Chapter 5
Since Cliff had been assigned to Stella that week, the office hadn’t lined up any other assignments for him. So, he decided he would catch up on some paperwork.
Or at least, he tried.
He just couldn’t concentrate as all he could think about was Stella. He fought the urge to call Charley to find out where Stella was and if she was okay. The questions in his mind and all the possible scenarios in his head drove him crazy and unable to think of anything else.
Was she safe?
Did she get back to her hotel before dark?
What if something happens to her while she was on the subway?
Or what if a car ran her over?
Not knowing was driving him mad, but he couldn’t just stalk her.
His wolf, however, begged to differ. Following her around New York sounded like a better idea than staying at the office and filling up reports. He kept his phone glued to his hand, willing it to ring or receive a text message from Charley or Devon, asking him to watch over Stella again.
And so, seeing as he couldn’t be productive at his desk, he spent most of the week working out at the office gym, sometimes from morning until night. It was a great way to relieve his frustrations, and the fatigue kept his wolf at bay.
His father, however, wasn’t too thrilled as Cliff had busted three punching bags by Thursday.
“I know you’re bored since you’re free this week, but I’d appreciate it if you stop destroying my gym.” His father, Connor Forrest, glowered at him, making the scar that crossed his right eye and cheek deepen.
“Sorry, Dad.” He glanced at the poor punching bag, which was now leaking sand from the hole his fist had driven through it.
Conner jerked his thumb toward the boxing ring set up in the middle of the room. “You and me. Now.”
Cliff followed his father toward the ring, swinging himself between the ropes. He dropped his towel and phone on the side and then met his father in the center.
“Ready?” Connor put his fists up in a fighting pose.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
The first blow came so fast, he didn’t even get a chance to defend himself. Connor’s meaty fist slammed into his jaw so hard, Cliff’s head snapped back with a sickening crack.
“You said you were ready,” his father said nonchalantly.
Cliff rubbed at his jaw. The man before him wasn’t Dad right now—he was Connor Forrest, Lone Wolf’s chief trainer. He was tough on the agents because he had to be. They could be sent anywhere and into any situation, and they had to be prepared. It was his job to make sure all the agents had the proper training so they could come back in one piece.
Rolling his shoulders back, Cliff let out a snort. “All right. Bring it on.”
This time, Cliff managed to dodge his father’s uppercut and got in a jab of his own. They continued to fight for the next thirty minutes with no breaks, and they didn’t just stick to boxing. They kicked, grappled, and used any style of fighting—and they even used dirty tricks. Out in the field, they could be fighting for their own survival, and no one followed rules.
By the end, Connor had him in a sleeper hold, which Cliff couldn’t free himself from, so he tapped out.
“Sloppy,” Connor spat as he released Cliff. “Your head’s not on straight.” His tone shifted as concern marred his face. “What’s the matter, son?”
He considered lying to his father, but that would be no use. “I don’t know.” That was as close to the truth as he could get without revealing to him the real reason his head was screwed up: all he could think about these days was Stella. Her eyes, her mouth, her smell, her body.
“Your wolf’s acting up.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve always been able to control it; I’ve never seen anyone more in tune with his wolf than you, save for your Uncle Jackson. Did something happen? Or was it the mages?”
“That was months ago,” he reminded his father, though he wasn’t likely to forget their final battle with the enemies that could have easily wiped out their existence had they lost. “I’m fine, Dad. Just … doing some thinking.”
“Maybe you need a vacation. You haven’t taken a break in years with your work here and GI.”
“I’m fine, Dad,” he insisted. “I—” A familiar ringtone from his phone had his entire body going on full alert—it was the ringtone he used for Charley. He practically dove toward his phone to answer it.
“What happened?” he bellowed.
“You saw the news?” came Charley’s reply.
“News? She’s on the news already?”
“She?” his sister asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Stella,” he bit out. “What are you talking about?”
“Us. I mean, Devon and me.” Charley’s voice shook unnaturally. “Our relationship got leaked. And the baby, too.”
His father had rushed to his side. “That your sister?”
Cliff nodded and put his phone on speaker. “Dad’s here.”
“What happened?” Connor asked.
“The press found out about us,” Charley began. “And before you ask, no, I don’t know how, but probably someone on the tour overhead us or saw us or something and blabbed to the press. Anyway, they ambushed us as we were on the way out, and now we’re trapped at home. Devon’s on a conference call with his team now, trying to figure out what to do.”
