The Way You Bite(30)

She peeled his arm off her and scooted away from him. “I can’t do this. Whatever is going on here, it’s not happening. There’s Ambrose. There’s my father. And, there’s the fact you’re the werewolf king. The other day was a mistake.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong…” The word yet hung ominously between them.

“We shouldn’t even be in the same breathing space. I don’t know what it is about you or how you triggered this…whatever it is that happens when you’re around, but this is dangerous.”

“It is dangerous. I agree. But it’s real. I’m not sure it’s avoidable.”

“We’re going to have to try to avoid it.” She met his gaze, which didn’t mirror agreement. “I mean it. Did Ambrose or any of the Scarpas reach out to you?”

“Ambrose did. We didn’t tell him you were here.”

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad. When he finds out, he’ll kill me and then call his family.” She dropped her hands from her face. “I don’t want to be the cause of global war.”

“How about we table war stress for the moment and have our talk about why I’m here.”

She blew out a dramatic sigh, “Fine. Spill it. I’m ready to be done with this epic chat and have you guys out of my life.”

When he didn’t reply, she glanced over at him. She attempted to read his thoughts since she couldn’t interpret his expression. All she caught was lust.

“If only it was that simple.”

Had he said that or had she imagined it? It’d been so soft.

He announced, “Let’s eat. Then, speak after.”

“I prefer to skip food.” An intimate eating experience might be too much when the need inside her still steadily increased, now to the point she crossed her legs and squeezed to try to alleviate the aching.

“Please, let’s have a bite…of food.” Sincerity reflected in his gaze. She had too much empathy for the aloneness she read from him to deny him company.

“All right.” She stood, this time slower to avoid too much vertigo.

He reached out as if to help. “Don’t touch me. We’re not… This isn’t happening between us.” She smoothed her rumpled clothes. Crap. She wasn’t wearing the same clothes. These were loose, dated, and not her style. “Did you change my clothes?”

“Your other clothes reeked of gasoline.” He was unapologetic.

That meant he’d seen her naked again.

“Is there a bathroom I could use before we eat?”

He pointed to an adjoining room. The second she closed the door she slipped to her knees and cradled her face. Get control.

She took several deep breaths. It did little to cool her core temperature or her longing to walk back out there and coax him to have a different kind of meal. She could press him against the wall and put her mouth on his throat and down the muscles of his abdomen…

What was happening to her?

Time to get some answers from him, at least on how to turn off whatever he’d done to her.

She stood and whipped around to leave. Too fast. Her hands caught the doorknob before her knees buckled.

With slower movements, she exited and faked confidence. “Let’s eat.”

As he moved in front of her, she tried to keep her gaze glued to the back of his head and ignore his powerful stride. She failed. Each step shifted his muscular shoulders beneath his T-shirt in sync with the movement of his thighs. She visualized him naked, his thigh muscles clenching with each stride. He moved like a warrior, lethal and balanced. Yet, he’d cared for her. Twice. She doubted he allowed one of his other guys to take care of her. There weren’t any women around, at least none she’d seen. So, it had to have been him.

Forget trying to reconcile the contradictions in him. She’d go with her gut, which said he wouldn’t hurt her, at least not right now, and that whatever he had to tell her wasn’t easy for him.

He led her downstairs through a formal dining room to the kitchen.

Lexan pulled out a bar-height chair from the center island for her and loomed over it, waiting for her to sit. His hand touched her back as she sat. She pulled away from his touch. Although no more than his fingertips had rested on her back, her body went weak, almost pliant for him. She needed her wits about her to get through whatever it was he needed to tell her.

Once seated, to give herself something to do and avoid his forceful gaze, she plucked a paper napkin from the holder on the counter and placed it in her lap. “So, what is it you need to tell me?”

“Later. Food first.” He poured her a glass of orange juice, returned to the refrigerator, and examined its contents. “I can do omelets or fry up some meat. Looks like there’s pork and ground beef. Or there’s always a sandwich. No peanut butter. Eric’s got a bit of an addiction and eats it by the spoonful. But I can do…” He pulled open the center drawer in the refrigerator. “Roast beef or turkey.”

“What? No gourmet cook on staff to make you food?”

“The staff doesn’t travel with us.”

She grabbed the juice and took too large a gulp. Its acidity burned her throat. Her eyes watered as she struggled not to cough.

His lips twitched. If he laughed, she would go over the counter and hit him.