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I climb out—and slip, cursing loudly.
I stumble and I’m about to fall on my face when thick powerful arms wrap around me, one hand bracing my hip and the other across my belly, bracing my shoulder. His forearm presses into my breasts, squashing them closely, causing my nipples to harden and a shiver to move through me.
“Careful,” he growls in my ear, his breath hot, a sizzling contrast to the winter cold.
“I never wear heels,” I whisper, very aware that neither of us is moving.
We stay pressed together, his crotch against my ass.
I can feel him, the hardness of his manhood.
But then maybe it’s his belt?
I don’t know. I can’t be sure. It’s not like I have a wealth of experience in that area.
“There might be some clothes for you in the house,” he says, finally letting me go, but keeping his hand near me just in case, which I appreciate a hell of a lot.
“Another woman’s clothes?” I snap, with way more fierceness in my voice than I intended.
“It’s not like that,” Damian says firmly, looking me square in the eye. “I don’t have a lady. I’ve never wanted a lady if you want the fucking truth of it. No, the clothes are my aunt’s. She’s doesn’t live here anymore. This was my uncle’s place a long time ago, and he left it to me. I know it’s not ideal, wearing another woman’s clothes, but—”
“No,” I say quickly, stunned by the passion in his voice, in his eyes, pinning me in place as though he’s contemplating a hundred sinful things right here in the snow. “It’s fine. Trust me, after living under their rule, I’m not exactly picky.”
“I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe when this is over,” he snarls. “But I get to pick it, you hear?”
I bite my lip, staring at him, telling myself I can’t be misinterpreting this. He wants me just as badly as I want him.
What else could a comment like that mean?
“Come on,” he growls. “Let’s get inside.”
He goes to the car and grabs the duffel bag and I walk toward the cottage, most of its features hidden beneath blankets of snow. It looks like something out of a winter dreamland, the chimney coated in white, the windows glistening here and there where the glass pokes through the ice.
Damian walks up behind me and takes out a set of keys, wiping aside snow and ice and then finding the lock.
“How long since you were here?” I ask.
“A few months,” he murmurs. “But only for maintenance, to make sure the heating and everything was still working. I haven’t stayed here for a very long time.”
“Does that make me special?” I tease, stunned at the sassiness in my voice.
But he just brings it out of me.
He turns to me, staring in that solid way of his.
“Yes,” he snarls.
He gestures for me to go inside. I walk into the hallway, looking around at the rustic, wood-built interior, a major log cabin vibe screaming from everything—the wooden support beams, the fur rugs, the mounted animal heads on the walls.
“Fake,” he says, catching me staring at a large elk’s head. “My aunt loves the style, but she hates animal cruelty.”
He closes the door behind us and then walks toward the fireplace.
“I stored some wood in the basement,” he says. “Wait here and then I’ll get a fire going.”
I nod. “What about Sparky?”
“There’s a dog door at the back,” he says. “He knows not to venture too far. He’ll take himself for a little walk and then come back in about an hour or so.”
“Okay,” I murmur. “I’ll just … wait here, then?”
“Yes,” he growls, his eyes flitting up and down my body, a sudden intensity shadowing his expression.
I sit on the comfy armchair next to the fireplace, moving my hands up and down my thighs as though that will dispel the anxious energy surging through me.
But all that does is make my thighs tingle in anticipation.
Is this it?
Is this the moment we …
What? a vicious voice hisses. What do you think you’ll be able to do for a man like Damian? Who do you think you are?
I try to fight that thought away, but the truth of it slams into me.
My inexperience hangs over me like a scythe waiting to drop and ruin the potential intimacy of the moment.
Chapter Eleven
Damian
I carry the logs up the stairs, my heart banging heavily in my chest, the beast inside of me trying to break out harder and fiercer with each moment.
The way she looked as she stood there before the fireplace, her clothes clinging tightly to her curves, her eyes wide with anticipation, did something to me.
And now I’m a fucking werewolf with the moon up, unable to fight this beastliness inside of me, not wanting to fight it.
I poke my head out of the back door in the kitchen.
