Wolf in the Storm: A BBW wolf shifter romance (Shifters of the Glen Book 5)

by Skye Jones

  “Oh.” My face heated. I should have thought of Humphry. Now I looked like a bad owner. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”

  “Back in a tick.”

  He headed off through the small pub, and his height and width made the building seem snugger. I let myself watch him move for a moment, struck by his relaxed but focused gait and posture. He held himself well, but not in the rigid, almost aggressive way many men did. Instead, he moved with calm, confident purpose. A weird slice of absolute knowledge about him struck me. This man was a protector. Someone who’d make a woman feel safe and cherished.

  I shook my head and forced such idiotic musings out of my mind. After all, I’d already relied on a man, and look where it got me. Never again. In fact, I’d sworn I’d never have another relationship.

  Before I lost my job—and my mind—I’d been planning to play the field and have some fun. Diane and I were going to do some online dating or go to some speed dating nights, but with the express purpose of some no-strings-attached sex. I’d only been with Roger my whole life, and I’d wanted to experience those things with another man.

  After losing my job, though, and the onset of the panic attacks, I hadn’t dared to try anything quite so scary. If Diane were here now, she’d be all over Mr. Hot Stuff. Laughing and flirting and tossing back her long red hair.

  She didn’t look worn-out and tired like me. Diane hired a team of people who made sure she looked at least ten years younger than her true age. She didn’t resemble one of those strange, overly plumped women, though, with so much filler in their cheeks they looked like squirrels hoarding their winter supplies. No, Diane had a touch of Botox here and a tiny bit of filler there. New teeth, too, and to top it off, all her glorious red hair. When we were out together, I felt like a drab brown sparrow next to a stunning peacock. My brown hair, brown eyes, lightly tan skin, and boring clothes couldn’t compete with red hair, green eyes, and long limbs. Nor with her exquisite taste in clothes.

  I looked down at my sensible trousers and my sensible shoes and sighed. Boring. I’d become so very, very boring.

  “Here you go.” Mr. Hot Stuff placed a glass of red wine in front of me. “The barman is bringing a bowl for your dog. I’m Adam, by the way.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t offer me his hand, as I feared he’d find mine sweaty and clammy. Instead, he sank back into his seat and took a sip of his beer.

  “I’m Pamela,” I said. “And this is Humphry.”

  “Humphry?” He raised one dark brow.

  I noted the salt and pepper in his hair, and when he lifted his brow, a few lines appeared on his forehead. Even his stubble held some gray amongst the dark, and I realized he might be older than I’d originally imagined. Perhaps nearer to my own age. I also realized he’d spoken and I hadn’t answered. Way to look like an idiot.

  “Yes. Humphry without an E. That’s what we named him. God knows why the without an E became a part of it. Some silly game my daughter thought up.”

  “You have children?”

  “Yes. One girl. She’s grown up now and out in the world doing her own thing. Moved to Australia recently. You?”

  “Two boys. Drew and Jake. They’re grown, too, but they still live close by.”

  “Ah, it must be nice for you and their mother having them near.”

  Something passed across his face. Almost a flinch, and he shook his head. “Their mother died. Some time ago now.”

  I brought my hand to my mouth on instinct. Stupid me, putting my big foot in it.

  “It’s okay.” His smile seemed genuine, and God help me for thinking it when I’d just learned of his wife’s death, but it made handsome into something beautiful.

  If I weren’t a shell of a woman, I’d be flirting with this yummy man. Instead, I’d upset him and reminded him of bad times.

  “Hey.” His gentle tone had me looking into his eyes. Gorgeous, stormy blue eyes. “It really is okay. Happened a long time ago now.”

  I nodded and took a sip of my wine, needing the Dutch courage to keep up a conversation with a man I suddenly realized I felt an awfully strong attraction to. “I’m divorced,” I blurted out.

  Way to go, Pam. Make yourself look like an idiot.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, as you said, it’s okay now. Although, it didn’t happen too long ago, so it kind of still stings a bit, I suppose.”

  “It takes time to get over these things. Some things take a long time to recover from.”

  “Yes, I suppose they do.”

