“He’s not pushing me to leave her alone. He’s not interfering at all . . . it’s like he’s detached himself from the situation.” And Zander was baffled by it. “You could be worrying for nothing. She might not want to be involved with anyone right now.”
“No,” allowed Bracken, “but rejection doesn’t faze you.”
He was right. Zander couldn’t recall ever being personally threatened by criticism or rejection. He was comfortable with who he was, despite his faults.
Jasmine, orange blossoms, and wild berries.
The scent swirled around him moments before Gwen appeared at the table, tray in hand . . . and his wolf returned to his hidey hole.
“Morning,” she said with a smile, but it was that formal smile that he didn’t like. She stacked the plates and cutlery on the tray, cool as a fucking cucumber. No nervousness, no awkwardness, no blushing. Her hands were perfectly steady, her expression was calm, and her voice was even. And damn if that didn’t rankle. Zander wanted her to be as affected as he was.
“More coffee?” she asked.
“I’m good,” said Bracken.
Zander gave a quick shake of the head before asking, “You working at Half ’n’ Half tonight?”
“Nope. I only work there three days a week.” Then she was gone.
Smiling, Bracken sank into his chair. “Huh. Well, whatever happened between you two doesn’t seem to be on her radar, does it?” Ignoring Zander’s glare, he went on, “Damn, it seems like you didn’t make much of an impression, Z. You must be losing your touch.”
Zander glowered at him. “You always were an annoying motherfucker.”
“Hey, is that any way to speak to one of your best friends?”
“Couldn’t care less.”
Bracken just chuckled.
A little while later, Zander went into the kitchen to find Gwen with a small sheet of paper clamped between her lips as she slipped on a jacket. “Where are you going?”
She took the paper out of her mouth. “Grocery shopping.”
He nodded. “Then let’s go.” Before she could object, he added, “Bracken will stay here in case the Moores show up.” Zander wanted time alone with her.
Behind him, Bracken said, “I will?”
“You will.”
“I will.” But Bracken didn’t sound happy about it.
Gwen shook her head. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“We’re here to look out for you, remember,” said Zander.
Apparently uninterested in arguing with him, she waved a hand. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just go.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Why did she always end up with the cart that had squeaky wheels?
Chewing the tiny cube of cake she’d gotten from a sample station, Gwen pushed the half-full cart down the aisle. Zander walked beside her, a silent sentinel. And she . . . well, she was pretty much acting as if she were alone.
It was rude, sure, but she suspected that the reason he wanted Bracken to stay behind was so that he could talk about last night. He probably wanted to ensure she understood that the little fumble they’d had in the kitchen didn’t mean anything, that she shouldn’t read anything into it. And how embarrassing would that conversation be?
In the car, she’d spoken only to give him directions to the grocery store. She’d stayed quiet, hoping he’d see that she didn’t need a talk, and that she wasn’t mistaking the fumble for anything other than a drunken mishap. God knew she’d had plenty of those herself over the years. He’d get no judgment from her.
Humming along with the music coming through the speakers, she did her best to drown out the irritating squeaky wheels. If she could just—
“You’re good at ignoring people, aren’t you, Gwen?”
“Dude, I’m so good at it, I can make people doubt that they’re actually alive.”
Zander’s mouth quirked, even as his nose wrinkled in distaste. Most guys didn’t like shopping. For Zander, it wasn’t the stores themselves that annoyed him. It was the fluorescent lighting and the clash of scents—fruit, meat, detergent, flowers, bread, soaps. The smells didn’t mix well at all. “You haven’t checked your list once.”
“I have it memorized.” Not really. She just liked to browse and grab some impulse buys. Spotting Marlon’s preferred brand of hot chocolate, she sighed. It had to be on the top shelf, didn’t it? Gripping one of the metal shelves for balance, she reached up to grab the tub. No joy. She glared at Zander. “Are you going to watch me struggle?”
“That position pushes out your tits and your ass, so, yeah.”
She rolled her eyes. “Boys. You’re all the same.” But he reached up, nabbed the hot chocolate, and dropped it into her hands. “Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” As they began to walk again, Zander spoke, “Last night—”
“We don’t need to talk about it.” It was both a statement and an assurance.
“Yeah, we do.”
She clenched her hands around the cart handle. “You don’t need to gently tell me that it was a one-time thing. I already get that. I’m sure I looked damn stunning while you were wearing Beer Vision, but I know the reality is very different.”
Zander frowned. “The reality?”
“You’d been drinking, you—”
“I wasn’t drunk. I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. If my Alpha hadn’t called last night and interrupted us, I’d have taken you right there.”
She bristled. “I wouldn’t have fucked anyone in the kitchen, right where any number of people could have walked in.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Gwen. It would have happened.” He paused as she stopped to grab milk. “Unfortunately, it didn’t. But it will.” He’d make sure of it. “I have to know.”
“Know what?”
“What it’s like to be in you. Taking you. Tonight, I’ll have you under me. Why do you look so shocked?” He leaned forward. “I like sex, Gwen. I like it a lot. I like having it often. I intend to have it with you. Repeatedly.”
More than a little surprised by the direction the conversation had headed, Gwen exhaled raggedly. While the thought of being under him held some appeal, she knew better. Careful not to squash the brownies, she placed a heavy jug of milk in the cart. “It’s not gonna happen.” The words came out hoarse, so she cleared her throat and firmly added, “It’s just not.”
The hell it won’t, thought Zander. He put his face close to hers. “You think I can’t tell that you want me?”
Oh, Gwen knew he could sense it. He was a shifter, so he’d be able to scent that she wanted him. And that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Grabbing the cart, she hastened her step as she took a sharp turn around an aisle . . . and shuddered. She hated walking down the frozen-food aisle; the chill always gave her goose bumps. Well, at least it might cool her down and calm her libido. That would sure be helpful.
Seizing the cart, he dragged it to a halt. “Look at me, Gwen. Come on, baby, look at me.”
She met his gaze . . . and swallowed at the sheer intensity there. “What?” she rasped.
“You’re running from me. From this. Why?” He cocked his head. “Is it because I’m not human? Does that freak you out?”