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“Yeah.” Jesse cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the images of bending Sam over the couch, of sliding his hands up the man’s body, learning his dips and curves, of licking him as Sam moaned then cried out his name. “My boss is sending backup.”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” Sam’s pupils had dilated. His breathing picked up as licked his lips.
“Sam.” Jesse moved closer, though he knew he shouldn’t. It was a temptation he didn’t need, but one he couldn’t resist. “It’s just one more bodyguard. Why do you look so frightened?”
“It’s just that…” He looked down at his tea. Sam swallowed and traced the rim with the pad of his index finger. “I was taught my entire life that shifters were…” Sam took in a deep breath.
Jesse was starting to understand. “That we’re savages.”
Sam cut his eyes toward Jesse then looked away.
“And now you’re afraid of having two wolves around you.” There was prejudice in every species. This wasn’t the first time Jesse had run across it. He couldn’t say that it didn’t hurt to know what his mate thought of him. That explained his comments in the store earlier.
What Jesse couldn’t understand was, if Malcolm hated shifters, why had he gone to Driscoll Security since nothing but wolves worked there?
“I just—” Sam let out a long breath as he set his mug next to Jesse’s. He turned, placing one leg on the couch. “I’m not my father.”
“You could have fooled me.” Jesse sat there, his jaw rigid, unsure what to think. So he got up and headed into his bedroom. He didn’t want to leave Sam’s side, just in case, but Jesse needed a moment to himself to regroup. Now he was glad he hadn’t told Sam they were mates. What the guy just said was a crushing blow.
The door slowly opened. Sam stood there, sans the blanket, his arms around his midsection. “I’m not my father.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” Jesse wanted to punch something. He’d seen prejudice. Hell, he knew plenty of shifters who hated demons and vampires and some who despised humans. Any form of hatred made his teeth gnash because it made no sense to him.
“I admit”—Sam ran a hand through his hair, some of the strands sticking up—“that at first I was frightened of you. It was ingrained in me that your kind couldn’t be trusted, that you’d rather kill and maim than be civil.”
And Jesse stood there with a gun tucked in the back of his waistband. He usually wore a shoulder holster, hated being without it, but he’d forgone wearing it to meet Malcom Whitlock because it had felt bulky under his suit jacket.
“And I know a demon or two who kill indiscriminately or suck souls out of people.” Jesse really needed to reel his shit in. He had a hot temper, and he didn’t want to take it out on Sam. Malcolm was a narcissist. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Of course he felt his kind was superior to others. That didn’t make it true.
Not by a longshot. Not when Jesse carried around memories that should have made him hate demons, but he didn’t blame the entire race for the act of one person.
“But I’m getting to know you.” Sam took another step toward him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he dropped his chin. “And I…I like you.”
“Gee, thanks. So glad I didn’t feed into your fears of me.” Jesse turned toward the bed, letting his head fall back. He stared at the ceiling, slowly breathing in and out. Was it truly Sam’s fault that he’d been fed lies his entire life? That he’d been raised by an overbearing father who’d drummed that bullshit into his children’s heads?
“I’m trying here,” Sam snapped. “I’m coming to you to try and explain that I don’t hold the same viewpoints, and you’re acting like—”
“An asshole wolf?” He dropped his head and pivoted to look at Sam then stalked toward him, towering over his mate. “Do I truly frighten you, Samuel?” he said with a soft snarl, his anger still controlling him.
“No,” Sam whispered. “Not anymore. You kind of…kind of fascinate me.”
Jesse hadn’t expected that reply. He curled his fingers in, pressing his nails into his palms, the pain a reminder that he couldn’t touch Sam right now. Not in anger and not when all he wanted to do was take his mate to the bed and fuck him. “You should return to the living room.”
Because Jesse was barely holding himself back. He needed Sam away from him. He needed to clear his head and get his emotions back under control—a control that was quickly slipping away from him.
Sam frowned, expelling an audible breath. He ran his right hand up his left arm then walked out of the room. Jesse mentally cursed. It had been a simple assignment. Keep the demon safe from whoever wanted him kidnapped. The job shouldn’t have been this complicated.
Malcolm had warned Jesse not to touch his son. Ian had cursed at the thought of Sam being Jesse’s mate. Even Sam had made it clear he wasn’t interested in Jesse.
Fuck my screwed-up-ass life.
* * * *
Sam didn’t go to the living room. He went to the bedroom across the hall. He sat on the edge of the bed, wondering how his life had become so messed up. Before the first attempted kidnapping, Sam had been happy. Okay, content was more like it, but his biggest worry had been bringing in sales.
Now? Sam just wanted to get into his car and drive. Just drive away and leave all his troubles behind him. Hit the highway with no destination in mind. Anger rolled through him that he couldn’t. It seemed no matter where he was someone accosted him. Now Jesse looked at him with disdain, and there was no telling when this nightmare would end.
What did the person after him want? That was the burning question.
