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Anxious, her cat rubbed up against her, giving comfort and seeking it. It confused and concerned the feline that he’d left them; it made both cat and woman worry he’d reject the bond. Hell, the guy had fled the bed rather than gently wake Bree and marvel over the bond. That didn’t say he was happy about it, did it?
Her throat thickening, she pulled her knees close to her chest. She needed to go face him. Needed to know where exactly his head was at.
She took a centering breath that was a lot shakier than she would have liked. Her nose and throat burned. She wasn’t gonna fall apart if he rejected the bond. Nope. She’d long ago learned the lesson that life wasn’t fair. She’d survived worse things than losing Alex Devereaux. She’d survive this, too. But wearing his scent on her skin, smelling him every moment of every day, would be a special kind of torture all on its own.
She slipped out of bed and pulled on her robe. It was time to face the music and just hope that the tune wouldn’t be too—
Bree stiffened as a floorboard outside the room creaked. Her pulse quickened, and she balled her hands up into little fists.
When he walked into the room and stared at her with unreadable eyes, her stomach sank. Any other time, the sight of his naked body would have been a distraction. Not right then. Because all she could think was … He doesn’t want this. If he were happy, he wouldn’t hide it, right?
Feeling uber protective of Bree at that moment, her cat eyed him warily, prepared to lash out if he said or did anything hurtful. Tears clogged Bree’s aching throat. Fuck, she would not cry. She wouldn’t. And nor would she yell at or condemn him. He hadn’t asked for imprinting to start. It wouldn’t exactly be his fault if he didn’t want it—people couldn’t always help how they felt.
She cleared her throat. “It’s okay if you’re not ready for this. I can understand, and I won’t be mad at you for it. I won’t hold it against you … but I’ll need to leave.”
“Leave?” he echoed, his gravelly voice empty of emotion. “You don’t want this?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t want to be bound to a male who doesn’t care for me as much as I do him.”
His dark eyes flared with something she couldn’t quite name. He slowly stalked toward her, fluid and predatory, and flicked up one eyebrow. “You’re so sure that’s the case here, are you?”
She blinked. “You don’t want the bond.”
“And you’re certain of this … why?”
“You don’t exactly look happy about it.”
He pursed his lips. “The truth? Being tied into a mating with a man like me is not going to be an easy ride for you. I’m not going to be easy. We haven’t been together long enough for you to get an idea of just how much of a pain in your ass I’ll be. But I’m not going to behave and walk away if you tell me you’re not ready for this. I’m too damn selfish for that.” He cupped the side of her neck and gave it a little squeeze. “Don’t you get it yet? I don’t have a single interest in living a life that doesn’t have you in it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alex watched as her body went unnaturally still. Her brow furrowed, as if she couldn’t quite process his words. He could almost see her replaying his declaration in her head over and over, unable to decide if she’d heard him right.
She honestly thought he’d walk away? The woman was whacked.
Waking up to the realization that they wore each other’s scents had completely blindsided him—he wouldn’t lie about that. Even with the irrefutable evidence right there on his skin, he hadn’t been able to wrap his head around it. Hadn’t been able to process it.
Alex liked control in his world. Liked to be in control of his world. The beginning of the imprinting process had swept that right out from under him. It left him off-balance; made him panic. But the deep sense of male satisfaction that flared in his belly massively overshadowed every other emotion.
His possessive instincts were on fucking fire—urging him to touch her, stay close to her, and strengthen their connection so that the bond could form. The drive to be near her was that strong, it had been hard to leave the bed. And now, as she stood in front of him, he could almost feel the metaphysical threads of imprinting stretched taut in the air between them.
Her tongue swiped over her lower lip. “Say again?”
“You heard me.”
She gave a fast shake of the head, as if trying to shake herself out of a stupor. “But … you left the bed.”