“Do you need me to come get you?” their father offered. “I can ask your Uncle Daric for help.” Their Aunt Meredith’s husband was a powerful warlock who could teleport to and from any place in the world.
“No, I’ll be fine here,” she said. “And Mom already knows, so she’s bracing herself.”
Their mother, Evie King, was a famous singer, actress and songwriter, and Charley herself had once been a teen superstar. The press would eventually connect the dots, because growing up, they hadn’t exactly hidden their connection to each other. “And I called to tell you, Cliff. In case … they bring up Vegas.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. How about Stella? Do they know about her yet?” His chest tightened, thinking about those fucking paparazzi circling her like sharks smelling blood in the water. He knew what that was like as he’d experienced it himself in the aftermath of his own scandal.
“Not yet, thank God, and Devon’s gonna make sure that information is locked up tight.” Her breath hitched. “But, I need your help, Cliff.”
“Anything you need.”
“Great! We were supposed to meet Stella at Carnegie Hall. Devon arranged a private tour for the three of us. She’s on her way now, but I can’t reach her phone.”
“She’s probably in the subway.” Dammit, why did she have to be so stubborn about using the train?
“That’s what I’m thinking. So, could you go meet her at Carnegie Hall? Just to make sure she’s okay?”
Cliff hesitated. The last thing he needed right now was to be around Stella. He couldn’t be alone with her, not when he was already messed up in the head. He should tell Charley to find someone else.
Unfortunately, his father answered for him. “He’ll be there. And he won’t leave her side until this whole thing blows over.”
“Good idea,” Charley added. “Knowing Stella, she’ll want to come to the penthouse and make sure we’re okay. Cliff, you can’t let her get anywhere near this mess right now. Keep her occupied, go on the tour with her, then take her to dinner. We had it all set up, I’ll text you all the details, including the name and number of my contact at Carnegie.”
Did he hear that right? She asked him to spend the entire afternoon and evening with Stella? “Wait, Charley, you can’t?—”
“I gotta go,” she said, cutting him off. “Thanks, Cliff, I owe you one.”
Fuck.
He couldn’t believe he had to go and spend the rest of the afternoon with Stella.
His wolf, however, wagged its tail in excitement.
He frowned at his wolf. What the hell was wrong with you?
But it didn’t answer him.
“I should call your mother.” Connor tossed him a towel, which he easily caught. “Son, if there’s anything you need?—”
“Yeah, I know,” Cliff interrupted. He really didn’t want to talk about his strange obsession with Stella, especially with his father. “I should go before I miss her.”
* * *
Cliff, thankfully, arrived just outside Carnegie Hall seconds before Stella turned around the corner from Fifty-seventh Street.
Surprise crossed her face when their gazes clashed. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Charley and Devon.”
Her expression changed in an instant, and she hurried toward him. “What happened? Oh God, are they hurt?” Her hands gripped his forearms. “Please, tell me.”
Her soft palms on his skin made his brain go haywire. This close, he caught the faintest whiff of her delicious scent.
“Cliff?” The way she said his name sent the smallest thrill through him. “Tell me.”
He blinked, trying to get his brain working again. “They’re fine.”
She relaxed. “Then what’s wrong?”
He quickly explained what happened. “And so, they asked me to come meet you.”
Her lips pursed. “I need to see them. I should be with?—”
“No, that’s the last thing you need to do.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I beg your pardon? He’s my brother, and I need to be with him.”
“I understand; Charley’s my sister, and I hate that this is happening to her.” It had been hell for him, and he didn’t want that for her. “But you going there might make things worse.”
“And how will I make it worse?” she challenged.
“I didn’t say you would make it worse.” Damn it, why did she have to be stubborn? “So far, the press doesn’t know about you. But if they did, you’re gonna send them into a bigger feeding frenzy, plus they’ll never leave you alone.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. “I suppose that makes sense. I guess I’ll just go back to my hotel and wait for them to call when this is over.”
He wanted to tell her that this would never be over. Maybe he should encourage her to leave New York, go back where she came from and never see Devon again. That way he’d never had to see her again either.
But his wolf growled at that idea.
“No, there’s no need.” He gestured to the front of the theater. “Devon went through a lot of trouble to arrange this for you. You do know that not everyone gets a private tour of Carnegie Hall?”
