Although he knew after this morning that she had only one breast, having to continually repeat why her pack couldn’t care less about whom she mated with had become rather like Groundhog Day.
But she wasn’t going to hide because her pack labeled her damaged goods. Fuck her pack. “First of all, werewolves don’t have any magical powers—so it’s pretty unlikely they had anything to do with your memory loss. And they don’t care because of my breast. Because I only have one, they consider me inferior, and the chance I’d reproduce children with the same defect keeps them off my back about whom I mate with.” She knew the words came out tight and stilted, but to share them now, to look him in the eye and explain why she was unworthy to her own kind, was embarrassing.
He looked astonished. “Well, you know what I say to that, don’t you, Miss Allen?”
“What do you say to that, Cowboy Nash?”
“Fuck your pack.” And then he hauled her into his arms and laid one on her.
“That’s not how the script goes!” Daphne boomed into the megaphone.
Nash would swear on his own mother’s life he saw stars the moment his lips hit Calla’s. Her mouth was soft, her lips like two damn pillows he could rest his on for a good long spell.
And when she pressed her soft body against his, groaned into his mouth, he hardened instantly. Nothing mattered—not the heat, not Clive whistling and shouting his approval, not even Daphne who kept frantically yelling “cut!”
Nothing mattered but this woman and the desire to keep right on kissing her as they melted into one another.
This felt right. This felt good, and he wondered if this was how he’d felt the first time he’d kissed her.
Calla’s arms curled up around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, making his jeans become uncomfortable.
Suddenly, it didn’t matter that they were in a public park. It didn’t matter that this was all staged or that they had an audience. Nothing mattered but this woman he wanted desperately to remember, and her lips.
Greta’s whistle went off like a foghorn, jolting them both back into awareness. Calla tore her lips from his and looked up at him, searching his eyes. He knew what she wanted. He knew she wanted him to magically remember everything.
But he didn’t.
Somehow, that left him feeling pretty damn empty.
Greta’s round face appeared between them. “Okay, you two—we’re not out here to show everyone how to make their own orgy. Break it up before the kids on the swings get an education they’re not ready for just yet,” she chirped on a chuckle.
Nash looked down at Calla, her face coming back into focus. “Well, I don’t know about you, but damn. Was it like that the first time?”
Her chest rose and fell beneath her lacy blouse, giving him a quick glimpse of the swell of her breast, forcing him to fix his eyes to her face to keep from dragging her off to his bed.
She smiled, a soft, gentle lift of those luscious lips, and ran a hand over her hair. “It went something like that.”
“Can I get a little credit here?” he teased, running his thumb over her lower lip.
She swallowed hard, the knot in her throat evident. “Did it jar anything?”
He sighed. He didn’t want to hurt her. In fact, for some reason, he wanted to do everything in his power to make her happy—keep her smiling. But he had to be honest. “No. But that doesn’t mean something else we reenact won’t, right?” He was shooting for hopeful because he hated seeing her try to hide how crushed she was.
Daphne rushed up to them, clipboard of notes in one hand, megaphone in the other, her eyes hopeful. “Good gravy. I can’t believe you two didn’t set the tree on damn fire. So, anything?”
He was disappointing people left and right today and it left him feeling like a heap of shit. “I’m sorry. No.”
Instantly Daphne brightened, putting on a falsely cheerful grin. “No worries. Next up is The Big Talk. Now from what I understand, that was a huge deal. Maybe that’ll stir something up.”
“The big talk,” he muttered, feeling like an idiot for not getting the meaning.
Calla cast her eyes at the ground. “It’s when we decided to wait to…” She cleared her throat, clearly fighting for the explanation.
But Gus fixed that. He put an arm around each of their shoulders and grinned. “It’s when you two decided to wait to make chimichangas until y’all knew each other better. We all called it Wait To Consummate at the center. But I’ll tell ya, yer a better man n’ I am, Cowboy. I’d be all over this hot piece of work like fried on—”
Calla used two fingers to pinch Gus’ lips together before she looked at him, her cheeks bright pink “Yeah. That.”
Ahhh. They’d decided to wait, which only reinforced the notion that if they’d been together three solid months, and he’d agreed to wait, she was something special.