Page 18

18

WARNER

Zoey slips around me, heads into the bathroom, and shuts the door.

While she takes a moment to herself, I move to the main room, pulling back a curtain to check on the storm.

Still raging away. Fine by me. I’ll take any excuse to hole up in a cabin with Zoey. Maybe the rain will go on all night, and she’ll invite me for a sleepover.

A guy can dream.

Even with my hair wet and my body only covered by a towel, I’m not uncomfortable. But I noticed the thick flannel Zoey cloaked herself in.

I head to the fireplace and spend the next few minutes arranging wood and working to get my lit match to catch the tinder. By the time I hear the bathroom door open, there’s a decent blaze going.

“Oh. Fire. That’s a good idea.” Zoey walks up beside me, holding her hands out to the flames, humming happily as the heat plays over her skin.

She’s beautiful, standing above me, firelight bringing out the gold in her chestnut hair.

“I’m going to feed Bruce. Are you hungry?”

I’m on the verge of making a joke about werewolves and dog food when I catch myself, choking on the words and coughing as I do.

Can’t believe I almost let my secret slip. Just because I’m comfortable around Zoey does not mean she’s ready for that. For all of me.

As I clear my throat, she pats my back, firmly at first, all business, but then she slows. Her hand lingers on the bare skin between my shoulder blades. As if she likes how I feel. I stifle a groan and stop myself from leaning over to bury my face in her stomach. Her scent, which only teases my nose at the moment, would be strong there. One of her warm spots.

Zoey snatches her hand away and retreats to the kitchen. A second later, the clatter of kibble hitting a metal bowl sounds, followed quickly by the heavy padding of Bruce’s feet on the hardwood.

“I’m going to make myself a grilled cheese. Do you want one?” she asks.

I straighten from my crouch, making sure to clutch my towel as I do. “Yes, please.”

My heart pounds faster, but I command it to calm down. It’s just a grilled cheese. She has no idea what other meanings I might find in her offer.

Zoey wields a large cast iron skillet, arranging it on the stovetop. “What is your preferred cheese?”

My brain stutters over the question. “My preferred cheese?”

“Yes. Your preferred cheese. The cheese that you prefer.” She opens the fridge, bending at the waist in a distracting display of her round bottom.

“I don’t know. You mean, like my favorite cheese?”

“If you want to play around with synonyms, sure. What’s your favorite cheese?”

Shit, I don’t think I have a favorite cheese either.

Then, she stands, turning to stare at me like this question means something.

I panic. “Um … yellow?”

Zoey’s eyebrows pull down, disbelief staining her face. “Yellow?” Her bare feet are silent on the wood floor as she steps toward me. “Did you just tell me your favorite cheese is yellow cheese?”

“Yes?” I offer my most hopeful smile and pray that she moves on to a topic I’m more familiar with.

Want to know my favorite meat? Pulled pork. Favorite beer? Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Favorite dessert? Roderick’s rhubarb pie. Favorite smell? Wet Zoey.

Mmmm … wet Zoey.

As my mind threatens to go to dirty places, the sexy human can’t get past my mental block on dairy products.

“Warner, can you name five different types of cheeses?”

“Sure.” I’m a liar who likes to dig himself into deep holes to impress a woman.

“Okay. Go.” Said woman waits, arms crossed over her chest, her delicious, sweet scent amplified by her damp hair.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

I’m screwed.

“Okay. Well, there’s the obvious”—I speak with false confidence—“yellow cheese.”

She pinches her bottom lip, as if in deep thought. “Of course.”

“And, you know … white cheese.”

“Sure,” she responds, deadpan.

“Plus”—I flounder—“nacho cheese.”

Zoey presses her fingers to her mouth, as if concerned. “Uh-huh.”

“And can’t forget”—I talk slowly as my brain scrambles to fill in the blanks—“string.”

“Who would forget that?” Her voice is tight with some kind of emotion.

“Not me. And there you go. Five cheeses.” My relief is short-lived because she shakes her head.

“Nope. That was four. Yellow cheese, white cheese, nacho cheese, and string cheese.” Her slim fingers count each off. “What’s one more type of cheese, Warner? Any type. Any at all.”