  He took two more sips of his beer and leaned back into his chair, sprawling out to fill the space more.

  An image popped into my mind, of me sauntering over there like some crazy femme fatale and climbing into his lap. His thighs looked as solid and built as the rest of him. Oh, my God. I’d begun to go insane. Maybe these thoughts were due to no sex for such a long, long time.

  “So, Pamela, what do you do?”

  Oh, crap. Now, I’d look like a total loser when I told him. Should I lie? But then, what the hell? I’d never see this man again once I finished my wine, bought him a beer, and left. So, for once, I didn’t censor myself. Instead, I let it all hang out there. He’d probably run a mile, but who cared?

  You care, a tiny voice said, but I pushed it to one side. Maybe the wine was going to my head because a sudden, and strange, recklessness overtook me. Just once. Just for once, I wanted someone to see me. The real me. Hurt and damaged and a whole lot of fragile. Oh, I wasn’t about to start wailing and moaning and flinging myself about the pub. But I’d tell the truth for once. Not cover up my true self with the bullshit and flattering little white lies most of us told on a daily basis.

  “I used to be an account manager for a large marketing firm, but I got made redundant last year.”

  He winced and shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve experienced a pretty bad time of it, Pamela.”

  I loved the way he kept saying my name, but no one ever called me Pamela.

  “It’s Pam. My friends call me Pam.”

  He grinned then. Brief but blinding, it struck me speechless. “Pam.”

  “So…how about you? What do you do to earn an honest crust?”

  He pulled back, visibly closed off, the proverbial shutters coming down as he made his face a careful blank. “A variety of things. I…erm…I live in an…I suppose you’d call it an eco-commune. It’s not too far from here by car, but it’s inaccessible unless you’ve got an off-roader or don’t mind walking a long, long way. I work there too.”

  He must think I was born yesterday. Everything about him screamed power and take-charge attitude. No way did a man like this live in some hippie sect. Oh, crap. He’d done the whole blank look thing when I’d joked about him making an honest crust. What if he was a criminal? But then the idea of a master criminal sipping cask ale in a tiny Highland pub seemed ridiculous. Unless he’d gone on the run!

  My mind did its usual catastrophizing, and within another three leaps of imagination, I had all sorts of scenarios running through my mind. Despite my panic attacks being a recent phenomenon, the rampant imagination had always been with me. Ever since I’d seen that…thing as a child. I shuddered and forced it from my mind. I’d never spend the night alone in the cottage if I let the memory resurface.

  I took a huge gulp of my drink. Then realized I’d really been chugging back my second large glass. Perhaps I ought to go and get us another. He’d barely touched his pint and probably thought me a terrible lush, but I needed a moment to get my head together and cool down.

  I stood and carefully stepped over Humphry. “I’m heading to the ladies and thought I’d grab another wine whilst I’m on my feet. Do you want another beer?”

  “Sure. Thank you. It’s Pale Moon, thanks.”

  I nodded and scuttled off, heading for the women’s toilet. Once inside, I realized I actually did need to pee, so I took care of business and then washed my hands. I studiously avoided the mirror. Not wanting to s
ee the truth of my reflection. If I saw my plain, boring face, I’d have a hard time keeping on chatting to the vision of male beauty seated opposite me.

  About to leave, I automatically glanced up to check my hair and froze. For once, I really looked at myself and took in what I saw.

  My cheeks were pink, not the horrible red I sometimes flushed, but a nice pink. My eyes were bright. Brighter than they’d been in ages, and I noticed, under the bright downlights, that my hair had some dark blond highlights in it from all the time I spent outdoors these days.

  My usual light tan had deepened over the summer, and my skin glowed with health. It hadn’t faded, even this deep into autumn. Wow. I didn’t look half bad. Better than I’d looked in a long time.

  I’d also lost some weight. Oh, I still owned curves aplenty—and my belly pouch still taunted me when I glanced down, but I’d definitely lost weight. I hadn’t tried to, but the lack of appetite and sudden mania for gardening seemed to have toned me up some.

