Page 43

I was sliding the pan into the oven when the back door slid open. “Mom, I did it!”

“Did what?” I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and turned to smile at Dylan… And was greeted by a shirtless, sweaty Stephan.

At some point, Stephan had stripped off his shirt and slung the cotton over his shoulder. His jeans hung low on his hips—too low for my sanity, honestly. I was subjected to miles of bare, tattooed skin. Muscle. Beads of sweat. He turned to face me and raked one hand through his tousled blond hair. I was staring athis chest. His abs. The ink that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.

Then Dylan barreled into me like a train and grabbed me around the middle, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“I caught the football!”

“Haven’t you been catching the ball the past few days?” I asked.

“He did it with his claws out,” Stephan explained. He was eyeing me with something like amusement. “It’s an exercise in dexterity and control. Handling the ball without popping it.”

“That’s pretty cool, Dyl.” I raised my hand for a high-five, then thought better of it and pulled it away. “Wait, no claws now, right?”

Dylan laughed. “No claws!” He held up both of his human hands. We did a double high-five.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” I said. “Go clean up, you two.”

“Yes, Mom,” Dylan said. At the same time, Stephan said, “Yes, Harley,” in a low, warm voice.

That voice sent desire swirling through me. He saluted me with a playful smile, then followed Dylan upstairs. I turned back to the kitchen counter and suppressed a shiver. I heard his shower cut on, and I very deliberately turned my thoughts away fromthatand back to the meal I was finishing up.

To my relief, Stephan put on real clothes for dinner. Dylan’s excited narration of how his partial-shifting was going dominated the meal. After dinner, Dylan rushed to his room to play video games, and Stephan shooed me away from the dishes.

“You cooked,” he said. “The least I can do is clean up.”

“Well, you’re letting us stay here. I feel like I should be contributing more.”

Stephan shook his head. “It’s not a favor,” he said in that warm voice. “It’s a responsibility. You don’t need to contribute. Your being here is enough.”

My heart rate picked up. He made it sound so easy. Like Dylan and I could justbe here.Like we belonged.

But wedidn’tbelong here. Our lives were back in Atlanta. I had to remember that these days together, however nice they were, were a vacation forallof us. Stephan was still a gang leader who had spent seven years in prison. Not exactly perfect father material. I couldn’t let my desire and old feelings overwhelm the reality of the situation.

The more attached I got, the more it would hurt when we had to leave.

“I’ve got a little more work to do tonight,” I said. “So, uh, I’ll be in my room.”

Stephan’s smile faltered, but it was barely perceptible. I only noticed because I’d spent three days watching him. “Sure. I’ll finish up here.”

I didn’t have work to do, but I was more than eager to retreat into the cozy safety of my room. I thumbed through a book, but couldn’t focus on it. I ended up texting Cassidy, which turned into a back-and-forth conversation where I told her a little about how Stephan was helping Dylan. I didn’t tell her I was staying with Stephan, though—she would’ve latched onto that like a dog with a bone.

Soon, the house was quiet, and the sound of Dylan’s video game fell silent. The room was dark and cool, and I pulled the covers over my head and sighed. How was I supposed to sleep when my mind was racing like this? All I could think of were Stephan’s arms, his chest, the salty-musky smell of his sweat, his knowing hazel eyes, his warm smile, that low, low voice…

It’d been years since I was touched. I had a boyfriend a few years ago, and he was nice, but the sex was mediocre, and neither of us seemed too bummed when the relationship fizzled out. That was a running theme in my past relationships—mediocre sex. I didn’t think I was asking for a lot. I wanted a guywho wantedmeto orgasm, too. The guys I ended up with were only concerned with their own pleasure and not much else.

Maybe I’d been spoiled. Stephan was one of the first guys I’d ever been with. We were young, I was naïve but… The way he’d touched me was different. No one had touched me like that before. And no one had since.

It all came rushing back, half-memory and half dream, as I floated between sleep and wakefulness.

His callused hands on my bare waist.

His low voice in my ear.

His lips on my neck, the barest press of teeth right where a mating mark would go.

Heat pooled between my legs, and I pressed my thighs together as I shifted on the mattress.