Page 39

For one mortifying moment, we both froze—me in shock, him in what appeared to be stunned silence. His gaze drifted slowly over my exposed body, from my dripping hair to my fox tail and everything in between, while I stood there like a deer in headlights, too surprised to move.

When my brain finally caught up with the situation, I let out a yelp.

“Jesus Christ on a unicycle!” I dove behind the chaise lounge in my bedroom’s sitting area. “Ever heard of knocking? Or texting? Or any form of communication that doesn’t involve cardiac arrest?”

From my hiding place, I could feel my face burning with mortification, my fox ears flattened against my wet hair. The knowledge that Logan had just seen every inch of me was almost too much to bear.

And it wasn’t just the nakedness that mortified me—it was the kind of nakedness. I had virtually no body hair, even… down there. Where most men had a forest, I had a barren clearing—practically nothing despite being nineteen. Just bare skin where there should have been something more adult.

Drew had assured me for years that I’d “grow into it,” that some men just developed later. But I was beginning to think that was just another lie to make me feel better about being a freak—a defective shifter with a defective body.

“I brought you this,” Logan finally said, his voice rougher than usual as he held up what I now recognized as one of my leather-bound sketchbooks. “Thought you might be looking for it.”

“And it couldn’t wait until I was wearing pants?” I demanded, peering around the chaise lounge. “Or did you think, ‘Hey, perfect time to invade Finn’s privacy—when he’s naked and vulnerable and likely to die of embarrassment’?”

“I didn’t know you’d be…” Logan gestured vaguely in my direction, his eyes determinedly fixed on a point above my head now.

“Naked? In my own bedroom? After a shower? What a shocking concept,” I snapped, my tail lashing with agitation. “Can you at least throw me something to wear since you’ve decided to make yourself at home?”

Logan reached for the nearest piece of clothing—a t-shirt draped over my desk chair—and tossed it in my direction. It landed a foot short, because apparently alpha werewolves with supernatural strength and precision suddenly lost all coordination when confronted with nudity.

“Stellar aim,” I muttered, stretching to grab it without exposing myself further. “Really living up to that predator reputation.”

I managed to snag the shirt and pulled it over my head. It was long enough to cover the essentials but still left me feeling uncomfortably exposed as I stepped out from behind the chaise lounge.

“You could have left it on the desk,” I said, gesturing to the sketchbook still clutched in his hand. “Or, wild concept, waited until I came downstairs.”

“I could have,” he agreed, his eyes now tracking the movement of my tail, which was still swishing nervously. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten such an educational anatomy lesson.”

“Ha ha,” I deadpanned, crossing my arms over my chest. “Hilarious. I’m dying of laughter. Can’t you tell by my not-laughing face?”

I took a step toward him, intending to snatch the sketchbook and then shoo him out, but my wet feet—and the water dripping from my still-soaked tail—created a small puddle on the hardwood floor. My feet slipped, arms pinwheeling in the least dignified manner possible, and I felt myself falling—until suddenly I wasn’t.

Logan moved with supernatural speed, catching me against his chest before I could hit the ground. One moment I was practicing for the world’s most embarrassing pratfall, the next I was pressed against six foot five of solid muscle, my face smashed into his pectoral.

“Careful,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Floor’s wet.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I gasped, acutely aware that the t-shirt had ridden up during my near-fall and was now doing absolutely nothing to preserve my modesty. “Brilliant deduction. What tipped you off? The puddles or my impromptu ice-skating routine?”

But despite my sarcasm, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. Logan was so warm, his arms like steel bands around my waist, his scent—ocean air and alpha male—making my head swim. My heart hammered so loudly I was certain he could hear it, feel it against his chest where we were pressed together.

The cool air against my exposed backside contrasted sharply with the heat where my front was squeezed against Logan. His large hand splayed across my lower back, dangerously close to the curve of my ass, fingers just brushing the silvery marks that seemed to tingle at his proximity.

I stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe as Logan’s gaze darkened, his eyes tracking down my face to my neck, lingering there as though he could see my pulse racing beneath the skin. My fox parts were practically singing with approval, my tail curling unconsciously around his leg, the tip stroking against his calf in a motion that felt far too intimate.

“Logan,” I whispered, my voice embarrassingly breathy. “You can let go now. Unless you’re planning to add ‘inappropriate fondling’ to tonight’s invasion of privacy highlight reel.”

That seemed to break whatever spell had fallen over him. He released me abruptly, stepping back with a shuttered expression. “We’re both men, Finn. Brothers. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Of course. That’s all he saw when he looked at me—another man, his little brother. Nothing more. What had I been thinking?

And suddenly, with perfect clarity, I realized something I should have seen from the beginning. The brothers had never shown interest in men. Only women. Always women. The idea that their fated mate was not only their adoptive sibling but also male must be doubly horrifying for them.

No wonder they looked so devastated at the ceremony.

“Right,” I said, backing toward my closet. “Brothers. Men. Nothing embarrassing about accidental nudity between dudes. Totally normal. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Logan nodded stiffly, his expression unreadable as he headed for the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”