Chapter 17 #2
She’s made me wait all these months, wanting her. It’s time to turn the tables.
“You. Owe. Me. Dinner,” I repeat, kicking the door closed behind me. I prowl toward her, watching the pulse flutter in her throat as her breath quickens. I don’t stop until her thighs bump against the back of the couch—then pivot, brushing past her instead.
In the kitchen, I grab the jug from the fridge and pour a glass of water. The urge to drag her the few steps to her bedroom and claim my dessert first burns through me, but the cold water sliding down my throat helps clear my head.
“I heard what you said,” she snaps, fire sparking in her eyes. “Why did you”—she waves her hand between us—“stop?”
“Because.” I glance at my watch, letting the pause draw out. “We have a reservation in an hour.”
True to my word, an hour later we’re seated across from each other at the quaint yet elegant Italian restaurant.
Low lighting and oak tables crowd the room, each one glowing with candlelight.
Soft music drifts in the background, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware and soft murmur of conversation.
A few couples linger at nearby tables, lost in their own worlds.
“I hope you’re okay with my choice of restaurant,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving hers as the waiter pours the best Cabernet Sauvignon on the menu into our glasses.
I swirl the dark liquid, though all I’m really drinking in is her—hair curled, cascading down her back, that elegant black dress hugging every curve and leaving little to the imagination.
I’m having no trouble imagining what it would be like to peel it off her, to sink my hands into her hips and claim every inch of her.
I nearly choke on my wine.
“I ate here once—celebrating my new job, moving into my new house,” Rose says as she tears off a piece of bread. She dips it into the seasoned balsamic and oil mixture and slips it between her lips. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to come back here?”
She could be putting something else between her lips if we’d stayed at her place.
“I have my ways.” I lift my wineglass, smirking as she squirms beneath my gaze. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She glances down at the table, the tips of her ears reddening.
“Look at me.” My voice drops to a command as I reach across the table, take her hand, and flip her palm up. Rose bites her bottom lip as she raises her eyes to meet mine. I trace my thumb along the delicate skin of her wrist, her pulse quickening under my touch. “Good girl.”
Her cheeks pinken, and I release her hand, leaning back in my chair to savor the sight of her.
The auburn curls spilling down her shoulders.
The twitch of her lips when she’s fighting her own thoughts.
The heat in her eyes when she realizes I’ve caught her looking at me.
I could spend the rest of my life memorizing her and never tire.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine. I track the movement as her tongue flicks out to catch a drop on her bottom lip.
A growl rumbles low in my chest, my hand curling into a fist under the table to keep from leaping across it and taking her right here, right now.
“I’m thinking about what to have for dessert.” My eyes trail slowly down her body, and she flushes under the weight of my scrutiny.
“Oh?” Her voice is a breathy whisper.
I love the way she responds to my attention. I can’t wait to see how she reacts when I finally have time to worship every inch of her.
“What are you thinking?”
“I—” She glances around before leaning over the table, unintentionally giving me the perfect view of her lush, creamy cleavage as she whispers, “Why can’t I feel your emotions or use my magic on you? I never have, not since the first day we met.”
“Does it scare you?” I challenge, lifting my glass to my lips, watching her over the rim.
“That I can’t feel your emotions or channel feelings to you?” She smooths the cloth napkin on her lap, considering. “No. I don’t usually try to read others unless I think it would help them. I like giving people their privacy—unless they’re projecting their feelings.”
“That’s one thing I love about you—you have such great power, but you don’t abuse it.”
“I’d still like to know why it doesn’t work on you, though.”
Probably because she doesn’t know about the mating bond—and hasn’t accepted it. But I can’t tell her that. Not yet. Not when she’s only just beginning to accept this. Accept us.
“Maybe it’s a wolf thing?” I lean back as the waiter appears, setting our plates down. My hand tightens on my fork when his gaze lingers on Rose a second too long.
It wasn’t necessary for his gaze to linger at all.
“No, because I’ve never had an issue with any other shifters before. Wolves included.” She twirls her fettuccine and takes a bite, eyes locked on me as though daring me to explain.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” I dig into my spaghetti and meatballs, but the food does nothing to cool the heat burning through my veins at the thought of her touching others—even platonically. Since when did I get so damn possessive?
Since you found your mate and let her slip away.
“You’re hiding something,” she accuses, setting down her fork. Her gaze sharpens on me, cutting straight through. “What aren’t you telling me, Carter?”
I watch her, silently observing as I continue eating.
I’ve waited my whole life for this woman.
While I’m done waiting, I can still be patient—for the right moment to broach the subject.
I don’t know how much she’s been told, or how much she even suspects.
For that matter, I don’t know if non-shifters can feel the mating bond at all.
I’d always meant to ask Connor, but the right time never came.
‘Well?” She raises a brow, her lips pressed into a thin line. I want to lean across the table and kiss that look right off her face, but I have to admit—I’m enjoying ruffling her feathers.
“I don’t know for certain,” I say at last, dabbing my mouth with the cloth napkin. “I have my suspicions, but here isn’t the time or place. And your food’s getting cold.”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it, glancing back at her plate.
“Just because you’re right—and this food’s too good to waste—doesn’t mean I’m letting you off the hook. You’ll answer my questions.” She waves her fork between us before digging in again.
I could happily spend the rest of my life watching this woman across the table from me.