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“Are you wearing it?” Jace’s voice was an aroused, grumbling purr.
Enough to make her quiver during the times when he was inside her.
Heat pooled between her legs. “That’s none of your business.” She smiled coyly.
“You are.” He grinned, his expression absolutely wicked. “I can tell from that blush on your face.”
She shrugged. Attempting to play it off. “I like expensive things, including lingerie. What can I say?”
Jace nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” His gaze darted to the booth she’d seen him and Amarok in. “I could wear a nice Armani suit too, if that’d suit you better.” His personal style was blue-collar to say the least. Leather jackets and jeans.
She shook her head. “No. No, it wouldn’t.” She liked that about him, that he was genuine. Real. That’s what she cherished about him most, that she didn’t have to pretend, to play the packmaster, or the vicious mafia queen. She could just be Frankie.
With all her attributes and faults.
He saw the whole of her, the unpolished stone underneath the guise of a diamond, and still he wanted her. Was attempting to fight to her.
As much as she feared what that would mean.
How things would end between them.
Jace gestured to the lingerie box as if to indicate the intimate contents which were no longer underneath the sleek lid. “I figure once you change your mind, maybe we can ruin those on that desk of yours.” His gaze speared her. “I like to tear things.”
The thought of him ripping that lingerie off her, no doubt only to turn around and spoil her with more, was more than a little appealing. She shook her head. What in the world was she going to do with him? They couldn’t keep going on like this.
“I won’t change my mind, Jace. I want to, but I can’t.”
She spoke clearly, confidently, trying to make him understand.
But still, he didn’t believe her. She could see it in his eyes.
She wasn’t even certain she’d truly convinced herself. Let alone him.
“So you’ve told me,” he said. “For your pack’s sake.”
She nodded, hoping that maybe, someday, he’d understand.
“And what about your sake, Frankie?” He stepped closer.
She was entirely too aware of his position in the room, how even one look from him could fill her with wanting, stop her breath short.
“It’s not about me,” she breathed.
“Isn’t it?” One dark brow lifted. “I think it’s less about what it would mean for your pack and more about what’s at stake for you—personally, that is.”
“Which is?”
"Having to admit you’re afraid again. Having to admit that you’ve known since that first night what I am to you.”
He didn’t have to say it for her to know the word he’d left unspoken.
A mate.
And a destined one at that.
They’d been skirting around it since the very beginning, though she hadn’t even been certain she believed in that sort of thing before him. Hell, she still wasn’t.
But what else could that immediate connection between them mean? The way he’d given up everything for her? Even if it’d been the right thing to do.
