Page 13 of His White Moonlight (Dominant CEO Shifter Romance #1)

Shifting nervously on the bed, I debated how to respond to Bennett’s question. Did he honestly think I was going to open the darkest corners of my soul to him just because he asked? By the serious look in his eyes, he did, and I knew I needed to tread carefully.

“Are you going to tell Mom and Dad what happened?” I asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On your answer and your level of cooperation,” he said smoothly.

Something about the way he watched me cautioned me against avoiding the question again. So I gave him what he’d probably already guessed.

“I hate dressing up. It feels fake, and I don’t like myself when I feel fake.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“I don’t like blue cheese?”

My attempt to defuse the tension of the moment didn’t go over well. Bennett crossed my room and crowded into my space, forcing me to recline until my back hit the mattress. His dark gaze held mine as he leaned over me, caging me in with his arms.

I watched him inhale and tried not to feel anything, but it was impossible not to feel something.

He was too close. Too intense. Too unpredictable.

“You’re starting to panic. Do you feel trapped?” he asked.

“No.”

Uncomfortable and unable to take any more of his direct gaze, I closed my eyes. It only enhanced my other senses. I could feel where his legs pressed against mine. Heat radiated from his chest, making my heart race. Why was it getting harder to breathe?

The sound of my pulse filled my ears, seemingly overly loud in the otherwise quiet room.

His exhale teased my neck, stopping all thought. The gentle brush of his lips against my neck was unmistakable.

My eyes flew open, and I pushed at Bennett’s shoulders.

He wrapped his arms around me, holding me closer.

“Do you feel trapped?” he asked against my skin.

“No! Yes! Get off me, Bennett.” I pushed with all my might, but he didn’t budge an inch.

“Please,” I said desperately.

“Cooperate, Wrenly,” he said softly. “Do you feel trapped?”

“No.”

“When do you feel trapped?”

“When I can’t move my arms, and when something is too close to my face.”

I hated that I’d admitted it, but I needed him to back up. Fast.

“Like this?” His lips skimmed my neck, trailing up toward my jaw…my chin…

It felt like my heart flipped over in my chest. I turned my head away from him in panic, but not the same kind as before.

He was making me feel things I shouldn’t.

Why was he doing this? Was it payback for hitting him? What if Mom and Dad came home and saw this? I don’t want to be locked away again.

I started to shake, and my nose tingled ominously.

“Stop. Please, Bennett. Please.”

The floodgate opened, and I started to cry in earnest.

He growled and set his forehead to mine.

“Did you feel trapped?” he asked again softly.

“N-no, you ass.”

He sighed and got off me.

“I won’t say anything to Mom and Dad, but we will talk about this again.”

About what? How I’d hit him or how he’d tortured me because of it?

I kept my eyes closed, waiting for the sound of him leaving.

Instead, his arms slipped under me, and he picked me up to settle me on his lap.

He hugged me to his chest, careful to keep my arms and face as free as possible.

That consideration, combined with the way his hand rubbed my back, kept me right where I was as his rocking sway broke what remained of my composure.

In terms of ugly cries, it was at least a seven. He didn’t say anything, though. He just held me until the tears dried up on their own.

In the silence, I felt numb and drained. But also indescribably safe , which was so confusing since he’d been the one to make me cry in the first place.

I wanted to tell him to leave because of the inappropriate things he’d done, especially how he was cuddling me in his lap.

But I couldn’t bring myself to mention any of it.

If I did, it would make everything he’d done more real.

So, I said nothing. I just untangled myself, grabbed a clean pajama set, and closed myself in the bathroom.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t even dinner time yet. I was done for the day.

When I reemerged, freshly showered and changed, everything in my room was back in its place. The bookshelf didn’t even look like I’d tipped it over. Best of all, there was no sign of Bennett.

He remained absent for the remainder of the night, but still made his presence known by leaving dinner on the dining table for me, by the muted sounds of typing coming from his office, and by the echo of his footsteps on the stairs after I went to bed for the night.

His presence was more comforting than disturbing, which I refused to overthink as I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Going to bed early meant I woke early the next morning. Rather than lounge around and dwell on the previous day’s mistakes, I got up to make breakfast.

I was cooking eggs for myself when Bennett entered the kitchen.

“Whatever you’re making smells good,” he said. “Can I have some?”