  I’d never be superslim. I owned the classic, cursed, apple shape, and no matter how much weight I lost, I always possessed a rounded belly and big boobs. During my modeling years, I’d always been hurt when told I’d never do fashion, only beauty work because of my size. I’d mostly been employed by low-cost makeup and skin care companies to advertise the latest face cream or cleanser. Even back then, I’d been told my looks were “accessible,” which I took to mean ordinary. Apparently, I wasn’t threatening or aspirational even back then, and firms who wanted to appeal to low-income housewives particularly liked my look.

  I glanced at myself one more time and fluffed my hair a little. Then I squared my shoulders and headed out the doors back to the bar and then Adam.

  Chapter Two

  We exited the pub, and the cool air slapped my face. It suddenly seemed to highlight how drunk I was, and nausea washed over me as the ground tilted alarmingly. I reached out the hand not holding Humphry’s lead and steadied myself on the wall. Oh, crap. I recognized this feeling. I’d drunk far too much.

  “Are you okay?”

  Adam hovered by my side, a look of what seemed like uncertainty on his face, but it proved hard to tell as I currently saw two of him.

  “So mortified. I think I’m drunk.”

  Why, why, why did I have so much red wine? I can’t handle the stuff. One glass was usually my limit. If I went out, I stuck to prosecco as it wasn’t as strong and it came in small glasses. But tonight, I’d been reckless, nerves and depression making me so much less controlled than usual.

  I started to try to walk toward the dunes, picking my way in the dark across the cobbled street.

  “Here.” Adam took my elbow and pulled me into his side, guiding me. “Where are you staying?”

  “In one of the cottages by the dunes on the beach.”

  “Me too.”

  I glanced at him and wished I hadn’t as the movement made my head spin. Not wanting to puke in front of him, I took in two deep breaths and managed to put off the impulse.

  “Let me walk you back and see you in, okay?”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes firmly ahead of me. We walked in silence. Me concentrating on each step, and Adam most likely thinking what an idiot he’d gotten landed with.

  As we reached the dunes, the sea air washed over me, and its fresh edge stopped some of the nausea. Grateful, I gulped in a few big lungfuls of the salty, tangy air.

  Humphry trotted alongside, composed and elegant as ever. He really was a great dog. Well behaved and so loyal. Thank God Roger didn’t get him when we split. Ugh, I didn’t need to think of him right now. Made the sickness worse.

  We got to the break in the dunes, where the little cottages ran either side of the grass before the sand began proper.

  “Left or right?” Adam asked.

  For a moment, I had to concentrate to remember. “Right.” Shit, my speech sounded slurred. Great way to make a good first impression. “I don’t normally drink much. Must be why it has gone to my head so badly.”

  “We’ve all done it.” His tone seemed noncommittal. Polite, but distant.

  I couldn’t wait to get to my door, thank him for his help, and go inside to throw my guts up in peace. Although, I hated being sick. And sometimes, it made me faint. Once of the reasons why I hardly ever got messy like tonight. Even in the depths of my despair, in the early days of Roger leaving, I hadn’t gotten sloppy drunk. My body didn’t tolerate alcohol at all well.

  “Did you know that the leopard frog swallows its prey using its eyes?”

  I loved this random fact. I mean, how incredible was it? An animal using its eyes to eat?

  “Really?” Adam sounded as impressed as I’d hoped. Anyone who didn’t find such a fact amazing wasn’t very interesting in my book. “That’s strange…and kind of awesome too.”

  “I think it’s awesome as well.” I smiled happily. My stomach gave an ominous lurch, and the smile dropped from my face. Ugh, the sickness returned full force.

  We reached my door, and I fumbled in my bag, cursing as the key eluded my grasping fingers.

  “Here, give it to me.” Adam took the bag from me and began to rummage around in it.

  I ought to be pissed off, the way he took my bag and looked in it as if this were a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Oh, God, I had tampons in there, amongst other things.

  A second later, he held up my keys and swung them around on his long finger. Clever clogs! I tried to roll my eyes, but it made my head spin, so I stopped immediately. Damn it, I couldn’t even be petulant as I felt too ill.

