Wolf at the Door

chapter Sixteen



“Oh, my.” She traced her finger over the fresh, orange-sized bruise he had on his left hip. “Did you forget to wear your safety equipment?”

“After what just happened, I should definitely get some,” he agreed.

His hair was adoringly rumpled. (Adoringly? Hair can be adoringly rumpled? If she had heard some other ninny say it, she would have laughed herself sick.)

He glanced down and saw the bruise she was gently stroking. “Oh, that. Yeah. When you had your crying jag in the Starbucks at Barnes—”

“It was not a jag.”

“I got up to go with you and knocked into one of those big old display cases.”

“Ouch.” She took a closer look; it was closer to grapefruitsized than orange-sized. “That must have hurt.” She had great respect for injuries suffered by those not of the Pack. How could they tolerate days and days of healing? Wasn’t it maddening? Agony? The continual pain, the way the marks took so long to go away, the incapacitation . . . and they had to eat medicine! If it was a terrible injury, they had to eat medicine or they would get an infection and die. Infection sounded like a terrible thing. She didn’t know how they tolerated it. “Do you need a doctor?”

“For that?” He laughed, a cheerful, sunny sound. Strange to associate sunny with Edward when right now, at close to midnight, it was anything but. “Jeez, Rachael, I’m a severe wimp, but not that big a wimp.”

She sat up so abruptly he nearly went sprawling. “Who called you that? Where are they?” She glanced around the dark room as if looking for the insensitive bullying moron who dared . . . who would actually call someone so wonderful . . . call them a . . .

“I called me that. Whoa, calm down. What? Didn’t bother me any. You should see my friend Boo. Did you ever see Zombieland ?”

She shook her head. She liked the way he was staring at her breasts while speaking casually. She liked the way she could smell his desire flare up when seconds earlier it had been barely banked coals.

“No? Deprived woman! Okay, we’ll Netflix it. I haven’t unpacked all my DVDs yet. Anyway, there’s a character in Zombieland, Tallahassee, and he’s described as a guy who ‘sets the standard for not to be f*cked with.’ That’s my friend Boo.”

“Hard to imagine ferocity from someone named Boo.”

“That’s the trick, y’see. Nobody ever sees her coming. She likes it like that.”

She started to ask if she would meet his friend, then thought, Why would I? We’ve only just met. We have lives waiting for us in Massachusetts. We probably won’t see each other much now that we’ve scratched our itch.

Then she thought, We reside in the same area now, and when we go back to our lives, we’ll also live near each other. Does it mean something?

She shoved the thoughts away—long-term relationship planning was not generally a Pack strength unless a pregnancy was involved. The imperative to start and raise a family was strong, even more so than for humans. “And you?” She was trailing her fingers from the bruise, across his stomach, up his ribs . . . “What do you like?”

“Uh . . .”

Over his nipples, back down his stomach, following his dark blond treasure trail (a description she had always found silly but apt), down into the thatch at his groin.

“Edward?”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the rush of blood in my ears.” He shook his head as if to clear it and she laughed again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, or been so physically satisfied. “The harder I get, the more I can actually sense my IQ dropping. It’s kind of cool and terrifying at the same time.”

But how satisfied was she, how sated, if she was ready to go back for seconds? If they both were?

Maybe it’s about more than scratching an itch.

And maybe not. “Ah, the trials and tribulations of walking around with a penis.”

“I know! You have no idea what we menfolk endure.”

Maybe he’s your mate. Oh, now there was a silly thought. They barely knew each other. And yes, other Pack members occasionally took non-Pack to mate, but it was rare. And Edward . . . they’d eat him alive, so to speak, if she brought him home.

Maybe this is home now.

It isn’t! This was never meant to be a permanent living situation! I have a life, a job, family to return to. Anything else—everything else—is just a distraction.

She forced a smile. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

“Huh?” His voice was getting thick with desire.

“I know you want me.”

This time he was the one to laugh, and she loved how his joy affected the urgent tang to his scent, like strawberries and balsamic vinegar. You’d never think the two would pair well, but the result was surprisingly strong.

And sweet.

“What gave it away? When earlier I said, ‘Oh my God, oh my God, you’re so wet’ or when I applied my penis to your—”

“Oh, God. Please stop that.” She covered her face. “Applied? Don’t ever say applied when discussing mating.”

“Don’t do that.” He gently grabbed her wrists and pulled them away. “You’re way, way too gorgeous to ever cover that face.”

“That’s irrelevant.” And it was. She had no power over how she looked. It seemed silly to get credit for something she had nothing to do with.

“Don’t you know, Rachael? Didn’t anybody tell you? You’re so beautiful.” He stroked his thumb across her right eyebrow and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re just so beautiful.”

“Irrelevant,” she said again, feeling the blood climb into her face. Blushing like a ninny, very attractive. Next you’ll swoon. “But you’re sweet to say so.”

“In your lexicon, sweet translates to stud, right?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Called it! And I’m standing by my implication that figuring out you’re making me massively horny doesn’t exactly qualify you for Mensa.”

“Just for that,” she teased, “no oral sex for you.”

“Nooooooooo!” He had shaken his fists at the ceiling, startling the shit out of her. “Like that? That’s my Darth Vader nooooo! and did you notice that I did it a hundred times better than stupid Hayden Christensen? Hey, I wanted the guy to do well, okay? I wanted him to nail it. But he just—”

“Please stop talking about Darth Vader and f*ck me.”

“Wow. Torn between two lovers. On the one hand—yeeek! Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one.”

“I hope so.”