Since he’d made dinner the night before and seemed in a reasonable mood, I agreed. However, that meant he lingered in the kitchen and watched me work.

Everything that happened yesterday repeated itself in my mind: Being startled by him when I came out of the bathroom. Punching him in the nose. My panic attack because he’d hugged me when I’d tried to apologize for it. Then what happened after…

“Did Mom and Dad come home last night?” I asked.

“No. They decided to stay in the city for a while.”

Finally, some good luck for me.

“Good. That’ll give you time to get my door fixed.”

“And the scratches in the floor.”

I wrinkled my nose at the reminder of what I’d done, which outweighed what he’d done, and silently mocked what he’d said while I was turned away from him.

His hand closed around my jaw from behind, and I was suddenly pulled back against his chest. Spatula gripped in one hand, I stared at the stove top with wide eyes until he tilted my face to the side.

“This doesn’t scare you,” he said, his gaze searching mine.

“No.” However, the fact that he was pushing my boundaries again and wouldn’t just let it go was making me mad.

When his gaze dipped to my mouth, my answer changed. He was scaring me again. I spun out of his hold and held the spatula out like a weapon.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Bennett. Didn’t you learn that in primary school?

He tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged.

Something about that move—the careless grace or maybe even the casual disregard—made me even more suspicious of his intent. I quickly glanced at the eggs still frying in the pan and pointed toward the island with my weapon.

“Go sit, or I’m serving you burned eggs.”

Rather than going to the island to sit, he leaned against the counter near the stove.

I gave him a warning glare.

“My hands are to myself,” he said.

Reluctantly, I moved close enough to flip the eggs, one of the few normal cooking skills I’d mastered while away.

“You’ve changed a lot since the last time you were home,” he said as he watched me. “You weren’t afraid back then.”

“I’m not afraid now,” I said. “I just developed a few…quirks, same as you.”

“I have quirks?”

“What else do you call your temper tantrums? You hate anything that’s not your mate, right? And you throw a fit about it? Well, I hate being held down, and I throw a fit about it, too. See? Same thing.”

I felt the weight of his gaze as I worked but didn’t turn to look at him until I had his eggs and toast plated and ready to hand to him.

When our gazes locked, it felt different. Off. As if he were waiting for something.

Did he think I was going to apologize for mentioning his absent mate? He could choke on his eggs first.

As soon as he took his plate, I went to sit at the island. He joined me, taking the stool next to me. His leg brushed mine, and I moved over to give him more room.

“If you don’t have any plans this morning, would you like to try driving to the city again?” he asked. “There should be less traffic this early.”

I’d planned to hide away in my room and avoid him the whole day, but the carrot he was dangling was too tempting.

If I wanted Mom and Dad to view me as independent, I needed to prove that I could be. And to do that, I needed more practice driving without freaking out.

“Yeah, I’d like to try again.”

“Good.”

The way he said it, like he was relieved, had me pausing to glance at him.

He ate half his fried egg in one bite.

Catching on to his need to leave quickly, I picked up my pace.

He began to clean up once he finished and took my plate from me after I was done.

“Go get ready. I’ve got this.”

I hurried upstairs to change. The selection in my closet was pathetic. Shorts weren’t allowed at school except for the athletic ones that had been trashed the week before I graduated—that left jeans, which would probably be too warm after a while. I tugged them on and jogged back down the stairs.

It’d taken me only a few minutes, but Bennett was already changed and waiting by the door in the kitchen.

He wore a pair of jogging pants that hugged his thighs enough that I could imagine the pack girls whining when he passed.

The shirt he wore snugly encased his arms and chest, probably adding whimpers to their whines.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out the keys.

“Yep.”

Before I could grab them, the doorbell rang.

“Are you expecting a delivery?” I asked.

“No.”

He pulled back the keys and walked around me, heading out of the kitchen.

I hurried after him, curious because it was before eight on a Sunday morning. No sane person would ring a doorbell that early on a weekend.

When he reached the door, though, he didn’t immediately open it. He looked down at the floor for a moment, like he was debating. Whatever decision he’d reached had him jerking the door open with enough force that the wood creaked.

“Why are you here, Storm?” he asked, radiating impatience.

She was either oblivious or dumb because she smiled at him and reached for his arm.

“I thought you might want some company.”