Chapter 7
I was up before Racer knocked on my door. In yoga pants and a tank top, I stood in my living room stretching. The last few sessions with Racer left me sore and bruised. Well, mostly sore. I hoped stretching would help with that.
When he knocked, I opened the door with a smile. He didn’t offer one in return. His eyes slid from my gaze and slowly traveled down, stopping at my shoes. All the while, a faint blush crept into his cheeks.
“We’ll do a lesson later.” He turned and tromped down the steps without another word.
I frowned after him. He came up here just to tell me never mind?
I closed the door slowly. What the hell was I supposed to do now?
Why couldn’t we do a lesson this morning?
It’s not like he actually did anything else.
With a scowl, I yanked open my door went downstairs. His apartment door stood ajar. I didn’t bother calling his name, though. The faint thump of music reached my ears.
I walked out to the shed. The door there wasn’t latched either.
I eased it open and saw Racer hitting the bag with deadly force.
Mounted floor to steel beam on the ceiling, the bag couldn’t swing away from his brutal beating.
Muscles rolled and coiled under his shirt with each strike.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot in rhythm with his punches.
I didn’t move. I watched his beautiful dance, not missing a thing.
A tiny seed of heat sprouted in my stomach and slowly spread outward, filling me.
I wanted to stay there forever and just stare, to take in everything.
Sweat started to dampen his shirt. He paused for half a second, grabbed the hem, and pulled it off. The muscles over his ribs rippled as he reached to toss it aside. He started pummeling the bag again. Skin glistened. I forgot everything.
When he finally stopped and turned to pick up his shirt, I had no idea how much time had passed. My feet hurt, though, so I figured I’d been standing awhile. He paused when he caught sight of me. I had the grace to blush but kept my eyes on his.
“Why no lesson this morning?” A dry rasp coated my words. I just couldn’t help it.
He narrowed his eyes on me as he stalked forward. “I’m not here to entertain you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are we seriously back to this? I’m not here to be a prisoner.”
“Fine.” He tossed his shirt aside, and my eyes widened as he came at me.
I ducked under his arm and half rolled out of the way, coming up to my feet with a quick bounce.
He circled me, annoyance on his face.
“I just asked why,” I said, skirting the mat, trying to avoid him.
He darted in. His hands almost wrapped around my waist. I turned and dove to the side. His fingers curled around my ankle. I kicked out with my other foot and grazed the side of his head. His eyes darkened.
Twisting, I kicked again, aiming for his hand. He grunted and let go when I connected. On my hands and knees, I scrambled away from him then sprang to my feet. Spinning, I didn’t even have time to focus on him before I landed on my back with a thud. Racer lay on top of me. Sweaty, shirtless Racer.
Each breath wheezed in and out of me while he remained breathing easy.
I eyed him. His annoyance faded, replaced by a quiet study of my features.
His dark eyelashes pulled me into his blue gaze.
His chest and legs heated my already sweaty, and suddenly tingling, skin.
He didn’t move, and I wondered if he was enjoying the sensation, too.
My gaze drifted to his parted lips. The tingles invaded my stomach as I stared. I wanted more than friends. I’d wanted a taste of the real Racer since I took that picture of him. I lifted my head fractionally, giving into the urge.
He groaned and leaned toward me.
“What are we doing?” he murmured. I doubted he even knew he spoke aloud.
His lips brushed over mine, the barest of touches, there and gone again. My heart thrummed faster, my lungs forgot to keep expanding and contracting, and my stomach did a flip from esophagus to hips.
“Gillian.”
Hearing him whisper my name unlocked all my caution.
His lips met mine again, still light and testing.
My hands snaked up behind his neck and fisted in his hair.
I pulled him down hard for the kiss I wanted.
He growled and opened his mouth. Our tongues met in a violent storm.
His arms curled around me, holding me tight enough to bruise.
His hips tilted into mine, and my insides melted.
Just as suddenly as the storm claimed us, it was gone...and so was Racer. All I had to show for the kiss was an elevated heart rate and two fistfuls of hair. I let my head fall back to the mat and tried to catch my breath.
After a few minutes, I stood and turned off the blaring music. Then, I made my way inside. Passing his firmly closed door, I went up to my apartment.