My eyes search the room, as if Zoey had put up a poster, listing all the different kinds of cheeses she expects me to know. I have to know the name of some kind of cheese, right? But my mind is a mess, and finally, I mumble the only other cheese-related thing I’m able to pull out of my panicked ass.

“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t catch it.” Zoey leans forward, her eyes sparkling.

I clear my throat and commit to my answer. “Goldfish crackers.”

Silence descends over the cabin, and I try to look confident, even as I worry that I failed a test.

After long seconds tick by, Zoey crosses the few feet separating us, and suddenly, her arms are around my waist, her forehead pressed into my bare chest. And she’s shaking. While I want to bask in the touch of her against my skin, the shaking worries me.

Is she cold again?

“Goldfish—” She chokes on the word, finally tilting her head up to look at me, tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth hanging open in a disbelieving grin. “Crackers?”

She’s laughing. I don’t care that it’s at my expense. Because Zoey’s laughter has recently become my favorite sound in the world.

I affect my most earnest expression. “Aren’t they made of cheese?”

Zoey gasps in delight, then hugs me tight as the hilarity rolls through her. She doesn’t bother to stifle it, and I love that. The wild abandon. She’s glorious and adorable.

Eventually, she pulls away, using a flat hand on my chest to push me toward the couch.

I like where this is going.

But then she backs away.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Zoey scolds, even as her lips fight a smile.

“Like what?” Now, I’m grinning.

“Like that .” Zoey waves at me, all of me, like my entire body is taking part in the expression she claims she wants me to stop.

I am shirtless, so maybe she’s not wrong.

“All right.” I move my hands, bringing them up to cover my exposed nipples. “Better?”

“No!” But she’s giggling again. “You’re terrible.”

“Sorry. Do you want to punish me?” My voice goes low, a touch suggestive.

Flirting with Zoey is as easy as breathing.

“Yes,” she says. The conviction in her voice has my cock twitching, and I consider if I need to move my hands lower. “Your punishment is that you have to eat whatever I make you, even if you don’t know what it is.” She turns back to the stove, as if that’ll keep me from hearing her chuckles.

My stomach has no objections. As she preps the mystery food, I return to the fire.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, during which delicious smells begin to waft from the kitchen, Zoey asks another question.

“How do you keep finding me in the middle of the woods?”

I pause while shifting a log on the fire, considering how best to answer. My guess, she won’t appreciate it if I say I followed her smell. Human women would rather you didn’t mention you can sniff them out. Plus, I doubt she’d believe me unless I revealed my little hairy secret.

Still, I stick as close to the truth as I can. The idea of lying to Zoey makes my gut twist uncomfortably.

“When you were camping, I recognized your truck. I was worried about you out in the woods at night. So, I followed the trail to the lake and saw your campsite.” Only the trail I followed wasn’t one humans could pick up.

When I glance over, Zoey is focused on her cooking, but she nods in acknowledgment.

“And today, I came by to say hi. To apologize for crashing your friend date.” And to discover if this attraction is mutual. My wolf has locked on to her mating scent, and I can’t seem to stop pining after her. “I saw you ducking into the woods when I was parking. Wasn’t sure where you were headed, but figured you didn’t plan to go far.”

I settled on the steps of the back porch, looking forward to surprising her. But Zoey never came back.

“When you were gone for a half hour, I worried.” More like panicked. At the first few drops of rain, I knew it wouldn’t be long before her trail was gone, and I’d have no way of finding her. “I went the direction you did, hoping I’d stumble onto you.”

By the end of my rescue mission, that was exactly how it was. Once the rain came, all traces of Zoey were washed away. I couldn’t find her.

A shadow of that panic reemerges now with the memory of her soaked through, clutching that tree as if it might somehow keep her alive.

But I’m pulled out of the fear of what could have been by the approach of her, safe and whole and carrying two plates with steaming sandwiches.

“Well, I don’t want to condone stalking. But I’m glad you showed up. Not that you’re any more equipped to fight a wolf-bear than I am.”

Little does she know.

“What if it had been a mountain lion?” I ask.

Zoey scowls, setting the plates down on the coffee table in front of the fire and pushing Bruce’s head away when he goes to sniff at them. “That is ridiculous. Seriously. It’s unacceptable. How are there that many large predators in one place?” She collapses on the couch with a disgruntled huff. “Nature should set clear boundaries.”

I chuckle, settling next to her. Close, but not touching.

