"You're a wolf." She leaned forward, bracing her head on her hands and closing her eyes. He didn’t want her shutting him out, so he pulled on the sweatpants and came back to her.
She cracked an eye when he nudged her. "This can't be happening."
“It can,
shug
.”
“There have always been werewolves in the Louisiana bayou?”
“Always?
Non
. We came here from France centuries ago because this place, she was better for us. We could run deep in the bayou. Our wolves don’ like rules much and the Packs in France had taken a bad turn.”
He was fiercely, deeply grateful she hadn’t been born in that time and place. The original Packs hadn’t valued their mates, had taken the women they found like a God-given right rather than a beautiful privilege. Finding her now, after so long, and imagining the world of hurt those first Packs would have inflicted on her…no.
"My brothers, they're goin' to love you,” he promised her.
Literally.
“The Breauxs are some kind of wolf pack?”
She was clearly still trying to rationalize this all away. That was okay. He knew they were a lot to take in.
“Not a large one,” he said. “Jus’ my brothers and I. Luc is our Alpha and he runs the show.”
She snorted.
"What?" He leans against the counter next to her.
"You don't strike me as the type of guy who takes orders."
"Only from Luc."
"Uh-huh." She was thinking something. He could tell.
"Spill." He gently bumped her shoulder with his own, savoring the small contact. He should give her space, should back off and let her think about what he’d shared, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He’d waited centuries for this woman and the heated rush he felt when he looked at her was too powerful to ignore. Carrying her off to bed wasn’t an option right now, not when she was running nervous, but he couldn’t back off completely either. She meant too much to him. So he put himself in her space, pushing her just a little. Testing to see how far she’d let him go.
The impish look he loved flashed in her eyes, making his pulse pound. His
boo
was going to be such sweet orders. "You never take orders? What if I'd wanted to give you orders five years ago?"
"
Shug
, you tell me what you wan' in bed, I'll be givin' it to you. I'm hopin' I didn't blow my chance."
"Present tense?"
"Present and future."
Jackson leaned down and nipped her ear. Sweet Jesus, his little bite shouldn’t have heated her up so much or so fast. The small sting of pleasure-pain had her sucking in a breath and then she flushed. Did he know what he did to her? She’d bet he did. There had always been something
knowing
about Jackson’s eyes and he’d earned his reputation as the bayou’s bad boy. Thinking about Jackson Breaux and second chances in the same sentence was painfully stupid.
She’d thought about their date more times than she cared to admit. She’d promised herself that his allure hadn’t been personal—he’d loved half the bayou, or so the stories went, and she’d been curious. Her attraction hadn’t been to the man, but to the fantasy. Fantasies she could accept. The flesh-and-blood man? Well, yeah, that might turn out to be a little
too
real.
“You’re thinkin’ too much,” he drawled.
“Maybe you don’t think enough,” she accused.
He shrugged. “I act on instinct,
shug
.”
Right. Because he was a wolf. If she hadn’t seen him shift, she would have called them both crazy. People simply didn’t turn into wolves. She was a veterinarian and she knew how biology worked. Jackson, however, was just one impossible thing after another. The bottom line, though, was that any thoughts she might have had of dating him and making him a part of her life were equally impossible. He wasn’t the kind of man a woman kept, any more than she could keep a wolf as a pet.
She jumped to her feet, anxious to put some distance between them. He smelled like the outdoors, a woodsy scent, part pine and sage and something else uniquely Jackson. Nervously, she wondered what she smelled like to him. He was the one with the wolf nose after all.
“There’s no way we’re dating.” There. A strong statement. Her words contained none of the ambivalent, waffle-y, oh-God-he’s-sexy thoughts her girly bits were telegraphing frantically to her brain.
The look on his dark face was positively wicked. “You sure about that,
shug
?”
No
. “Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Shoving away from the counter, he padded toward her. “There’s something you should know about us wolves.”
“What’s that?” When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she realized she’d reverted to her nervous habit of chewing on her lower lip. Darn it. He was a bad influence. She should be deciding between the front door and the one in the back, because an exit plan seemed key right now. Instead, her girly bits demanded
Head for his
arms
,
but they didn’t get a vote today. How wet he made her, just standing there, smiling? Well, that was going to be her little secret.
“Our wolves, they can scent real well. There’s not too much they miss.”
He padded closer, his eyes wicked and
knowing
. Oh, no. She drops her gaze to his thighs. Powerful. Jackson liked to laugh, loved to play, and made a body forget he was a deadly predator. Plus, bare feet shouldn’t be so sexy. Or his honey-colored skin, because the man had clearly spent hours outside in the sun. Was he the same delicious color all over?
She wasn’t finding out, she told herself firmly. Not today. Not ever. Jackson Breaux had had his chance and he’d blown it.
When she stepped left, he moved fluidly with her, matching the angle of her body. He wasn’t touching her—
yet
, her girly bits insisted—but he’d effectively cut off her access to the back door. So she’d use the front one. She could be flexible. It made her head mad, though, the way he played her. She glared at him
—
only to make a point, those traitorous parts insisted
—
and went right. He followed effortlessly with a low chuckle.
“It’s time for you to go.”
“You sure about that,
shug
?” he asked softly.
One hundred percent certain. She propped her hands on her hips and planted her feet. No more running. This was
her
office.
Her
place. He needed to be the one that went. “Out,” she repeated.
“You don’ wan’ to ask me somethin’ else?” The warm laughter crept back in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing at her, but that heat was an invitation to do all sorts of wicked things. With him, to him. God. Her brain just shut down around this man.
Maybe she was fifty percent certain she wanted him gone.