* * * *
Racer didn’t talk to me for five days. Five days of sullen silence with only the brief evening calls from Dad to keep me company.
I tried to occupy myself with reading, research, music, and online movies.
None of it distracted me from the details of that kiss, though.
Thoughts crept in whether I was awake or asleep.
My dreams went beyond the moment and played out what might have happened next had he not run.
I often woke in the dark, my heart trying to beat out of its cage.
In those seconds after waking, I wanted it to break free.
On the sixth morning, I’d had enough dreaming and set a trap. I poured vegetable oil on my kitchen floor and went back to bed to wait. Some might consider it juvenile. No more juvenile than avoidance or the silent treatment. Besides, a man on his back was less likely to run again.
After seven hours, I got up to use the bathroom. My head was starting to hurt. I refrained from taking something for it, took a large drink of water instead, and went back to bed.
I dozed lightly until something crashed downstairs. Definitely his door hitting the wall. My eyes immediately popped open. I listened to him bound up the steps. He banged on my apartment door. It was about time. His noise made me smile.
“Go away!”
Another door slammed against the wall. One thumping step. Two thumping steps. Thud. Cursing.
“Gillian!”
I tossed aside the covers and walked down the hall. He lay on his back on the floor. His face was red as he studied a shiny, oil-licked palm.
“What the hell is this?”
I walked toward him, careful of the oil. When I stood beside him, I lifted a foot, gingerly placed it on the floor on the other side of him, and sat on his stomach so I straddled him. His eyes flew to mine.
“It’s vegetable oil. I’ll need you to pick up some more from the store, by the way.”
His face took on a darker shade of red. That wouldn’t do. I scooted back, my rear bumping his hips, and he froze. Carefully leaning forward, I waited until we were nose to nose before speaking again. My forearms rested on his chest.
“I’ve come up with a couple of explanations for your avoidance, but I’m not sure which is the truth. Either you’re staying away because you’re afraid of what will happen if my father finds out we kissed.”
He closed his eyes briefly. Was that regret?
“Or what happened was just a mistake. Your boy-parts overrode your brain for a minute and you’re too afraid to tell me ‘oops.’ Which is it?”
“Neither.”
“Then, why? I don’t do silent and we have nine months together. We need to resolve this.”
“Gillian.” His voice grew soft. “This just won’t work. It can’t.”
I snorted, held his face between my hands, and bent to kiss him again.
He growled and kissed me back, not fighting it.
His tongue skimmed mine. A hand pressed between my shoulder blades, pushing me closer.
His other hand drifted down my back. So much passion.
I withdrew slightly to look at him. The whites of his eyes had darkened again.
“Is this how you really look or is there more?” I asked, unable to silence my curiosity. Had my mother looked like this?
His eyes immediately returned to normal. He eyed me, his expression blank.
“What do you mean?”
He sounded so wary. I gave him a long look and decided I’d waited long enough for answers.
I sighed, crawled off him, and went to my room. The jewelry box sat on the nightstand. I turned it over in my hand, removed the backing, and took out my mother’s letter. Racer stood behind me, watching what I did. I offered him the letter.
“You know what I mean. And we would work...if you wanted us to.”
He took the letter, his eyes not leaving mine for a moment. Then, he looked down.
Watching his eyes devour the lines, I recalled the words I’d long ago memorized.
Gillian,
There are so many life lessons a mother should teach her daughter. It would fill a book. I only have a single tiny page to share two important truths with you.
I love you. You and your father are the best things that ever happened to me. If you don’t believe anything else I tell you, believe that.
Werewolves are real, but the legends are wrong.
We are born, not made. We aren’t mindless beasts craving the taste of blood, but we are cunning hunters.
We do not look like the pretty wolves of the woods.
We are a combination of man and wolf, of skin and fur.
We. Yes, I am a werewolf, but your father is not.
You shouldn’t have been possible. Werewolf mates with werewolf.
There’s been no record of anything else.
Yet, here you are. You smell like your father, human.
Yet, I can see myself in you. I hope my kind ignores you.
Without fangs or claws, you have no place with them.
Your father knows my secret but asked me to keep the truth from you.
He doesn’t want what I am to hurt you. He loves you so much and will do everything in his power to protect you.
Stay safe. Be loved. Live well.
Love,
Mom