  He got the door open in a jiffy, and I walked in, letting Humphry push ahead, before turning to thank Adam and wish him goodnight. But when I turned, I bumped into something warm and solid. I’d hit the wall of Adam’s chest. I put my hands up to steady myself and ended up somehow feeling his damn impressive muscles.

  “Sorry.” I dropped my hands and stumbled into the room, patting the wall for the light switch. Once it came on, I looked behind me and squinted at the lurking man by the door. Somehow squinting seemed to stop the room from moving around me. “You can go now. Thank you.”

  Did I sound rude? Sod it. I was about to be sick. Manners took a back seat. In fact, yep, here it came. No time to see him out.

  I clapped my hand over my mouth and stumbled down the dark hallway to the tiny bathroom. I flipped the lid up and retched into the toilet.

  I’m not a quiet thrower-upper. Not one of those girls who manages it in a ladylike manner. I make noise and I cry, and worst-case scenario, I faint. No way Adam wouldn’t hear me.

  After a few long, horrible moments, something touched my back. Something warm and soothing. I realized with horror that Adam stood by me in the bathroom, rubbing gentle circles on my back.

  “You’re okay,” he said sotto voce. “Try to relax and let it happen. Makes it worse if you fight it.”

  “It scares me,” I said honestly when I got my breath. “Sometimes when I’m sick, I faint.”

  “Shit.” He sounded worried.

  “It’s not serious. Just fainting for a few moments, but I don’t like it.”

  “Who would?”

  The sound of a tap running came from my right, and then something cold as ice pressed up against my forehead. I leaned into the cool, wet cloth gratefully.

  A long and embarrassing time later, I finally stopped retching and got shakily to my feet. I needed to clean my teeth like nobody’s business. I didn’t care about my audience anymore. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and pass out. I scrubbed at my teeth and then filled the glass on the sink with water. Adam watched me calmly throughout all this.

  “I’m fine now, you can go. I’m so sorry. I really owe you one. God knows how I can repay you, though.”

  I didn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t look at him. Instead, I studied the tiled flooring in the bathroom.

  “You don’t owe me anything, and I’m staying.”

  At those words, my eyes snapped up. “Sorry?” Oh, God.
Did he expect payment in kind or something? Except…surely not. Not with the state of me. I felt toxic.

  “I’ll take the couch. Wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone while you’re sick. It’s probably nothing more than the booze, but we don’t know for definite, and you already said you sometimes faint when you’re sick.”

  “You can’t stay.” The words were out before I put my filter into gear.

  “Why not?”

  “Erm…it’s weird.”

  He laughed then, a loud laugh, and it filled the tiny space we inhabited. “It really isn’t weird. I’m making sure you’re okay tonight. No arguments. But as I said, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” He sighed then, and his face went soft. “You’re in no danger from me, Pam. I promise.”

  I hadn’t even, stupidly, contemplated the whole danger side of things. Now, though, my mind went straight there. But…my bedroom had a lock on the inside of the door. Both bedrooms did. Then it hit me. He could take the other bedroom; he didn’t have to camp out on the couch. And I could lock my door so I wouldn’t feel unsafe with him in the same house as me. Although, for some reason, I trusted him anyway. Something about his presence really calmed me. Weird.

  “You don’t have to take the couch. There’s a second bedroom.”

  “Oh. My place only has one. It’s tiny. They liked their low ceilings when they built these places. Probably didn’t have guys as tall as me back then.”

  I wanted to say we didn’t have many guys as tall as him now. Most men did not come anywhere near his impressive stature.

  “I’ll take the spare bedroom, and if you need anything at all, shout. And if you feel sick, come get me.”

  I nodded and grabbed my glass, holding it to my chest as I walked out of the bathroom. When I reached my door, I turned to him and gave a soft thanks before calling Humphry to me and heading inside.

  Once in there, I hesitated to lock the door. He’d hear it click. It might offend him. But if I didn’t, I’d feel vulnerable all night. Then again, the size of him, he’d probably easily kick the door in if he wanted to. Which, actually thinking about it logically, meant even if he’d gone on home to his own cottage, he could have come back at any point, and with a couple of hard kicks, gotten in through the front door anyway.