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It was such a normal thing to say, she laughed. The more time they spent together, the more his personality came out. Less grim loner and werewolf assassin, more an intense guy with a rigid code of right and wrong and a sense of humor that showed itself at the unlikeliest times.
In retaliation, she grabbed her cup and sucked on the straw.
“You don’t play fair.”
“Remember that.”
“It’s not smart, or safe, to tease a wolf.” He stroked the back of his fingers over her cheek.
“Nothing about this situation is smart or safe.” Satisfied she’d made her point, she finished her chicken sandwich and fries. It was takeout eaten in a truck, but every detail was special, because she was sharing it with him. It wasn’t exactly a date, but it was as close as they were likely to get. Life wasn’t always fair, so you had to grab the good moments while you could.
Meal eaten, garbage dumped, they pulled back into traffic. She glanced at the restaurant, wistful. It was stupid to get sentimental over a fast-food joint.
He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. She clung to it briefly before releasing him. Rather than looking back again, she faced forward. “You never did tell me where we were going.”
“Sleepy Hollow.”
“Of course, we’re headed to the land of myth and legend and the headless horseman. Where else would a werewolf go?”
“Just beyond, actually. I own a place. It’s private. Mostly land but there’s a small house that’s rented out to tourists.”
There were so many layers to this man. “Like the safe house?”
“Yes. When I knew I was coming to New York, I called the management company that handles this particular property and told them to cancel all reservations for the next month and rebook anyone displaced into more expensive accommodations, on me.”
“Bet they loved that.”
“They get paid to follow orders. I own the property so it’s available if I need it.” There was the cool practicality of the lone wolf. He was used to being in control, of issuing orders and having them obeyed. He might dress down, but power clung to him. Not all of it came from the fact he was a wolf. His disregard for money indicated he had a lot of it.
She tugged on her stained sweatshirt, feeling more like the poor relation in a Victorian novel depending on the largess of her benefactor. Or some damsel in distress in need of rescuing. It wasn’t fair to him. He’d never done or said anything to make her feel that way.
The divide between them kept on growing. Rather than dwell on it, she watched the scenery as they passed through the quaint town of Sleepy Hollow. “I read the story, but I’ve never been here.” Strange since it was a short train ride away.
“It’s been a long time since I was back. It’s changed.”
“I bet. Everyone is cashing in on the legend. You can’t blame them, not when so many other small towns are dying.” Great, now she was making small talk like she was part of the local chamber of commerce or something. Treating him like a stranger and not like someone with whom she’d shared explosive sex and two life-and-death situations.
A headache was brewing behind her eyes, a result of all the stress. This kind of thing might be normal for him, but her biggest concern was usually what she was going to have for supper and meeting work deadlines. She rubbed her eyes and rolled her neck.
“We’re almost there.” He turned off onto a secondary road. Large trees loomed on either side. On a sunny day it would provide a canopy of shade. At dusk, it gave the place a spooky vibe. Another five minutes and he turned onto a narrow lane just past a sign that saidRose Cottage.
It turned out not to be a road but a long, winding driveway that ended in front of a small single-story building constructed out of stone. Wild rose bushes circled the clearing. It was like stepping back in time.
She slid out of the truck and breathed in the crisp, clean air. The light was fading. Crickets chirped. The scent of roses and freshly cut grass perfumed the air. She turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.
“Welcome to Rose Cottage. Let’s go inside.”
…
It wasn’t smart to bring her to one of his properties not buried under layers of false identification. He’d done it anyway. He’d fallen in love with the place the first time he’d laid eyes on it. On the run from his pack, still trying to find his way, he’d stumbled onto it as a lad of fifteen, hungry and frightened and alone. It had been a haven.
The elderly human couple who’d lived here had taken him in. In exchange for food and lodging, he’d worked the land, doing whatever chores needed to be done. More than that, they’d offered affection, a place to belong, and safety when he’d needed it most. Things had been different back then. Nowadays, the authorities would’ve been called. Eighty-five years ago, he’d been considered a man, capable of making his own way in the world. It had practically killed him to leave but staying endangered them.
It had taken him ten years and a lot of hard work, but he’d returned with the money to buy it. The couple had passed on by then, but the heirs had been more interested in the money than the house. It had been his first real estate purchase. He wanted to share this place with her, wanted her to love it as much as he did. If he was ever going to have a home, this would be it.
He punched the code into the lock. She was still standing where he’d left her, turning round and round as if she was trying to soak in every detail. Satisfaction flooded him. “Come inside.”
“This place is incredible. I can smell the roses. And the house…” She stopped long enough to run her hand over the rough stone. “It’s like something from a fairy tale. What about the luggage?”
