He’d dreamed of her last night, dreamed of his hands fisted in her hair as he fucked her hard and deep. It had felt unbelievably real. But then he’d woken, full and aching—and seriously pissed off that it had been no more than a dream.
Bracken exhaled heavily. “Okay, what did you do?”
Zander slowly cut his gaze back to him. “Do?”
“Yesterday, you were looking at her like you wanted to know what she tasted like. Now you’re looking at her like you already know, and you just want another taste.”
“I didn’t fuck her.” But it hadn’t been for lack of trying.
“I didn’t ask what you didn’t do.”
“Drop it, Brack.”
“I told you not to start anything with her.”
“And we both know you were using reverse psychology.”
Bracken looked ready to object, but then he sighed. “All right, maybe I did want you to make a move on her—eventually, when things had settled down. Now is not a good time. And you should bear in mind that she’s human. She may not have the same casual attitude toward sex that we do, and she’s not used to our level of intensity. As dominant males go, you’re not very controlling. You keep yourself tightly controlled, but that’s different. Still, my guess is you’ll seem very demanding and controlling to Gwen, since she’s not used to our ways. You’ll need to take things slow.”
Maybe he was right, but Zander knew there was no point in fighting himself on this or in trying to make himself wait for her. It wouldn’t work. He was too fucking hungry for her.
He needed to know what every inch of her tasted like, how it felt to be deep inside her, and just how good those legs would feel curled around him. In his dream, he’d watched her come, heard her scream. That wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough. He wanted the real thing.
“You’re not going to back off, are you?”
“No.” It was too late for that.
Bracken pushed his empty plate aside. “I have to wonder what it’s like to be a person who’s so sure of their choices. Once you make up your mind, you never doubt your decision. You stick with it. Normally, I admire that. But in this instance, you’ve made the wrong decision, and you need to reevaluate it.” He leaned forward. “Give her some space. Revisit the whole thing later.”
Draining his coffee mug, Zander placed it on the coaster. “Are you done now?”
“Look, I get that you’re your own man, but she’s—”
“You’re done.”
“I’m not, actually. What about your wolf? You can’t tell me he’s going to like your decision.”
“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.