Page 8 of Trees Take the Long View

I stopped at the entrance of my tent, drawing the flap aside, indicating he was welcome to either look in, go in...or, you know, stay with me forever. "This is my humble abode." I waited, not quite sure for what. It was hard to brace myself for the worst, with his warm hay smell surrounding me like a comforting hug.

He stooped and looked in, then straightened up again and looked at me. His eyes were sober indeed. "So this is where you live now. And you're sure you don't need something from the S&P organization? Some help, perhaps? To get back on your feet?"

"Believe it or not, I am on my feet. I have a job. I—"

"You live in a tent in the woods. You don't have a pack. You get panic attacks—how is that on your feet?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, hurt by his assessment. "I have a pack, I just don't live with them. My parents haven't disowned me or anything; I just like to travel. And being near the woods is good for me. As for—" I couldn't say it. "Well, I shouldn't have tried to talk about that. I'm not ready yet."

He took a big breath, and exhaled, very slowly. "Okay. That's fine. But are you really okay here?"

"For now."

He looked into the tent again, then walked around it, studying the layout as if checking for snakes that might be waiting to bite his ankles.

I watched him. It was impossible for me not to. I found him insanely attractive. He would leave soon, but if he didn't, would he keep getting more and more attractive the longer I saw him? He had been only slightly intriguing when I first met him...earlier today.

I watched his lips as they moved. They were very nice-looking lips.

"Did you even hear what I just said?" he repeated, frowning a little. "I said you deserve better."

"Oh. Thanks," I said witlessly. Deserving something didn't mean you would get it—didn't he know that? But I appreciated his indignation on my behalf. "I can take care of myself, though."

"No doubt." He turned away, looking around the clearing again, and sighed again, running a hand back over his hair. "Okay. Well. I should—"

"Go?" I said. I touched his sleeve, my fingers light. It was enough to make him turn back to me.

We faced each other, silent. I knew he wanted me. Maybe not as badly as I wanted him—and maybe not in quite the same way—but there was a scent about him that said he was aware of me as a man, affected at least on some level by my pheromones. Perhaps I was about to find out just what level.

"Or you could stay," I offered, my voice barely above a whisper. There was no way I wanted to pressure him or unnerve him. But it needed to be on the table. I had to offer—no matter what he ended up deciding.

"Could I?" His mouth twitched. "At this Taj Mahal?"

"The forest would be our cathedral," I said, teasing him back.

"Or you could come to my hotel room."

Was that a yes? My heart began to pound. "I could," I allowed. "But it's actually pretty nice here. Private. Fresh air. Good for the lungs, you know." I kept staring at his mouth.

"Damn it," said Dean. "I'm not ready to settle down." He moved to me, clasped me in his arms, and gave me a kiss. I wrapped him in my arms and kissed him and kissed him, the scent and taste of him filling up all my senses till I was almost lightheaded with it. He was a beautiful man, and he felt perfect in my arms, strong and real and alive.

I drew back enough to breathe (rather heavily), and rested my forehead on his shoulder. He had one hand on the back of my neck, squeezing and kneading restlessly, another on the small of my back, holding onto me. "So don't settle down," I said.

He made a sound in his throat. "Wolves don't do casual. You know it. I know it. Let's not kid ourselves here."

"And you do, is that right?"

He drew back from me, and I regretted the loss of his touch. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I said nothing. I didn't think he wanted something casual, but he'd obviously be offended if I said I thought he smelled like he wanted to settle down. That was kind of a big thing to smell (or assume, or assume you'd smelled) about someone.

"I might do casual," he said, still offended. "You don't know me."

"I'd like to. Know you, that is. Get to know you. You could stick around for a little longer, how about that?"

He studied me, and licked his lips without realizing. He was staring at my mouth, and it was nice to know I wasn't the only one who was interested. I could smell it rolling off him, the spicy nose-tickling, almost itchy smell of his pheromones. He was in the mood, boy.

"All right," he said. "But don't think I'm promising anything. Because I'm not."