Page 2 of Claimed by the Grumpy Shifter (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #5)

The way he looks at me makes my skin feel too hot.

I've never experienced anything like it. I'm conscious of every breath, every heartbeat, every tiny movement. Marc Steel stands in my flower shop like he owns it, like he owns everything in it, including me, and the strangest part is that some primitive part of my brain wants to let him.

Which is absolutely ridiculous. I don't even know this man.

But God, he's beautiful in the most dangerous way possible.

Tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, broad enough that he makes my cozy shop feel cramped, and there's something wild about him that makes me think of storms and forests and things that would swallow me whole if I let them.

His amber eyes haven't left my face since Mrs. Williams left, and the intensity of his stare is doing things to my nervous system that should probably require a medical consultation.

"You're staring," I say, then immediately want to crawl under the counter.

Did I just say that out loud? To a customer? To my gorgeous new neighbor who probably thinks I'm a complete lunatic?

But instead of looking offended, his mouth curves into something that might charitably be called a smile. It's more like a predator baring its teeth, but somehow that makes my pulse race instead of making me run.

"Sorry." His voice is pure gravel, like he doesn't use it often. "It's just... you're not what I expected to find in Cedar Falls."

"What did you expect?" I ask, genuinely curious.

I fidget with the ribbon scraps on my counter, needing something to do with my hands because they keep wanting to reach for him, which is insane. I don't reach for men. I barely make eye contact with them.

"Quiet. Simple. Forgettable." His gaze travels over my face like he's memorizing it. "You're none of those things."

Heat floods my cheeks so fast I'm probably glowing like a neon sign. Men don't say things like that to me. Men barely notice me, period. I'm the girl they ask about my prettier friends, the one they pat on the head and call "sweet" before moving on to someone more interesting.

But Marc is looking at me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, and I have no idea what to do with that.

"I should probably warn you," I say, desperate to fill the silence before I do something embarrassing like swoon, "Cedar Falls has a way of surprising people. Nothing ever turns out quite like you expect it to."

"I'm starting to figure that out." He takes a step closer to the counter, and I catch a hint of his odor, something woodsy and masculine. "What about you? Have you always lived here?"

"Born and raised." I gesture around the shop, trying to ignore the way his presence seems to fill every corner of it. "Took over this place from Mrs. Chelsea when she retired. She taught me everything I know about flowers."

"Must be nice, having roots like that."

There's something wistful in his tone, something that speaks to the romantic in me. "What about you? Where are you from?"

His expression shutters so quickly I almost miss it. "Nowhere special. I've moved around a lot."

Military, I think. Something about his posture, the way he holds himself, screams discipline and training. And those scars I glimpsed on his hands—there's a story there, probably not a happy one.

"Well, you picked a good place to land," I say softly. "Cedar Falls grows on you."

"I'm counting on it."

The way he says it, like he's talking about more than just the town, makes my stomach flutter with something I don't quite recognize. Want, maybe. The kind of want I've only read about in romance novels, the kind that makes heroines do stupid, wonderful things.

The bell chimes again, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Elisa pushes through the door with baby Emma on her hip, looking harried and beautiful in that effortless way that makes me simultaneously adore her and hate my own genetics.

"Chris, thank God you're here. Emma's teething and I couldn't find the—" She stops mid-sentence when she notices Marc, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Oh. Hi."

Marc turns toward them, and something changes in his posture. He goes very still, very alert, like a wild animal scenting a threat. It's subtle, but I notice because I can't seem to stop noticing everything about him.

"Elisa, this is Marc Steel. He just moved in across the street." I gesture between them, trying to ignore the weird tension that's suddenly crackling in the air. "Marc, this is Elisa, my employee and friend. And this little angel is Emma."

Emma chooses that moment to let out a shriek that could shatter glass, and Elisa bounces her while giving Marc an apologetic smile. "Sorry, she's not usually this fussy. The teething is making her miserable."

"No problem," Marc says, but his voice is tight. He's looking at Emma like she might explode at any moment, and I realize he's probably one of those men who's terrified of babies. It's almost endearing, seeing this mountain of a man reduced to panic by a ten-month-old.

"Here, let me take her," I say, reaching for Emma. She comes to me willingly, her tiny fist immediately latching onto my hair. "There's my sweet girl. Are those teeth bothering you?"

I bounce her gently, making soft nonsense sounds that usually calm her down. It works. Her crying subsides to hiccupping whimpers, and she settles against my shoulder with a contented sigh.

When I look up, Marc is staring at me with an expression I can't read. His amber eyes are almost glowing, and there's something fierce and hungry in his face that makes me wonder what he’s thinking.

"You're good with her," he says, his voice rougher than before.

"I love babies." The words slip out before I can censor them, along with a wistful sigh that probably broadcasts my deepest desires to everyone in the shop. "I mean, Emma's special. She's such a good baby."

