Page 11 of Clashing With The Grumpy Wolf

Our faces are inches apart. His breath is hot against my lips, the flecks of gold in his eyes mesmerizing me like mirages.

A confusing rush of emotions floods through me—embarrassment, awareness, and a completely inappropriate rush of arousal.

"What exactly is happening here?"

The cold voice slices through our moment like an icicle.

I scramble to my feet, horrified to find Silverine Draak, the Draak clan matriarch herself, standing at the garden entrance, her elegant frame silhouetted against the manor. Her violet eyes are narrowed to slits, thin lips pressed into a disapproving line. The tips of her wings flutter with barely contained fury as she glares at us.

Well, mostly at me.

"Mrs. Draak," I stammer, acutely aware of my flushed face and disheveled appearance. "There was a bee in my blouse and the sheriff was just—"

The explanation dies on my lips, sounding ridiculous even to my own ears. How do I explain that we went from arguing to intimate contact, to rolling in the grass in the span of five minutes?

Adrian rises more slowly, brushing grass from his uniform. A muscle works in his jaw, and I swear there's a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Jerk.

Silverine's gaze moves between us, disbelief and disapproval radiating from her in frigid waves. Without a word, she turns on her heel, back rigid with indignation, and stalks away. The click of her heels on the stone path punctuates her exit like gunshots.

I turn to Adrian, mortification burning through me. That hint of a smirk has bloomed into a full, infuriating grin.

"You," I hiss, jabbing a finger toward his chest, "are impossible."

I snatch my fallen clipboard from the grass and stalk away, heart still racing, blouse askew, hair falling from its neat updo.

What an arrogant, impossible man Saltford Bay's sheriff turned out to be.

And why did he have to smell so damned good?

Chapter 4

Adrian

Thegravelcreaksundermy tires as I take the corner sharper than necessary, my knuckles pale on the steering wheel. Rain pelts the windshield in sheets, matching my mood. My cruiser's lights paint the darkness in flashes of red and blue.

Like I need to spend my evening breaking up drunken fights. Almost without realizing I’m doing so, I bring my wrist to my nose and inhale the remnants of her scent, closing my eyes as I do so.

Shit. I shouldn’t do this.I know better.

I can't get her scent out of my head. Vanilla and sugar with a hint of something spicy—cinnamon maybe—wrapped around a core of pure female pheromones. The memory of her standing toe-to-toe with me in that garden, refusing to back down, sends my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my skin.

And then the memory of those two full, soft breasts as I caught the wanton bumblebee from underneath her blouse flashes in my mind, swiftly followed by the feel of her entire body as she lay, sprawled over me. Her luscious curves, her full, delicate lips, partly open, as she stared down at me.

As she stared down at me like she wanted me to touch her. To kiss her.

Fuuuuck. I really need a good night’s sleep.

I slam my palm against the steering wheel, frustration boiling through me. What the hell is wrong with me? She's a stranger. A temporary visitor to my territory. An irritating, stubborn, beautiful complication I don't need.

I growl, forcing the thoughts away. I've got more important things to deal with tonight than a stubborn human wedding planner with eyes that flash when she's angry.

The radio crackles to life.

"Sheriff, situation's escalating." Maya's voice comes through tight with tension. "Olven just threw a chair at the mirror behind the bar."

"On my way. Two minutes out." I press the accelerator harder, watching the speedometer climb.