Page 39 of Trees Take the Long View

I was out of my seatbelt and kissing him before he could say anything more. He had such a beautiful mouth, and he tasted even better than he looked.

For a few glorious minutes, I lost myself in him. But one thing remained the truth here: we needed to have sex, pronto, and that couldn't happen very well along the side of the road in a small car. The small car was probably the most inconvenient part of that to me, because I actually wanted room to work here, and because I wanted it to be special and not awkward or uncomfortable.

So I drew back, panting hard. "We should get home."

"Home? We don't have a home. The road is our home." His laugh was a bit crazed.

"You know what I mean. The hotel. Where we can fuck."

"Hm. Okay. Sounds good." He ran a hand along my cheek, then eased back behind the wheel a little more fully, and started the engine up again. It took him two tries; he was too eager.

We drove back in a state of high alert, the car smelling of pheromones. The case was wiped from my mind; Amos didn't exist, the tiger was forgotten, the only thing that mattered was getting inside, and naked, and together...

Finally, finally, finally!My inner wolf rejoiced. I'd been right all along. My instinct, my certainty—it was all right, the doubts had been wrong! I'd just needed to hold out a little longer and not give up.

Yeah, if he doesn't change his mind later.

But I couldn't listen to the pessimistic thoughts right now, I just couldn't. We were going home, and we were together, officially. He was mine: my mate, my lover, my boyfriend, all the things I'd wanted. I couldn't remember if I'd ever been as happy in my life—and I still hadn't gotten him naked.

We made it back, somehow, and inside, clumsy in our haste, and started stripping off clothes, drawing apart to untangle pieces of clothing, then together again to kiss, to touch. He was so perfect. I wanted to caress every inch of him, taste and hold and have and belong to and with and never stop.

Then his phone rang. He froze. I froze.

Please, please don't be important.

He grimaced, apologetic, and reached for his jeans. "I'm sorry. I have to make sure it's not important. I'm so sorry."

Well, what was I going to do, get mad at my mate for taking his job seriously? I sat back on my heels and tried to curb my impatience. But I really wished that damned phone hadn't rung.

I wished it even more a few minutes later, as he sat on the bed, mostly naked, worry straining his features, as he spoke carefully and softly to a suicidal fox shifter that only he, apparently, was qualified to help. He was so gentle and considerate, with the girl on the other end. And she did sound like just a girl: hiccupping and choking off sobs in between her words. He was so responsible and caring...and I couldn't do a damned thing about the worry rolling off him. It felt selfish to want sex right now.

I tried to sit there and be companionable support at first, but finally I peeled off his last sock, because it was bugging me, and gave him a pat on the knee and walked away. I brought him a glass of water, gave him a look I hoped was encouraging and not even a tad bit grumpy, and then went and took a long shower. Dried off very carefully. When I was done, he was still on the phone, so I started to cook something, trying not to feel pissed off at a poor little desperate fox.

I had nothing against foxes; I just wished...

Well, he was going to have a damned good supper, whether he wanted it or not. Because if I stood around I'd go nuts. Better cook something, even if we'd just eaten. After all, there were always leftovers, for after sex.

If we ever get to the sex.

When I finished cooking, I went out for a run. By the time I got back, he was nearing the end of the call. The strain showed on his face. I drank some water, brought him another glass, and sat down behind him to give him a very non-sexual back massage. His muscles were as tight as iron, and it was definitely from stress, because they hadn't felt like that before.

Five minutes later, it was over. The fox shifter was through the worst of the crisis, their conversation wound to a close and was finally, finally over. I felt a tinge of guilt for being so relieved—a tinge—but mostly, just relieved.

"I'm so sorry about that. Part of a case about a month ago, I gave her my number and said to call if she ever needed something. Telling her to just call a hotline wouldn't have been much help. If she was willing to do that, she already would have." He sighed heavily. "That poor kid."

He slumped there, head sagging forward. He didn't even attempt to move, or turn around to look at me. Exhaustion, stress, and pain came off him in waves I could almost physically see, they were so intense.

I gave his shoulders a little extra squeeze. "Don't be. Saving someone's life comes first. Is she going to be okay, do you think?"

"Pretty sure. I'll have to check in with her as much as I can for a while, and see if there's more I can do. Hopefully not too many more late phone calls. You must be so annoyed with me." He sighed, and tried to straighten up.

I kissed the back of his neck. "I'm grateful to have you, and this is part of you. I'm glad you could help her. I hope it doesn't happen every night, but we'll find ways to work around stuff like this, okay?"

"Okay." He sighed, and made a real effort and turned to me, obviously stiff and exhausted. He reached for me.

"Oh, hon, come on. You need to rest. You know you're not in the mood right now." I gave him a quick kiss to take any sting out of the words.

"I'm sorry. Maybe if you give me a few minutes—"