Page 2 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

2

ERICA

D id that really happen?

The question loops in my head, over and over, as I linger in my empty dressing room. Sam’s musky earth and pine scent clings to the air, mixing with the sharper tang of vodka. A reminder of what didn’t happen. My cheeks burn with the sting of rejection while my heart wars between humiliation and stubborn defiance.

I’ve never had trouble knowing when someone’s attracted to me. It’s always been obvious. Their eyes tell the story. Add in the way they tilt their body closer without realizing it. But Sam? He’s maddeningly unreadable. His body is stoic, as if its carved from stone, rigid and unyielding. Physically, he gives nothing away, except for his eyes. Those sky-blue eyes betray him every time.

Every visit to Dawson, they’ve given him away. The way he glances at my legs when he thinks I’m not looking. How they flicker to my chest before darting away, like he’s punishing himself for even noticing. And once, God help him, I caught his reflection in the mirror stealing a quick glance at my ass while I was chatting with Nora.

None of those signs sound like a man who’s not interested. Not in the slightest. And yet tonight, when I put myself on offer, he ran. He didn’t just leave. He bolted. Like being in a room with me was unbearable. Making me the problem.

All I wanted was… something. Not everything, not tonight, but something, maybe a touch or a kiss. One moment that would prove this tension between us isn’t all in my head. That I’m not imagining this magnetic pull between us. That seems to yank us together no matter how much he scowls or growls or keeps his distance.

One moment, but he shut me down.

Left me here in this cold, lonely room, clutching a glass of vodka like it will somehow soften the sharp edges of his rejection. I know it’s pointless, but I take another sip anyway. Anything to dull the sting.

Fuck. Why did he come tonight? I have to see him tomorrow!

Not just see him. I’ll have to spend hours with him. It’s the weekend for Stacy and I to stay with Monica at her place in Shandaken. Days filled with porch conversations, lazy drives and, of course, dinner with the Crawfords. Dinner with him.

It’s easy to imagine how that will go. Sam quiet and brooding at the table, but we’ll exchange awkward sideways glances. The tension building between us, stretching until it is unbearable. A wire about to snap. I should skip it. Tell Stacy go without me.

But Monica’s my closest friend, and Stacy? She’s relentless. If I don’t show up, she’ll know exactly why, and she’ll never let me forget it. It’s nothing to imagine what she’ll say.

‘ What’s the matter, Erica? Can’t handle a little rejection?’

She’d have her sly grin fixed in place. The one that makes you want to hug and strangle her at the same time. The embarrassment of skipping dinner feels worse than the embarrassment of showing up. At least if I go, I can fake it. Pretend the memory of tonight doesn’t sting.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I rise from the dresser. Tomorrow, I’ll face Sam. The man who refuses to want me but can’t stop looking. The man who’s somehow managed to burrow into my thoughts and under my skin.

And God help me, I’ll find a way to survive it.