“I’m sure nature will take your complaint into consideration.” The plate is warm as I rest it in my lap.

This whole situation feels practically domestic. And I crave more of it.

“Stop stalling.” Zoey pokes my shoulder, playfulness in her smirk. “Take your punishment.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Not that I need any convincing to eat the mouthwatering creation. The smell alone has my stomach demanding its fair share.

One bite, and I’m drowning in savory, melted goodness.

“Fucking hell,” I mumble around a mouthful. After I swallow, I gaze at Zoey, sure my obsession with her is shining from my eyes. “What kind of grilled cheese is this?”

“The kind made with my preferred cheese,” she teases before taking her own bite and humming in appreciation at her work.

Unfortunately, my sandwich only lasts three more bites. I could eat half a dozen and still want more.

After collecting our dishes and washing them, I return to the couch in front of the fire, thankful for the continuous, loud pounding of the rain outside. Perfect excuse to stick around longer.

“Your clothes should be dry soon.” Zoey sits on her side of the couch, legs pulled into her chest, chin resting on her knees as she watches me move around.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly comfortable.” Showing off just a bit, I stretch my arms along the back of the couch, lounging in my terry-cloth skirt.

“I don’t know how. Even in this flannel tent, I’m still chilly.” She clutches the collar of her pajama top closed, and I notice the occasional quiver run through her body. Shiver aftershocks.

There’s a blanket folded over the back of the couch. Leaning forward, I pull it off and drape the quilt over her shoulders. But as I begin to move back to my spot, I notice how Zoey sways toward me.

Like she wants to follow where I lead.

“Can I help warm you up?” My voice comes out deeper, with more suggestiveness than I meant. The offer should be selfless, and part of my brain is full of concern for Zoey. But there’s still the animalistic section that can think of nothing other than touching her again.

“How do you plan on doing that?” Her eyes trace over me in the way I wish her fingers would.

I clear my throat and try to keep my tone lighthearted. “We could cuddle. I’m an expert cuddler.”

Zoey purses her lips, but there’s something in her gaze, a mixture of heat and humor, that gives me hope.

“I do love a good cuddle,” she admits.

“Then, by all means, use me as your body pillow.” I recline on the couch’s armrest, determined that if there’s any more contact between us this evening, it’ll be because Zoey wants it.

Zoey only hesitates for a second before crawling toward me.

I try not to smirk in triumph.

“You’re too muscly to be considered a pillow.” Zoey crosses her arms on my pecs and rests her chin on them, maintaining eye contact. “Ever considered developing a bit of a belly?”

We’re pressed together now, and I’ve never been more comfortable.

“That’s the next part of the plan. First, I use my sexy, muscly body to draw you in, and then I eat as many grilled cheeses as you’re willing to make me until I get to your desired level of cushiness.”

“So, it’s my job to turn you into a pillow?” She raises one eyebrow.

I nod solemnly. “I’m here for your pleasure. Do whatever makes you happy.”

Zoey’s face shifts from humor to curiosity, her attention dropping to my lips. I keep still, holding on to my decision to let her make all the first moves.

But I should’ve known that Zoey doesn’t move without asking questions first.

“Are you this flirty with everyone?”

“No.” I shrug. “I’m friendly with everyone.” Breaking my rule, I reach out to finger a lock of her damp hair, twining the strands around my finger. “I only flirt with you, Zoey Gunner.”

Will admitting that I’m flirting scare her off?

She’s not running even though I’ve followed her into the woods multiple times. She’s got to know that I’m obsessed.

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

I jerk, her words electric. My wolf shifts, restless for me to take this woman as mine. To claim her.

She continues to stare at me, giving nothing away, while my body heats up, blood pumping thick and fast and south.

“That depends.” My voice rasps like sandpaper on rough wood.

“On what?”

“If you want to sleep with me.”

“How is that a determining factor?”

I shift, keeping my hardness away from her and attempting a light tone. “Because I don’t make a practice of sleeping with women who don’t want to sleep with me.”

“Good point.” Zoey levers her torso up, moving forward so she can loom over me. The flannel of her pajamas drags against my overly sensitive skin. “Okay then. My answer is, I haven’t decided.”

Hope roars through my chest. I have a chance.

“Tell me what I need to do.” The words are hoarse, aching with need.

