Chapter 14 Getting Cozy #2
Marlow had made it sound like he was a shameless criminal disguised as a private investigator.
Maybe to the authorities that’s exactly what he is.
But to his clients, he’s a protector. Looking out for the supernatural folks who fall through the cracks.
Just like he takes care of the little creatures he summons from the underworld.
That explains the reviews from his old-ass website, talking about him being the only one willing to help. It wasn’t because his clients needed less reputable services after all. The authorities weren’t interested in his clients’ problems, so he was their only hope.
Iggy was right. There’s more to him than I thought.
Marlow knocks his foot into mine, pulling me away from my thoughts.
“Since this is apparently torture Marlow night, there’s probably one more thing I should tell you.
Thanks for, you know, carrying the team.
” He looks stiff as he forces the words out, though they sound sincere.
"It occurs to me that teasing you might not be the most effective way to show gratitude.
I get how hard you're working here and how much you've done for us. "
Is his way of showing appreciation by bugging the hell out of me? Actually, that makes a twisted kind of sense coming from him.
"Is it hurting you to be this sincere?" I ask.
"Only a little," he laughs. "I mean it. Hiding from wolves isn't the easiest thing, especially when you're the wilderness survival expert and we're hiding from the people who trained you. It's a miracle they haven't already tracked us down."
"Oh…" I clear my throat and look away. "Well, look, shapeshifters have better noses than humans, so it wouldn't be too difficult for my pack to find you if we aren’t careful.
But my pack does best with strong scents or anything fresh.
The nuances, well, the pack's skills aren't in tracking and detection.
They could learn, it's just not really where they focus. "
"But you do."
"I've always liked being out here. Picked up on a thing or two," I say, trying to downplay it.
Is it torture Wynn night now? Then again, I don't know why I'm self-conscious.
The Clover pack includes numerous wilderness experts.
They spend less time fighting and more time enjoying the forest. There's no shame in it.
It's obviously good for wolves to have those skills. Just… not my pack’s focus.
"So many Iron wolves concern themselves with being the toughest," I continue. "If you're going to be the strongest werewolf in a pack of strong werewolves, it takes more than super genes. It takes training and sparring and serious commitment. And my heart's never really been in that."
"So why were you fighting the night we met?" Marlow asks.
My head whips toward him. "You were there? You saw me?"
"Big crowd of people comes in, you can't thoroughly vet them all. It was the best night to sneak in."
No reason to be embarrassed about him seeing me fight and lose spectacularly. No reason at all. I don't need to defend my skills. But... "I can fight. I've received some training. It’s just not really my thing."
"Yet you signed up," he points out.
"Hey, winner gets prize money," I offer weakly.
Clearing my throat, I lean back on the couch, away from him. I don't like the way he's watching me, like he can read all my secrets just by looking at me. So unfair. He isn't nearly as easy to read.
"Trying to impress someone, weren't you?" he asks knowingly.
I force a scoff. "Well, that would be stupid."
"Didn't work, did it?" Another question he already knows the answer to.
"Is getting tossed around like a rag doll impressive to you?"
"Nope," he says. "You're terrible."
"Gee, thanks."
"You never should have been fighting in the first place. Play to your strengths." He throws out his arms, gesturing around us. "All you had to do was take the special guy or gal out here."
"Oh, really?" I eye all the wooden sculptures on the coffee table skeptically.
"Okay, not here specifically. But a night camping under the stars? It's perfect. You pitch a tent—and that's not even innuendo—start a campfire, whip up a tasty dinner, and do your general Boy Scout thing. It'd work every time."
Am I blushing? I'd better not be blushing.
Marlow knocks his foot against mine and I find myself twisting towards him, our eyes meeting.
Suddenly I'm the prey instead of the hunter this time, and he doesn't even need a weapon to hunt me.
Just that look. The one that pins me in place and makes my pulse stutter.
"Why play someone else's game when you can win just by being yourself, Wynn Blackwood?"
Of all the things he's said, this is what leaves me speechless.
One of us must move because the space between us on the couch shrinks. It occurs to me that we’re already sharing a bed, it would be so easy to just… lean forward and take things a step farther.
“Food was good,” he offers quietly, just for something to say.
"Yeah."
"We make a good team when we aren’t driving each other crazy. Who knew?"
“It is surprising.” But it shouldn’t be. Not if we belong together.
When we first started this insane getaway together, I was on high alert. Looking for any sign he might be lying. Thinking what if he’s a killer, what if he’s not my mate? Holding myself back, I’ve been afraid to really trust him. It's been exhausting.
It feels good to relax around him. Feels right.
All the reasons I shouldn’t do this fall away. I lean in, pressing my lips to his.
His mouth opens under mine, a silent invitation that I can't resist. My tongue brushes against his as he wraps his arms around me, holding on to my shoulders tightly like he's afraid I'll back away.
Leaving is the last thing on my mind. I rise up enough to bridge the space between us and plant myself on his lap.
He grins like I just made all his dreams come true.
That smile should be illegal—does he have any idea what it does to me?
His hands immediately come down and rest on my ass, like he’s been waiting to get his hands on me for a while.
I groan and arch into him, our next kiss so incredibly heated that I melt into him and moan, begging for more.
My hands slide up Marlow's back, pulling him closer as his lips trail down my neck. My skin tingles where he touches me, like electricity sparking beneath the surface. So good. Of course the wily demon is good with his mouth.
Marlow tugs at the hem of my shirt, breaking our kiss long enough to yank it over my head. His gaze rakes over my exposed torso, pupils blown wide with desire, dark pools that drink in every inch of me. Then he's on me again, lips crashing against mine as his hands explore the newly revealed skin.
A throat clears.
I force my lips away from his and look to the left. Iggy sits on a dinner plate, staring at us open-mouthed. "Should I leave the room?"
Great timing, Iggy. But I can’t be mad at the gargoyle. My common sense returns, along with all the reasons this may be a terrible idea.