She nodded, trying to understand, but it was impossible not to question his decision. She didn’t care about Jason Donovan or the Whiteclaw. She just wanted her sister back!
As if he could sense her wariness, he lowered his voice. “I know this is difficult, Chelse. All I’m asking is that you trust me.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she took a deep breath. “I’m trying, Eric. But it’s not...easy.”
A sharp, angry look of impatience hardened his expression. “You either do or you don’t, Chelsea.”
“It’s not that simple!”
She waited for him to say something more, but he just kept staring, his gaze locked hard and tight on hers, and his dark irises began to burn with a primal, provocative light. They shimmered like pools of metal reflecting the searing heat of the sun, making her feel deliciously warm.
Cursing under his breath, he lowered his head and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, clearly struggling for control. “I don’t believe this shit,” he forced out through his gritted teeth.
“What?”
“Even when you irritate the hell out of me, I still want you,” he growled. “You are bloody dangerous.”
She fought the urge to smile, knowing it wasn’t funny. But, God, it felt good to be so wanted.
When he lifted his head again, his lashes were lowered, banking the molten glow, and he took a sharp breath. “Let’s go in and wait for the others. I need to tell them what Cian and I learned.”
They went inside, waiting for those who could make it to arrive, and once they were all gathered in the Burnses’ kitchen, Eric quickly introduced her to the ones she didn’t know, then sat beside her at the table. Mic and her husband, Brody, had gone down to the town of Covington for the day with Torrance, but Jeremy had joined the group, along with Carla’s partner, Wyatt, and Torrance’s husband, Mason.
Leaning against one of the counters, Mason slid his dark gaze toward Eric. “So what did you guys learn?”
“First of all, Clive Claymore’s boys are living back at home.”
Mason scowled. “Seb and Harris?”
Eric nodded. “Seems their old man died a few months back, giving his psychopath of a brother control of the pack. The first thing he did was send for his nephews.”
“Shit,” the Runner muttered.
“That’s exactly what we were thinking,” Cian drawled, sitting with them at the table.
“Why?” Chelsea asked. “What’s wrong with them?”
The sinful-looking Irishman gave an eloquent shrug. “Seb seems fine. It’s Harris who was always a problem. But it sounds like his uncle thinks they’re both golden.”
“So Roy Claymore’s running things now?” Mason asked, scrubbing a hand over his rugged jaw.
Eric nodded again, before relaying something Roy had said about the Whiteclaw males enjoying the company of the human girls they knew from the club—and how they’d spotted several of the girls in the town.
“How did you explain what happened on Saturday night?” she asked, since the question had been worrying her all morning.
With a grimace, he said, “I told them you were dead.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Until we can go in and get Perry, it’s best if we don’t have them sniffing around for you.”
“Not that you’re not lovely to sniff,” Cian offered with a wicked grin that had Eric shooting him a warning glare. After a few colorful exchanges, the verbal skirmish ended with Cian laughing, while Eric muttered under his breath about the Runner always acting like a jackass.
They finished up the discussion, making plans to meet up again later for dinner before the others headed out. Touching Eric’s arm to get his attention, Chelsea said, “I need to switch my laundry around and make a few phone calls. Do you mind if we head back over to the cabin?”
“You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
* * *
Eric watched silently as Chelsea stood up from the table. He didn’t like her leaving without him, but he needed to talk to Jillian.
“You did great today with Casey,” Jillian said, giving her a warm smile. “Thanks so much for your help.”
“I just wish I could have done more. Your abilities...they’re incredible. If I could, I’d take you home with me. The women at the shelter where I volunteer would love you.”
Jillian’s brown eyes sparkled as she glanced at Eric, then brought her bright gaze back to Chelsea. “And here I was thinking that we should just keep you.”
“Come on,” Jeremy drawled as he moved to his feet, obviously sensing that Eric wanted a few moments alone with his wife. “I’ll walk you back over.”
The moment he heard the front door close behind them, Eric looked across the table at Jillian and growled, “What the hell were you thinking?”
Her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”
“Why would you let her see what happened to Casey?”
“What do you mean? She’s tough. She can handle it.”
“You think letting her see a woman who’d been ripped to shreds by her husband is going to make it easier for her to accept what we are? What I am?” he snarled, his voice getting louder. “Christ, Jillian. She’s already distrustful where men are concerned. Now she probably won’t even let me come near her.”
Jillian rolled her eyes, as if he was being ridiculous. “She’s not an idiot. She knows you weren’t responsible for what happened to Casey.”
“She might know it, but she’ll still—”
“Eric,” she said, cutting him off, “you’re underestimating her. Again. She’s tougher than she looks. And you’re strong enough to make this work.”
“It’s not me that I’m worried about. It’s the parts I don’t always control.” And thinking about what Davis had done to Casey was really screwing with his head. It just put into perspective how much more fragile Chelsea was than him. How breakable. “I can’t afford to make any mistakes, Jillian. This is a woman’s life we’re talking about.”
“That’s right. Your woman.”
“I never said that,” he growled.
