“So then are you constipated?”
The blunt question has me nearly choking, and I glare at her. “I am not constipated. Why would you even think that?”
“Your expression. You look like you’re about to pop a—”
“Miranda!” I give her an aggrieved look. “I swear if you say I’m constipated—”
“Then tell me what crawled up your butt.”
She chooses now to show some of her old spark. I don’t know whether to laugh or snort.
“Coach wanted to talk about something, and I was just worried. That’s it. My bodily functions are fine, thank you very much.” I glare at her.
She hesitates. “Can I ask, or is it something I don’t need to know?”
I part my lips and then focus my gaze on the road. “Not yet. You don’t need to know yet.”
My grip on the steering wheel has gone tight. I pull into the drive and cut the engine.
The second the car stops, Ethan wakes up the way only children can. He’s out of the back seat and running for the front door before I’ve unbuckled. Linda opens it for him, and he disappears inside. I exit the car and round it just as Miranda has gotten out and is closing her door.
I cage her in with my arms. My hand braces against the metal beside her shoulder. Hers come up to my chest automatically.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her eyes narrow.
“Were you worried about me just now?”
She actually looks guilty, and delight fills me. The lie rolls off her lips easily. “No.”
“Liar,” I murmur, lowering my head toward her.
Her cheeks turn a bright red. “Don’t even think about it, Wolfe.”
“It’s a show for the cameras.” I laugh quietly. “Just keeping up appearances.”
Her eyes glance around the empty drive, the trees and the gravel. Linda’s silhouette has already disappeared from the doorway.
“There aren’t any cameras here.”
“Are you sure?” My mouth is very close to hers now. “Maybe I’m just paranoid.”
“You’re not paranoid,” she breathes. Her pupils have gone wide. “Grayson, we are fake engaged. This is not what you’re supposed to do.”
“So maybe this is a fake kiss.”
The distance closes.
The kiss is not fake.
It’s hot and slow and deliberate. Her hands fist in my shirt within three seconds. My thigh slides between hers, pressing her into the metal of the car. The small sound she makes against my mouth I feel everywhere. The scent of her arousal hits me in a wave, sweet, sharp, wholly hers, and the wolf inside me surges so hard that my jaw locks to keep from biting down on her lower lip.
I kiss her until she’s breathless. Until her fingers are buried in my hair. Until that pulse of hers is pounding against my palm where my hand has slid up to the side of her throat.
Then the wind shifts.
A scent reaches me on it. Underneath the pines, underneath Miranda, underneath the wet earth of the drive. The scent is faint but unmistakable. An intruder.
My body goes rigid.
