Page 9 of Claimed by the Grumpy Shifter (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #5)

The bear is pacing restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by the scent of her arousal and the knowledge that she wants me as much as I want her.

But this is a public place, and Christine deserves better than having me lose control in the middle of a restaurant.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, the tension between us simmering just below the surface. Every time she brings her fork to her lips, every time she takes a sip of wine, I find myself cataloguing the details like they're precious memories I need to preserve.

The way her tongue darts out to catch a drop of butter sauce. The soft sound of satisfaction she makes when she tastes something particularly good. The unconscious way she leans toward me when she laughs, like she's drawn to my warmth.

"Tell me about your family," I say finally, desperate for something to focus on besides the way she's making me feel.

Her expression shifts, becoming more guarded. "There's not much to tell. My parents live about three hours away in the city. Dad's an accountant, Mom teaches high school English."

"You don't sound particularly enthusiastic about them."

She sighs, pushing her salmon around her plate. "It's complicated. They're good people, but they have very specific ideas about what constitutes a successful life. And running a flower shop in a small town doesn't exactly fit their vision."

"What would fit their vision?"

"Corporate job, corner office, husband with a law degree, 2.

5 children, and a house in the suburbs." She laughs, but there's no humor in it.

"They think I'm wasting my potential 'playing with flowers,' as my mother puts it.

But in the same breath, they ask when I'm going to settle down and give them grandchildren. "

The pain in her voice makes my chest tight. "You can't win."

"Exactly. I'm either not ambitious enough or too focused on my career, depending on which conversation we're having." She takes a sip of wine, and I can see her trying to shake off the melancholy. "What about you? Any family?"

My hand tightens around my fork, and I have to consciously relax my grip before I bend the metal.

"A brother," I say finally. "Jake. He's three years younger than me."

"Close?"

"We were." The words taste bitter. "Our parents died when I was fourteen, Jake was eleven. Car accident. We went into the system together, but..." I trail off, remembering the foster homes that couldn't handle two traumatized boys who were already showing signs of being different.

"That must have been terrible."

"We survived. Looked out for each other. Jake was always the smart one, the one who could charm his way out of trouble. I was the one who made sure nobody messed with him." I cut into my steak, memories flooding back. "We were all we had."

"What happened?"

The question I've been dreading. How do I explain that my brother tried to save me from myself? That he saw what I was becoming in the military and tried to intervene? That I was too proud and too scared to listen?

"He thought I was self-destructing," I confess. "After my second deployment, when I came home... I wasn't the same person. Jake could see it. He kept pushing me to talk to someone, to get help, to deal with what I'd been through over there."

"And you didn't want to?"

"I couldn't." The admission comes out rougher than I intended. "I couldn't explain what was happening to me without revealing things that would have put both of us in danger. So I pushed him away instead."

Christine's eyes are soft with understanding. "How long has it been since you talked to him?"

"A few months. We had a fight in a parking lot outside some dive bar. He was trying to stage an intervention, and I... I said things I can't take back. Told him I didn't need him, that I was better off alone." I set down my fork, my appetite gone. "Haven't heard from him since."

"Do you regret it?"

"Every fucking day."

"Language," she says softly, but there's no real rebuke in it.

"Sorry. It's just... Jake was the only family I had left. The only person who knew where I came from, who understood what we'd been through. And I threw it all away because I was too stubborn to admit I needed help."

"Maybe it's not too late."

I shake my head. "You don't understand. The things I said, the way I left... Some bridges burn too completely to rebuild."

"I don't believe that." Her voice is fierce, determined. "Family is family. If he loves you, and it sounds like he does, then he's probably hoping you'll reach out just as much as you're hoping he will."

"What if I'm wrong? What if he's moved on, decided he's better off without his fucked-up older brother?"

"Then you'll know. But at least you won't spend the rest of your life wondering what if."

She's right, of course. I've been carrying this guilt and regret for months, letting it eat at me because I was too afraid to find out if Jake would forgive me.

"When did you get so wise?" I ask.

"I'm not wise. I just know what it's like to have complicated family relationships.

" She reaches across the table, her fingers finding mine.

"The difference is, my parents are still in my life.

They drive me crazy, but they're there. You lost your parents when you were so young, and then you lost your brother too.

That's... that's a lot of loss for one person to carry. "

Her understanding, her compassion, it's like a balm on wounds I didn't even realize were still bleeding. When's the last time someone looked at me with anything other than fear or suspicion? When's the last time someone saw past the walls I've built to the man underneath?

"You make it sound like I'm some tragic hero," I say, trying to lighten the mood before the emotion overwhelms me.

"Aren't you? Brooding, mysterious, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders?" She smiles, but her eyes are serious. "All you need is a damsel in distress to rescue."

"I'm not looking for a damsel in distress."

"No? What are you looking for?"

What am I looking for? I came to Cedar Falls seeking solitude, isolation, a place to hide from what I am. But looking at Christine, feeling the way she makes me want to be better than I am, I realize I wasn't looking for anything at all.

I was waiting for her.

"I wasn't looking for anything," I say honestly. "I was just trying to survive. But now..."

"Now?"

"Now I'm looking at you, and I can't remember why I thought surviving was enough."

I can hear her heart rate spike. The scent of her arousal grows stronger, sweet and intoxicating, and the bear claws at my control.

"Marc..."

"What do you dream about, Christine? Besides the white picket fence and babies?"

The change of subject catches her off guard, but she recovers quickly. "I dream about traveling. Seeing places I've only read about in books. Maybe opening a second shop somewhere exotic, doing destination weddings on beaches or in castles."

"Why don't you?"