“You didn’t have to,” she snapped, her dark gaze glittering with frustration. “She means something to you. I know she does. But you won’t ever know what that could be if you don’t take a chance.”
“Chances are for fools,” he grunted, shoving away from the table.
“That’s not true,” she argued, moving to her feet as soon as he did, looking as if she was ready to chase him down if he decided to run. “What the hell happened to you, Eric? Aren’t you the same guy who once told me that when you find love, it’s worth taking a risk or two?”
His heart was pounding, pulse rushing hard and fast. “That was different.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
Swiping his hand through the air, he said, “Jeremy loved you. You loved him.”
“And you don’t love her?”
Losing his tenuous hold on his temper, he roared, “Damn it, Jillian! Did I ever say that I did?”
“Hey, now. Don’t make me kick your ass for yelling at my wife,” Jeremy drawled, walking back into the kitchen. Eric had been so caught up in their argument that he hadn’t even heard Jeremy come back into the cabin.
“Sorry,” he grunted, scrubbing his hands down his face. God, he felt like such a mess.
After offering a quick apology to Jillian, who told him to stop being stupid and get his head out of his ass, Eric let himself out. As he walked down the Alley, his thoughts remained focused on Chelsea, working over all the things that he’d learned about her. She was funny, loyal, courageous. She was also obviously devoted to those she cared about—the situation with her sister the perfect example. And now there was Casey. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a
woman give him that same level of worry and care. Women had always come easy to him, but what they’d wanted from him had always been just as easy.
That’d always been enough for him. Until now. Another shitty bit of irony, considering Chelsea wasn’t someone he could have a future with. All he could hope for was to get as much of her as he could while they were still together, before necessity tore them apart.
He wished like hell that he knew what she was thinking. If she felt anything at all for him, or if it was just physical on her part. If he was any man but himself, he’d have done everything he could to forge a lasting connection between them. But without the call of her scent, he had no claim on her. And it was really starting to piss him off.
He didn’t see her as he walked into the cabin and headed into the laundry room that was connected to the back of the kitchen. But she appeared in the doorway just as he was taking off his bloodied shirt, the look on her face a priceless mix of surprise and desire. Shock and lust.
“Oh, sorry,” she said in a rush, apparently flustered to have caught him getting undressed. “I was, uh, just going to ask if you want me to put on some coffee.”
“That’d be great. I just need to grab a quick shower.”
She stepped out of the doorway and back into the kitchen, so that he could get past. But he didn’t move. He just stood there...staring at her...drowning all over again. Then her gaze dropped, her breath coming a little faster as she checked out his chest, and Eric went hard.
* * *
“Sorry again,” Chelsea whispered, painfully aware that she was staring. “I know this is rude, but I’m...” She had to swallow before she could get the words out. “I’m just not used to men like you.”
“What kind of men do you usually date?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
Her lips twitched with a wry smile. “Not ones like you, that’s for sure. You’re just...more. More height. More muscles.” She shot him a telling look from under her lashes. “More attitude.”
“I’m curious, Chelse.” He was standing right in front of her now, and he lifted his hands, sinking his fingers into her hair and tipping her head back. With his gorgeous face right over hers, he asked, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that more is better?”
“Sometimes,” she said, surprised by the way her voice sounded all breathy. “And sometimes it’s just...superfluous. Like having too many vibrators to choose from when you only need one. I have a friend with that problem. By the time she finally makes a choice, she’s usually so tired she just goes to sleep.”
He threw back his head and laughed, his strong, corded throat mesmerizing to watch. And then he was looking down at her again, the lopsided grin on his lips making him seem softer...more tender. Which made his next words that much more jarring, since she’d been expecting a playful seduction, instead of a psyche eval. “You don’t have a very high opinion of men, do you?”
Pulling out of his hold, she wrapped her arms over her middle and said, “I try not to judge, but it’s hard, after a lot of the cases I’ve seen at the shelter. Human males can be just as cruel as Casey’s husband was. Some are even worse.”
* * *
Eric had the feeling that she was talking from personal experience, and wondered just how much of a bastard her old man really was. “Did your father hit your mother? Or you and Perry?”
Her expression tightened, but she shook her head. “He never physically abused any of us. But there are other ways of breaking a woman down.”
“I know.”
“Abuse comes in a lot of different forms,” she muttered, sounding like she was trying to convince him. “My mother’s so controlled, she can’t even think for herself. She wears his opinions like they’re a part of her. It’s sick. And he tried to do the same with me and Perry, like we were his little puppets to control. It might not have been physical, but it was definitely mental abuse.”
“Chelsea.” Though he was seething with rage for her father, he somehow managed to keep his voice gentle. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”
For a moment, she only held his stare with those big blue eyes. Then she slowly shook her head again. “I keep trying, Eric, but I can’t seem to figure you out.”
She sounded so disgruntled about it, he couldn’t help but smile. “And you’re usually good at figuring men out, aren’t you?”
Her shrug spoke volumes. “Men are simple creatures.”
“Not all of us,” he said softly.