Her teeth bit into her lower lip. “I guess … maybe by the time I’m done, the press would have all gone home?”
Go home? Did she think paparazzi clocked in and out like factory workers? She was so naive it was almost cute. “I don’t know. But Devon asked me to stay with you for now; they’ll update me on the situation.”
She blinked. “You’re coming on the tour too?”
He would rather have his eyes gouged out; music was really more his mother and Charley’s thing. He’d actually been backstage at Carnegie Hall twice when he was younger as his mother had two sold-out concerts there, and he remembered how bored he was while he waited in her dressing room during rehearsals and shows. Just thinking about it made him want to run.
However, Stella looked so utterly lovely today in her cute white sweater dress that clung to her curves and her knee-high boots that he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Yeah. Devon said to stick by your side.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “This might be too boring for you. I mean, we’ll probably be talking about classical music and stuff.”
“It’s fine,” he replied, nonplussed. “I’ll try and keep up.”
She shrugged. “Okay then, let’s go.”
He followed her into the hall, and thankfully someone was already waiting for them at the lobby.
“You must be Stella Lennon,” the woman said. “I’m Fiona Bannister, the general manager, and I’ll be taking you on a two-hour private tour.”
“Thank you so much for making time for us, Fiona.” Stella shook the hand she offered. “I’m so excited.”
Cliff groaned inwardly but shook the hand Fiona offered.
“Great, we can begin.” She led them through the doors that led into the Main Hall. “As you know, Carnegie Hall was built in 1891, named after the man who built it, Andrew Carnegie, the richest man in America at that time ….”
Cliff barely listened to Fiona Bannister as she droned on and on about the Main Hall. All he could focus on was Stella, who was obviously in heaven. Her eyes lit up at almost everything she saw and touched. When they went backstage and Fiona led them to the stage, Cliff could see her entire body vibrating with excitement as she stood in the center and looked out into the empty seats. He’d overheard from Charley that she was a music teacher, which meant she probably sang or played an instrument. He imagined she had always dreamed of being on this stage, and it made him curious to find out which it was. Did she play an instrument or did she sing?
They continued on with the Rose Museum, but as they were about to go into the archives, Cliff’s phone rang. Charley’s name flashed on the screen.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” he said. “Is there anywhere private where I can go?”
“Not in here, but if you make your way back to the Main Hall, you’ll find a couple of rehearsal rooms. You can use any of the empty ones.”
“Thank you. I’ll find you when I’m done.”
Following Fiona’s instructions, he retraced his steps and went inside the first empty room he found. He sat down on the only seat in the room—the piano’s bench—then picked up the call. “Charley?”
“Hey, Cliff.” His sister’s voice sounded less strained than it had been this morning. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, we’re almost done with the tour. How about you? How’s it going?”
“It’s … going. We’re about to release a statement, but there’s no way we can make it out tonight.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Char.”
“Thanks.” She blew out a breath. “Is Stella having fun at least?”
“Yeah, she’s having the time of her life.”
She chuckled. “I bet. Devon’s pretty pissed he can’t be there with her and that he’s missing an entire day with her because of these asshole paps. I—hold on.”
As Cliff waited on the line, he could hear Charley murmuring to someone in the background—probably Devon.
“Sorry, they need me to look over this statement one more time.”
“Go and take care of your stuff,” he urged. “I’ll take care of things here.”
“Thanks, Cliff, you’re the best. Enjoy the dinner, by the way. Bye!”
Lowering his phone to his side, Cliff let out a groan. After the tour, he was supposed to bring her to Petite Louve,a French Restaurant in Soho helmed by a Lycan chef.
Fuck me.
With a huff, he spun around the bench so he faced the piano, planted his elbows on the upright piano’s lid, then buried his face in his hands.
It was bad enough he had to follow her around for the last hour or so, but now he had to take her to a restaurant, just the two of them, like it was a romantic dinner? How was he going to get through it?
Lifting his head from his hands, he placed his palms on the piano’s lid. He smoothed his fingers over the surface. The smell of polish and the feel of the shiny wood under his fingertips reminded him of when he was a child. His mother, of course, had insisted he take piano lessons when he was younger, which he did for two years between the ages of five and seven, but stopped when he had his first judo lesson. Evie never resented her son’s loss of interest in the instrument as it was obvious he much preferred going to the dojo than to music class. But he often wondered if his mother had been disappointed he didn’t stick to it.
