“Just a few more minutes!” she says, chipper as hell, like she hasn’t spent the morning turning my self-control inside out.
She spins back toward the mess on the counter as if she’s hosting her own cooking show. A streak of flour cuts across her cheek, and she hums under her breath, swaying her hips to a rhythm only she knows.
She leans on the counter, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “God, it’s hot in here,” she says, tugging at the hem of her sweater. The motion lifts it enough to flash a strip of skin, soft above her jeans. “You think it’s the oven or the sexual tension?”
“No, there’s not—we’re not—” I choke on air.
She grins, clearly pleased with herself.
Shaking my head, I shove my hands into my pockets. “I know this game. It’s pure fox. Playing with fire, watching with those big blue eyes to see what burns first.”
“Oh?” she says, stepping closer, batting her lashes. “You noticed my eye color?”
“Of course I did. They’re noticeable because they’re…in your face.” I silently curse myself and glance over her shoulder, pretending to study the fireplace and not the crystal blue gems gazing up at me.
Smooth.My wolf drawls.
“You didn’t seem too concerned with looking at my face earlier.” Her mouth curves, slow and knowing, and I can feel that grin all the way down to my toes.
She moves another step closer. I shift away, the edge of the counter digging into my thigh.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asks, dragging her tongue along her plump lower lip.
Bite it.He encourages again.
“No,” I say to both of them. “I know what you’re doing.”
She blinks, feigning innocence. “Playing?”
“Hiding.”
The word lands heavy between us. She freezes, that sly smile dimming for a fraction of a second.
“You think if you flirt with me,” I continue my advantage, “keep things cute and fun and surface-level, you can ignore how lonely you are.”
The words are out before I can stop them. The sudden silence is interrupted by the oven timer’s shrill ding.
Her jaw tightens, and she stuffs her hands into a pair of worn oven mitts. “I suppose you’d know,” she fires back. “Hiding away out here all by yourself, no pack in sight.”
Ouch. She’s got claws.
I lift a shoulder and continue playing the role I’ve been honing over the past decade as the unfazed, detached lone wolf. “Used to run with a pack. Don’t anymore.”
The oven door groans as she yanks it open. Heat billows out, and I take a step back while she slams the cookie tray onto the stovetop hard enough to make the stove rattle. “Why’s that?”
“I’m more of a lone wolf kind of guy.”
“We’ve established you’re not some sort of serial killer, so why would a seemingly normal man want to be completely alone in the woods?” She turns on me, crystalline blue eyes flashing. “You thinkI’mhiding? You’re literally doing it.”
I cross my arms over my chest. Apparently I can dish it, but I can’t take it. Finally, I say, “I didn’t like my fate being dictated to me.”
The fire in her expression flickers, curiosity extinguishing a bit of the flames. She tilts her head, studying me. “Okay, if you hate fate so much, why live this close to the festival?”
“Close is relative.”
“So is dislike.”
I grunt, mouth twitching. “It’s quiet here.”