Forty? Her girly bits hoo-yahed in agreement. She gave up on dignity and taking a firm stance and settled for edging toward the door. He paced alongside her. He could grab her, they both knew that. Still, he stayed just a foot or so away from him and those twelve inches of empty air were nowhere near enough. Heat radiated off his body and his loose-limbed, powerful prowl should have sent her running. He was hunting her like the wolf he was.
“What could I possibly have to ask you? Other than to
leave
?”
“I could do that,” he acknowledged. “I would, too, if I thought that was really what you were wantin’,
shug
.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
He smiled, slow and sure. “I do. Remember? I got the nose of a wolf and you—you’re excited. You like this game we’re playin’. You come on over here and I’ll show you.”
“I—” He paused when she spoke, propping a hip against her desk and folding his arms over his chest. The pang of disappointment that shot through her was bad, bad news. God. Did she want to be caught? He played with her and she wanted to tease him right back and then climb him like a tree.
Oh, yeah.
“This has to be a dream,” she argued.
A dream made perfect sense. There was no impossible blue moon, no stubborn, naked, sexy-as-hell Cajun shape shifter treating her like his own personal toy. God knows what her subconscious was trying to tell, but it was okay. She’d figure it out. He moved fast then, faster than she’d thought possible. His arms wrapped around her, trapping her against the table even as she turned and whirled.
Too late.
So good.
“Not a dream,
shug
.” His rough laugh filled her ear, his cock pressed hard against her ass as he pinned her in place. “Although, me? I wouldn’t mind dreamin’ about you.”
He gently flipped his mate around and stretched her out over the desk. Hell, he was a gentleman. He even took the extra ten seconds to scootch her stacks of paperwork out of harm’s way. He was betting she’d be in an extra pissy mood if those files ended up on the floor. He could be reasonable.
His
shug
wanted him, even if she refused to give him the words. That was okay. He’d been iron hard since he’d caught the scene of her feminine cream. Fuck, yeah, but today was a good day. Despite the fight he’d come too close to losing in the bayou and despite his looming problems with the skin hunters, he was good. Downright jubilant, if he was trotting out the big words. Fate had handed him the perfect mate and right now he wanted to see her. Taste her some. He was a starving man facing down an all-you-can-eat buffet on the Vegas strip,
She stared up at him, all big eyes as he laid her out and got ready to feast. Her eyes had small gold flecks. He wasn’t so desperate yet that he couldn’t take the time to slow down and notice the small things about her. He was no poet and she deserved someone to make her a song about how she looked, with that shadow of surprise and…neediness in her pretty brown eyes.
Oui
.
Gently, he peeled back the lab coat she clutched around herself. The stiff white cotton screamed new and still smelled like the plastic bag in which it had shipped. Someone, however, had embroidered her name in curlicues above an orange cat face. Cute, although maybe she needed to be replacing the patch with a wolf.
Her hands fell to his wrists, cautiously accepting, and he promised himself that he’d take it nice and slow. He didn’t need to rush because—and fierce joy exploded inside him—they had
forever
and that meant he had all night, all day to get to know her. He slid his own hands up, tangling his scarred fingers with her capable ones. She wore no rings and the back of her hands were sun-browned, her nails cut short and unpolished. The soft, sweet rush of her breath gusted over his face as he unwrapped his present, sliding the lab coat down to her wrists.
Eden.
He stepped in between her legs, pressing her legs wider with his palms. A flash of uncertainty crossed her beautiful face, but her legs parted obediently, then wrapped loosely around his hips even as her fingers wrapped around his wrists again. Beneath the coat, she wore a faded pink cotton T-shirt sporting a university logo. She’d worked hard to get where she was and he was proud of her. He had no idea how a veterinary practice fit into pack life, but they’d figure it out. He wasn’t asking her to give up her life—just to make a little room for him. Surely, she could do that? Like she’d read his mind or sensed his need, her hands fell away, crumpling the lab coat.
She shifted on the desk’s surface, stiff and unsure. He wished he knew how to tell her she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Since he didn’t have the words, he’d have to show her. Carefully, he slipped his fingers beneath the edge of her T-shirt and rubbed slowly over the warm skin. Followed the delicious curves where she was soft and rounded, until he discovered a small belly ring—that was a surprise. She made a little sound, half-surprise, half-embarrassment.
“Beautiful,” he growled against her skin.
She didn’t relax much, but he kissed along the soft curve of her belly, breathing her in and savoring the satiny feel of her skin. She’d made herself vulnerable to him. She
trusted
him to make this good. And he would. He absolutely would. He let his fingers follow his mouth to the button of her jeans.
She rose up off the desk. “Jackson—”
“Uh-huh?” Urging her back down, he slid a finger beneath the edge of the denim until he brushed the edge of her panties. His imagination went crazy
imagining
. Lacy. A ribbon. Pure white cotton. Anything worked for him. It was the woman wearing the clothes he wanted. He braced himself on his elbows on either side of her face, loving the way her bare feet dug into his back as he pressed closer then started moving down. They both knew where he was headed.
Heaven.
“Is that a
yes, Jackson
or a
back the hell off, Jackson
?” Letting go of her now would about kill him. But they had forever, he reminded himself.
Her breath whispered out, but she remained silent.
No worries
. He tucked his finger beneath the band of her panties, easing toward her heat until he brushed the very top of her mound. No lace, no fancy ribbons—just him and Eden, skin-to-skin.
“You like words,” he whispered roughly. “So you better give them to me now. You wan’ me to stop,
shug
, and I’ll be stoppin’. I’d like to be givin’ you somethin’ else though.”
“More,” she demanded, her lashes drifting shut, her hands fluttering by her sides before finding his shoulders. He felt the soft prick of her nails against his bare skin all the way to his toes. She had him tied up in knots and he loved it.