“Well, now, that sounds like a man whose mind is made up.” Zoey smirks, and I grin in response. Once more, her gaze trips down to my mouth. “Can I kiss you, Warner Jameson?”

For a moment, my body freezes, but then the raging heat is back, and my inner beast is howling. I nod, head bobbing more times than needed and with more vigor than normal.

Zoey reaches up, brushing away a curl that teases my forehead. “Just kissing, okay?”

“Just kissing,” I agree, willing her to cross the last few inches separating us.

Maybe she sees the desperation in my eyes because she finally dips her head, bringing a wave of her sugary and earthy scent with her.

Zoey approaches kissing as if she’s researching. Each brush of her mouth against mine is a question. An exploration.

She teases her lips over mine slowly, learning the shape, turning my brain to mush.

I don’t detect hesitation in her movements. The sedate pace isn’t because she’s unsure. This approach speaks of a certain type of skill. Zoey knows not every kiss is the same, and she’s determined to discover the right way to fit our mouths together.

I, the animal that I am, fight the urge to plunder and suck and bite. Instead, I mirror her gentle movements. Showing I can follow her lead.

My restraint is rewarded when she resettles her chest on mine and pushes her fingers into my hair. She nips at my lower lip before licking the spot with her tongue, as if I might need to be soothed after any rough treatment.

A groan spills out of my throat.

Zoey captures it with a naughty kiss, delving her tongue into my mouth.

We twine together in multiple ways. I find my way past her lush lips, seeking out the cool metal of her piercing. The jewelry has been tormenting me since the first moment I saw Zoey. The glint of gold making it impossible to look anywhere other than her sexy mouth.

The attention I pay to it is a tribute. Letting Zoey know I worship every bit of her.

She gasps, tightening her fingers until I feel the scrape of nails against my scalp.

My hands want to participate too. They beg to cup and fondle and undo buttons.

“Just kissing,” whispers through my head.

I would never break my promise to her. Never do anything to make Zoey feel unsafe.

So, I simply wrap my arms around her lower back, hugging her. Clutching her close.

At some point, we roll to the side, Zoey’s back to the fire, her head resting on a throw pillow. The questioning quality fades from her caresses. Now, there’s a relaxed element, a playful one as she sneaks in an occasional teasing bite, snickering at the way I groan whenever she does.

Time doesn’t mean much when I’m kissing Zoey. The most attention I give to anything outside our little cocoon of happiness is to appreciate the steady pounding of rain that hasn’t let up.

At some point, in a natural progression, my lips wander away from hers, pressing against the curve of her cheekbone, then trailing up to her forehead, where I bury my nose in her loose, damp hair. Breathing her in relaxes me more than any drug ever could.

This is more than attraction.

Which is why I had to fight off a wave of angry fear when I found her hiding in that tree.

When Zoey said the growling might have come from a wolf, I was instantly alert. There aren’t any wolf packs near Pine Falls. The pure wolves scent us. They know this is our territory.

Which means the only wolf that could have been nipping at her heels was a werewolf.

And I don’t know what that means. The mystery agitates my inner beast.

There’s no reason for any of our pack to harass a human. Sure, we maintain an air of intimidation in town. But we don’t come after people in our animal forms. That’s just begging for wary acceptance to morph into a mortal versus supernatural civil war.

Roderick would be furious.

I remind myself it might not have been a wolf. Zoey said the animal could’ve been a bear, and there are plenty of those in the woods around here. Wolves and bears don’t really discuss property lines.

Normally, I’d be able to figure out the culprit with little effort. That’s the beauty of heightened senses. But the rain washed away any scent trail or tracks, and I couldn’t even hear Zoey’s panicked panting when I found her hiding up in that tree. I almost missed her completely.

What would have happened if I hadn’t come along?

She’s strong and resourceful, but that doesn’t mean she can fight off a bear.

Zoey settles deeper into my arms, and I realize she’s dozed off. She buries her face into my neck as if she’s seeking warmth from me. I’ll give it to her. Every ounce that she needs. The memory of her lips, trembling and turning blue with cold, has my heart pounding heavy and panicked. I tighten my hold and adjust the blanket thrown over us so it sits just beneath her chin.

And I take comfort in the fact that her lips are flushed red now. Warmed to life by lazy kisses.