She gave a slow blink, and whispered, “I think I’m beginning to see that.”
Eric took a deep breath, then stepped close to her again. “And what else are you starting to see?”
A nervous flick of her tongue over that lush lower lip. “What do you mean?”
“Can you see me, Chelse?”
“I see you.” Pulling her lower lip through her teeth, she ran her gaze over his bare chest and abs again, and trembled. “Eric, you really are too much for me.”
He hadn’t meant if she saw him in a physical sense—but he wasn’t going to argue about it. He wanted her so badly, he’d take whatever he could get.
“I’m not too much,” he rasped, reaching down and hooking one hand under her thigh. Bending his knees a little, he pulled her against him, letting her feel how incredibly hard he was for her. Then he fisted his other hand in her hair and took her mouth with a long, drugging kiss, taking more than he ever had from any other woman, just from the hungry touch of his lips against hers. From the deep, explicit tasting, his tongue moving against her own in a blatantly seductive rhythm that mimicked hot, slick sex. But it backfired and trapped him just as deeply, pulling him in, his heart beating to such a hard, hammering rhythm he could feel it pumping through every cell of his body, pulsing inside his brain.
“When I’m finally inside you, I promise you won’t be complaining, Chelse. We’ll take it nice and slow—” his lips touched the warm curve of her cheek, trailing toward her ear “—until you’re sinking your little nails into my back, begging for more. For all of me. I might be bigger and heavier than you are, but I’ll always make sure you’re ready for me.”
* * *
Oh, God, she thought, clinging to those hard, muscular shoulders, loving the way he felt beneath her hands. She was so primed she was amazed she hadn’t already melted into an embarrassing puddle on the floor. “Eric,” she gasped, “if I get any more ready, I’ll be done.”
“Then consider this just for me,” he growled, picking her up and laying her down on the kitchen table. Before she could so much as blink, he undid the zipper on her jeans and ripped them off, leaving her lower body clad in nothing but a tiny black pair of panties. “I’ve been thinking about your taste all damn day,” he groaned, rubbing his rough hands along her thighs until his thumbs met at her center. “It’s driving me crazy.”
She blinked, wondering if his hunger for her was a Lycan thing...or an Eric thing. Then her brain was wiped clean as she watched him tear off her panties, shove her legs apart and lower his head.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God...
The instant the heat of his mouth touched that most intimate part of her, it shook her apart inside. Melted her down. Brought stupid tears to her eyes that she couldn’t stop, couldn’t control. It was too good, too...real and raw and beautiful. He held her open with his thumbs, while his wicked tongue did things to her body that made her cry out, the sexy, gravelly sounds he made telling her he was enjoying it every bit as much as she was. She’d never thought a man could be so desperate for her, but Eric licked at her sex as if he was starved for her taste, his tongue thrusting and lapping until she felt ready to come out of her skin. It didn’t take long for her to fall into a shattering climax, the deep, rhythmic pulses of pleasure jolting through her body like violent, crashing waves, the sensation lush and tight and breathtaking. Mind-blowing. And he stayed ri
ght there with her, tonguing her drenched, sensitive flesh until she felt herself swept up in another wild, devastating wave...and then everything went black and dark and hazy.
When she came back, her lungs were still heaving, struggling to draw in enough air, her body still buzzing with soft, residual spasms of pleasure. She felt full inside, her lashes fluttering as she realized Eric had two big fingers inside her, slowly working them deeper. Opening her eyes, she found him leaning over her, his face close to hers, and her breath caught. She’d never seen so much dark, possessive hunger, so much need.
“One more,” he said in a raw voice—and she realized he was trying to work a third finger inside her.
“Can’t,” she gasped. “It’s too much.”
“They’ll fit, Chelse.” Grabbing her hand, he pressed it against the thick, rigid bulge of his cock, his jeans straining to contain it. “They have to.”
She blinked, gasping again as comprehension dawned. He was big. Bigger than two fingers. Bigger than three. That’s why he was pushing her...stretching her. He’d promised he’d get her ready so that he wouldn’t hurt her when he put that massive thing inside her, and that’s exactly what he was trying to do.
He must have read the panic in her eyes, because he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “It’s okay,” he whispered, keeping his mouth against hers as he gentled his touch. “We’ll take as much time as you need. I won’t hurt you. No matter what happens, I swear I’ll never hurt you.”
* * *
Eric meant every word. He just hoped to God it was a promise he could keep.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her scent telling him that her panic was fading. “I want you, Eric. But I...I just—”
Slipping his fingers from her body, he drew back his head so that he could see her eyes. “What is it, honey?”
Face still flushed with color, she licked her lips. “I need you to promise that you won’t bite me. Or try to hold me down. I need...I need to feel like I still have control.”
He buried his hot face in the smooth curve of her shoulder, choking back a frustrated growl. He was walking such a fine line...and he knew he couldn’t go through with this without making her understand. “I won’t bite you, Chelse. But I don’t know how much control I can give you. It’s not in my nature. I like to take charge in and out of bed.” Lifting his head, he said, “That need is even more intense with you.”
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