"Because dreams are safer than reality. Dreams don't require you to leave everything familiar behind, to risk failure, to possibly end up alone in a strange place with nothing to show for it."

"They also don't give you the chance to discover you're braver than you thought. That you're capable of more than you imagined."

She looks at me with surprise. "You sound like you speak from experience."

"I do. I spent years afraid of what I might become, so afraid that I never tried to become anything at all. Just drifted from one assignment to the next, one deployment to the next, never really living."

"And now?"

"Now I'm sitting across from a woman who makes me want to be worthy of her dreams."

The words are out before I can stop them, too honest, too revealing. But Christine doesn't look scared or overwhelmed. She looks... hopeful.

"What if I told you that you already are?"

The bear roars its approval, and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep from reaching for her. She believes in me. This incredible woman who barely knows me, who has no idea what I really am, believes I'm worthy of her.

"Then I'd say you don't know me very well yet."

"Maybe not. But I know enough." She leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I know you're kind to strangers, that you read poetry, that you've lost people you love and it's made you careful with your heart.

I know you look at me like I'm something precious, and I know you make me feel things I've never felt before. "

"What kind of things?"

"Brave things. Reckless things. Things that would probably scandalize the old ladies at church."

The bear is done with patience. Done with careful conversation and emotional revelations. It wants what belongs to us, and it wants it now.

"Christine," I say, my voice rougher than usual.

"Yes?"

"Come home with me."

I'm asking for more than just her company. I'm asking her to take a leap of faith, to trust me with her body and her heart even though we've barely scratched the surface of knowing each other.

I expect her to hesitate, to make excuses, to suggest we take things slower. Any rational woman would.

Instead, she nods.

"Yes," she says, so low I almost miss it.

"Yes?"

"Yes. I want to come home with you."

The bear rumbles its satisfaction, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to keep from shifting right here in the restaurant. When I open them, Christine is watching me with a mixture of desire and nervousness.

"Are you sure?" I ask, because I need to know she's choosing this, choosing me, with full knowledge of what she's agreeing to.

"I'm sure." Her cheeks are flushed, but her voice is steady. "I've never been surer of anything in my life."

I signal for the check, my hands not entirely steady. The waiter appears with record speed, and I throw down enough cash to cover the bill and a generous tip without bothering to count it.

"Ready?" I ask, standing and offering her my hand.

She takes it without hesitation, and the bear settles contentedly as we walk out of the restaurant together, finally satisfied that we're taking action.

The drive back to Cedar Falls is torture.

Christine sits in the passenger seat, my jacket draped around her shoulders, and every breath she takes fills the cab with her scent.

She's nervous. I can smell it under the arousal, but she's not changing her mind.

If anything, the tension between us is building with every mile.

I keep my hands on the steering wheel, but it takes every ounce of self-control I possess. The bear wants to touch her, to claim her, to make sure she understands exactly what she's agreeing to. But I force myself to wait. She deserves better than being pawed at in a truck cab.

"Tell me something," she says suddenly, breaking the charged silence.

"What?"

"Tell me something else no one else knows about you."

The request catches me off guard. "Like what?"

"I don't know. A secret. Something that matters to you but you've never shared with anyone."

I think about it for a moment, sorting through the layers of secrets I carry. The biggest one—what I am—is obviously off limits. But there are others, smaller truths that I've never voiced.

"I'm afraid," I say finally.

"Of what?"

"Of being too much for you. Of wanting you so badly that I scare you away." I glance over at her, taking in the way she's pressed against the passenger door like she's afraid of getting too close. "Of hurting you."

"You won't hurt me."

"You don't know that. You don't know what I'm capable of when I lose control."

"Then don't lose control."

If only it were that simple. But the bear doesn't understand human concepts like restraint or patience. It only knows what it wants, and what it wants is her.

"Easier said than done," I murmur.

"Then I'll help you keep it together."

She's not running. She's not afraid. She's sitting in my truck, agreeing to come home with me, and she's promising to help me be the man she deserves.

Halfway home, I can't stand it anymore. I reach over and place my hand on her thigh, just above her knee, testing her reaction. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she shifts slightly, and her legs part just enough to make my vision blur.

"Christine," I growl, my hand moving higher on her thigh.

"Yes?"

Her voice is breathless, full of anticipation, and the bear claws at my control.

"If you don't want this, if you're having second thoughts, tell me now. Because once we get to my place, I'm not going to be able to stop myself."

"I don't want you to stop."

My hand tightens on her thigh, and I can feel the heat of her skin through the denim.

"You sure about that?" I ask, my thumb stroking in small circles that make her breath hitch.

"I'm sure."

The bear is done with patience. Done with waiting. It wants what belongs to us, and it wants it now.

"Pull your jeans down," I command.

"What?" She turns to stare at me, eyes wide with shock.

"You heard me. Pull them down. I want to touch you."

"Marc, we're in the car. We're driving—"

"I can drive and touch you at the same time." My hand slides higher, brushing her inner thighs through the denim. "Pull them down, Christine. Let me feel how wet you are for me."

"I can't... we can't..." she says, as her hips arch toward my touch.

"We can." I slow the truck, pulling into the parking lot of a closed gas station to give us more privacy. "It's dark. No one can see. Just you and me and what we both want."

I put the truck in park but leave it running, the headlights illuminating the empty lot. Then I turn to face her, my hand still resting on her thigh.

"Trust me," I say.

She stares at me for a few seconds, and I can practically see the war being fought behind her blue eyes. The good girl who's never taken risks battling the woman who's tired of playing it safe.

The woman wins.

With shaking hands, she reaches for the button of her jeans.