“You’re a wolf,” I squeak, betraying every ounce of self-respect my species is supposed to have.
He grunts and reaches for his mug. Firelight flickers across his face. It picks out the silver in his beard and the distinct cut of his jaw. Something traitorous flutters low in my belly. I smother the feeling immediately.
“Why aren’t you at the festival?” I blurt, because apparently my mouth woke up before my brain.
His storm gray eyes flick to mine. “Why aren’t you?”
“I was on my way there,” I say, then scramble, “Not to, like,participateparticipate. I’m not looking to mate.”
He lifts a brow, and heat rushes up my neck to my cheeks.
I clear my throat and adjust the blanket around me, trying to sit up straighter as I glance around the cabin, taking in rough-hewn beams and shelves stacked with split logs. A cast-iron pan sits on the small stovetop next to a kettle. My clothes, including my bra, panties, and boots hang neatly over a drying rack in front of the fire.
“I, uh…would like to get dressed.”
He takes another slow sip from his mug and shrugs. “Be my guest.”
“And where would you suggest I do so?”
His gesture takes in the one room cabin. “I’ll close my eyes.”
I stare at him, and he stares back. A silent, wolfish kind of challenge. I don’t know why I expected anything else.
Fine. If he wants to play, let’s fucking play.
I stand, clutching the blanket to my chest. “Remember when I said you were a gentleman?”
“Yeah…” The fire crackles as his gaze tracks my movements to the fireplace.
“I take it all back.”
I drop the blanket.
The air in the cabin wraps around me, warm and marshmallow soft. Despite the heat, I shiver. Goosebumps rise along my bare skin, every inch of me aware of his heavy gaze.
The leather armrest creaks as he grips it with one large hand, the tendons in his forearm standing out, his jaw flexing like he’s holding something wild, something primal at bay. He grunts, and the sound of it, the strain of it, slides down my spine and settles low.
His unhurried gaze travels down, skimming the line of my collarbone, lingering over the curve of my breasts, the dip of my waist, the soft, sensitive center of me that aches under the weight of his attention.
When his eyes lift again, they’re no longer storm gray. They’re flooded with a bright, molten silver that makes my stomach flip, and my thighs press together.
His wolf.
The sight of it steals the air from my lungs. The realization that I love the way that feral shimmer catches in the firelight, the way his breath deepens, the way every inch of him looks like he’s barely holding himself back startles me as much as the hunger within myself. I’ve never wanted danger before. Never wanted to be the woman a man struggles not to devour.
A wild, forbidden thrill drips between my legs. My pulse stutters. My skin buzzes. My nipples tighten into peaks. I want this wolf to look. I want him to touch. I want to know what happens when a man like him stops holding back.
But I lift my chin instead, pretending his attention doesn’t make my insides melt, doesn’t make me want to be reckless and wild.
“Thanks so much for drying my clothes.” I wince when my voice comes out a shade too bright. “Maybe you are a gentleman after all.”
Something flickers across his face—guilt, restraint, I can’t tell which. His gaze drops, silver dimming back to storm gray as he shakes his head. The hand on the armrest relaxes, and he exhales, low and rough.
“Not a problem.” He takes a long, slow pull from his mug and stares up at the ceiling as if he didn’t just eye fuck me.
I turn my back and start getting dressed in front of the fire. I force my hands to stay steady as I pull on my underwear and clasp my bra.
“West,” he says behind me.