Slowly, he lifted the lid and placed his fingers on the keys. The weight of the ivory felt much lighter now under his large fingers, and the C note came down with a loud twang. Flexing his fingers, he tried again, trying not to press down too hard. He hadn’t sat down in front of a piano in more than twenty years, so he wondered if he could still remember how to play.
Searching his mind, he recalled one of his favorite pieces. The title escaped his mind, but the melody lingered somewhere deep in his brain. The first note was C, then an E.
His fingers tripped over the keys as they remembered them to be much bigger and farther apart. After a few tries though, he managed a few bars, but couldn’t remember the rest.
“You play?”
His forefinger hit a sour note when he heard Stella’s voice, then he slammed the lid down. “I … a long time ago.”
“Minuet in C by Mozart. That was at least a grade one exam piece.” She appeared by his side. “How long did you take lessons?”
“I dunno. Two years? My mom made me take them.”
“Your mom—oh.” She covered her hand with her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
Glancing up at her, he saw genuine embarrassment on her face. “Sorry? What for?”
“Er, what I said earlier. About this being boring for you and implying you didn’t know anything about classical music.” As her cheeks pinkened, she covered her entire face with her hands. “Your mom is Evie King, your sister told me. You’ve probably been here dozens of times.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up. “Only twice.”
She groaned and turned to face away from him. “Oh Lord. I’m so embarrassed right now.”
“Hey …” Standing up, he placed a hand on her elbow and gently turned her around. “No need for that. It’s fine, really. You’re right, I do find this classical music shit boring. I haven’t sat in front of a piano for more than twenty years.”
Lowering her hands, she glanced up shyly at him, those sky-blue eyes piercing right into his soul. “Really? But you sounded good. For someone who hasn’t played in a long time, I mean.”
He laughed. “Thank you. My hands kinda remember where to go, but my fingers think I’m still six years old.”
“I understand,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I think it’s great your mom started you out early. The younger you are, the more you remember.” Reaching over to the piano, she lifted the lid. “I bet you could finish the whole piece, it’s only one page.”
“I don’t think?—”
“C’mon.” She flashed him the brightest, most arresting smile he’d ever seen, and he found himself unable to protest or resist as she sat him down. “Just give it a try.”
“All right, but don’t blame me when your ears start bleeding.”
A small laugh escaped her lips. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
Once again, he placed his hands on the piano keys and played the first few bars. There was a particularly tricky section of arpeggio notes that he kept messing up. He tried three times, but his fingers refused to follow his brain’s directions.
“Don’t stress. Do it slowly a few times first, then try it in tempo.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. The touch was gentle, but it had his fingers tumbling once again, though for a different reason.
Concentrate on playing, he told his brain, fingers—and dick.
He played the series of notes a few more times, slowly at first as she instructed, before attempting it again.
“That’s it.” Her hand squeezed his shoulder. “Do you remember the next part?”
He rubbed his fingers together. “I’m not sure.”
“It’s the same pattern, but you start on a different note.” She sat down beside him and leaned over to place her hands on the keys.
Her scent tickled his nostrils as she began to play the last few bars of the song, and Cliff stifled a groan as the delicious smell sent his cock twitching.
“There.” Blue eyes peered up at him. “Now, do you remember?”
“Er, sorry, could you do that again?” He scooted away from her to avoid her scent.
She repeated it, and this time, he committed the notes to memory.
“There. Now you give it a try.”
He played the section, missing only a few notes.
“Now do it again, from the beginning,” she instructed. “You just have to keep practicing until you can do it perfectly.”
Unable to say no to her, he started the piece again.
“That’s it … a little faster on that F ….”
Cliff could see why she chose to be a teacher—Stella was patient and kind, and knew how to give encouragement when needed as well as explain things so they were easy to understand. When he finished the piece, she clapped her hands.
“Amazing!”
This time, Cliff found himself blushing under her praise. “Nah, that was easy shit.”
“That was not easy sh—” She clamped her lips together. “That was not easy. Not for a six-year-old and especially not having to do it from memory after all these years. It’s too bad you stopped, you have a natural sense of rhythm and probably a good ear for tone.”
“Thanks. You’re a good teacher.”
She blushed again. “Not your teacher?”
