be out first thing in the morning.”
And then she slams the door in my face.
Chapter Three
Corina
When I wake up a little after sunrise, he’s gone.
I planned exactly what I was going to say to him, first thing, about how he said he’ll ‘not lie to me’ and how that’s utter bullshit and he knows it because that’s what he did to create this whole mess between us in the first place. Last night showed me, after what he said about lying, that he’s not crazy. He’s a liar. So, yeah, we’re done.
But when I open the bedroom door and step out into the hallway, I find nothing but silent emptiness waiting for me. At the sight of the vacant stillness, the absence of Rafe, a little twinge of something—guilt? Loneliness? —pinches in my chest and I suddenly feel weird about how I reacted last night. He was right about one thing, I did want it. Bad.
But it can’t happen again. I closed the door on Rafe a long time ago. I need to get back to my father’s house and bury myself in all the work that’s waiting for me there. I’m determined to make this life work for me. I want that house. I want to make it like it was, long ago, long before my father ruined it. I’ll do it for me and I’ll do it for my mom. She would hate to see it like it is now.
I want a beautiful old house filled with pastel colors and lace curtains and a thriving little farm with bees and chickens and herbs and flowers.
And I’m going to get it. No drama with my ex-boyfriend is going to stand in my way.
Regardless of what happened last night.
Satisfied with my resolve, I shower and dress quickly, anxious as I am to leave. My stomach is throbbing with hunger when I gather up my bags. I should’ve let Rafe make me dinner
before I did something stupid and ruined the evening.
It was the damned couch that did it, sitting there, reminding me of things I’ve tried to forget. And when Rafe told me he hasn’t dated anyone else, that I was his last and his only—well, that did it for me. He sealed the deal with that kiss. How the hell was I supposed to resist that?
I’ll stay away from him from now on. He’s my neighbor, so it’s not going to be easy, but I’ll have more than enough on my plate now to keep me distracted and away from him.
I finish packing and I make a hasty exit out of Rafe’s bedroom. The rest of the cabin is still empty. Good. This is good. No awkward tension to deal with at the moment.
I drop my luggage next to the door and prepare to lift the latch and get out before Rafe can show up and try to stop me, when something on the kitchen counter catches my eye.
A note. With my name. The shortened version, the one only Rafe uses. I can’t help myself. I ought to walk away and forget it. But it’s calling to me, a folded piece of creamy paper with his handwriting in black ink, resting innocently enough on the butcher-block countertop.
It will only take another second. Besides, he’s not here. He probably went into town to put some hours in at his family’s machine shop. He said he’d help me today, but I don’t expect him to and I don’t blame him for hiding from me, not after last night.
Damn it. Do it and get it over with.
I cross over into the kitchen and pick up the note.
Ina,
Breakfast is in the oven, iced tea in the fridge.
Love, R
Not what I expected. He made me breakfast? I open the oven door and sure enough, a stack of thick, fluffy, blueberry pancakes waits for me, the oven on a low setting to keep them warm. There’s even a yellow pat of butter melting in the middle of the top one, trickling golden streams of happiness down the edges of every pancake.