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I almost call him back, my need for more and the desire to feel him inside me overwhelming.

I want him. I want everything he can offer me.

Fuck.

Chapter Six

Saylor

I’m not wearing his shirt just because he ordered me to. My few shirts were dirty, and I didn’t feel like putting gross clothes back on. At least I had one more pair of clean jeans. The button-down, flannel shirt was big and comfortable. I had to roll up the sleeves and knot it at my waist. Even though it was clean, it smelled like him, and right or wrong, it gave me a sense of peace.

I attempted to wall up my defenses against him while scrubbing my body. I lectured myself harshly.

You cannot depend on a man, especially one you just met.

You can’t fall into his arms again.

You cannot blurt out your whole past when he asks.

You can’t let the heat control you.

I left the bedroom firm in my convictions.

Now I stand at the edge of the small kitchen, looking around the cozy kitchen-living room combo. The fireplace is burning brightly. The room is just as dark as the bedroom, but it works sowell. My attention lands on the hot cowboy plating up eggs and toast while still shirtless, smiling at me.

My lonely heart falls.

Shit.

“Have a seat, Saylor.” He motions to the small table.

I move stiffly and collapse into the chair. “You didn’t have to.” I love my real name coming from his lips.

“Of course I did.” He puts the plate in front of me and turns to get his. “Like I said, it’s not much, but it will fill you up. You need to eat and it gives me pleasure to feed you.”

I look down at the table. There is jelly and butter in the middle, along with salt and pepper. A tall glass of orange juice is added in front of me as he goes back and forth to the kitchen.

“Thank you. It looks great.” He cooked me three eggs and two pieces of toast.

“I didn’t know how you liked your eggs. I like a little run with them, and since we have the same taste in coffee, I took the chance.” He winks and puts a full cup of coffee in front of me.

“It is.” I swallow over the lump in my throat.

“What?” he asked, sitting across from me.

“That’s how I like my eggs, too.” Crap, how did I land here? I don’t know what to do. I can’t force myself to leave Elijah and my rapidly growing feelings, now that I found him, but I fear Grant will hurt him. Regular kids believe the scary stories they are told, like the boogeyman that hides under the bed, always lifting their feet, never leaving them dangle. Grant is my boogeyman. If I leave my feet in one place for too long, he’ll reach out and grab them.

“Eat,” he commands.

I reach for the fork. “Thank you.”

“Quit thanking me. I wanted to do this for you,” he says gently. “I really love my shirt on you.”

“I didn’t have any clean clothes left,” I defend. I shovel food in my mouth before I say something else stupid. The last person, besides at a fast-food place, to cook me food was my mom. I didn’t realize how much it would get to me.

“I’m glad,” he grins, taking a drink. “Tell me what brought you here.”

I chew slowly, stalling. He’s been nothing but great to me. There is no doubt he is my mate. I know he won’t let me go easily; plus, at this point, why would I want him to? I wish my mom were here to give me advice. She would know what to do. Finding your mate is not something that should be thrown away. Many shifters go years and years before finding one, if at all. The bond is never wrong. If it is ignored, we will live a life of loneliness, never finding fulfillment—we wouldn’t want to go on. We are only given one mate, and it would be stupid to give up such a gift. Plus, as a shifter, the heat is overtaking my body and it will become painful without my mate giving me relief. It’s nature’s way of ensuring the shifter gene is carried on.