Elisa snorts. "Tell that to Josh. He turned green the first time she spit up on him."

"How is Josh?" I ask, grateful for the distraction. Talking about other people's love lives is much safer than whatever was happening between Marc and me.

"Amazing. Wonderful. Still can't believe he's real sometimes." Elisa's face lights up in a way that makes my chest ache with envy. "He's taking us camping this weekend. Emma's first camping trip."

"That sounds perfect," I say, and I mean it.

I'm genuinely happy for Elisa. She deserves every bit of joy she's found with Josh. But there's a part of me that wonders if I'll ever have that, if I'll ever find someone who looks at me the way Josh looks at her.

My gaze slides to Marc, who's watching me hold Emma with that same intense stare. For a wild moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if he were looking at me holding our baby, if those strong hands were reaching out to touch—

Stop. Just stop.

I hand Emma back to Elisa before my imagination can run any further away with itself. "Did you need something specific, or were you just escaping the teething drama?"

"I’m going to meet Josh for lunch, then have a dentist appointment for Emma, and I wanted to make sure you didn't need me here." Elisa shifts Emma to her other hip, completely oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around us. "But it looks like you have things well in hand."

She glances between Marc and me, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks again. Of course she noticed. Elisa has an annoying talent for reading people, especially when it comes to romantic tension.

"Actually," Marc says, his voice cutting through my embarrassment, "I should probably get going. Let you ladies get back to work."

"Oh, you don't have to—" I start, but he's already moving toward the door.

"It was nice meeting you both." He pauses at the threshold, looking back at me. "Christine."

The way he says my name—like he's tasting it, savoring it—sends shivers down my spine. Then he's gone, leaving me staring at the empty doorway like an idiot.

"Holy shit," Elisa breathes.

"Language," I say, glancing at Emma.

"She's ten months old, Chris. And did you see the way he looked at you? Like he wanted to devour you whole."

My face is definitely on fire now. "He was just being friendly."

"Friendly?" Elisa laughs so hard that Emma starts giggling too. "Honey, that man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a weight loss meeting. There was nothing friendly about it."

I busy myself rearranging flowers that don't need rearranging, trying to ignore the way my heart is still racing. "You're imagining things."

"I'm really not. And the way you looked at him back? Girl, you were practically purring."

"I don't purr," I protest, but even I can hear how weak it sounds.

"You should ask him out."

The suggestion hits me like cold water. "What? No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? He's gorgeous, he's obviously interested, and you've been single for way too long."

"He's my neighbor. What if it goes badly? I'd have to see him every day." I shake my head, panic rising in my chest. "Besides, men like that don't date women like me."

"Women like what?" Elisa's voice goes sharp with protectiveness. "Smart, beautiful, successful women who smell like flowers and make babies stop crying with one smile?"

"You know what I mean." I gesture vaguely at myself, at my soft curves hidden under my oversized sweater, at my complete lack of dating experience with men who look like fallen angels.

"I know you're an idiot if you think you're not good enough for him." Elisa's expression softens. "Chris, you're amazing. Any man would be lucky to have you. And from what I just witnessed, Marc Steel knows it."

I want to believe her. God, I want to believe that a man like Marc could be interested in someone like me. But hope is dangerous territory, and I've been burned before by my own romantic delusions.

"Even if he was interested," I say, "which I'm not saying he is, I wouldn't know what to do about it. I'm not like you, Elisa. I don't know how to flirt or be sexy or... any of that stuff."

"I don’t either. Besides, you don't have to be like me. You just have to be yourself." She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Trust me on this one. That man is smitten, and if you don't do something about it, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life."

Before I can argue further, Emma starts fussing again, and Elisa has to leave to meet Josh for lunch. I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting across the street to the small house where Marc Steel is probably unpacking his mysterious past.

Every time I glance out the window, I catch myself looking for him. And twice, I could swear I see movement behind his curtains, like he's looking back.

By closing time, I've convinced myself that Elisa was wrong, that I imagined the whole electric connection, that Marc was just being polite to his new neighbor. But as I lock up the shop and head upstairs to my apartment, I can feel eyes on me.

I turn around, and there he is. Silhouetted in his window, watching me with that same intense stare that makes me feel like prey and predator all at once.

Our eyes meet across the street, and even from this distance, I can feel the heat of his gaze. He doesn't look away, doesn't even pretend he wasn't watching me. He just stands there, bold as brass, claiming the right to stare.

I should be offended. I should march over there and tell him that watching me is creepy and inappropriate.

Instead, I lift my hand in a small wave, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He raises his hand in return, a gesture that somehow feels like a promise.

Then I escape upstairs before I can do something truly stupid, like go over there and demand to know what kind of game he's playing.

But as I make dinner in my empty kitchen, I can't shake the feeling that Marc Steel isn't playing any games at all.

He's hunting.

And somehow, I think I want to be caught.