“No. Definitely not. He was an old geezer who was probably older than Andrew Carnegie himself. You’re much better-looking.”
The color in her cheeks deepened, and he found himself mesmerized by her pupils, which had grown larger. Her scent seemed to intensify, and he found himself leaning closer to her. Stella’s mouth parted, and she tilted her head to the side.
“Hello, there you are!”
They broke apart at the sound of Fiona Bannister’s voice. Cliff quickly slid off the bench and shot to his feet.
What. The. Fuck?
“I see you found each other,” she remarked.
“Y-yes, we did,” Stella stammered as she smoothed her hand down her lap. “Thank you again for the tour, Fiona, this was a wonderful treat.”
“It was my pleasure. Can I show you out? Do you want me to call a cab?”
“No, we’ll be fine,” Cliff said. “I’ll take care of Stella from here.”
“Excellent.”
After walking them out and saying their final goodbyes, Cliff led them to the garage where he’d parked.
“Where are we going?” Stella asked as he pulled out of his spot.
“Dinner,” he replied.
“Will Devon and Charley be joining us? That was them who called you, right?”
“Yeah, and no, sorry. They’re still trapped at home, but they’re working on a statement. They said we should go to dinner as the chef is already expecting us.”
“I see.”
If she was disappointed that it was just them, she didn’t show it. In fact, though the ride downtown was silent, it wasn’t awkward like it had been the last time he drove her. He found himself glancing over at her a few times—and caught her staring at him, which made her quickly turn away.
Was she checking him out?
The very idea that she might find him attractive made his mouth go dry. While he was aware that he was good-looking, Stella always acted like she couldn’t wait to get away from him.
Perhaps he was just imagining it, but he did sit up straighter and flex his forearms more as he drove through the streets of Manhattan.
The traffic had built up along the way, but thankfully they quickly found parking a few blocks away and arrived at Petite Louve just on time. The hostess greeted them right away and led them to a private room upstairs, with a table set up for two. The room looked cozy, but Cliff was glad that the lighting was bright to match the modern decor.
“Chef Dominic has taken care of the menu for tonight,” the young woman said as she gestured for them to sit. “But if you want anything else or have any special requests, just ask your servers, and they’ll be glad to accommodate your needs.”
“Thank you,” he said before the hostess left.
“Have you eaten here before?” Stella asked.
“A couple times. The food here is excellent, and unlike the fancy fine dining places in New York, they don’t serve teeny-tiny portions.” He grinned at her. “And if the chef prepared the menu for us, I’m sure it’ll be a treat, plus the service is superb.”
They had barely settled in and unfolded their napkins when a server came and served them each a glass of kir along with an amuse bouche, which looked like a small dessert macaron but actually had smoked salmon mouse inside.
“Oh, my Lord, that’s amazing,” she said. “If that’s just the beginning, then we really are in for a treat.”
Once the plates and glasses were cleared, the servers came back with a few classic French appetizers—foie gras, onion soup, and a light salad, plus a glass of white wine.
“I realized I haven’t thanked you for saving my life,” she said out of the blue.
Cliff’s fork stopped halfway between the plate and his mouth. “It was my job.” He didn’t miss her flinch—or the way his wolf swiped at him with its claws. “But I could have been nicer to you too,” he added quickly. “I’m sorry for being rude.”
“You’re forgiven.”
“So quickly?” He couldn’t help but tease her, especially when her cheeks pinkened so prettily. “Most women would prefer men grovel.”
“Your apology was sincere, there’s no need to grovel,” she said with a quiet chuckle.
“You’re nicer than me.” Maybe even nicer than most people he knew.
“It takes up much less energy to be kind and think the best of people, rather than the worst.” She took a sip of her water. “Though I’m afraid I haven’t been practicing what I preach either.”
“No?”
“I think I’ve been a bit unfair and rude to you too.” She put her water glass down, then peered up at him with those shining blue eyes. “Like you said, it was your job to look after me. If I didn’t like it, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, so … I’m sorry.”
The apology had taken him aback, it took him a few seconds to respond. “It’s all right. I guess I’d be angry and creeped out too if someone were following me around without my knowledge.”
“Truce, then?”
The corner of his lips tugged up on its own. “Truce.”
Before they could say anything else, the server came back with their main course—a sampling of all the restaurant’s best dishes—duck confit, strip steak with Béarnaise butter, seared pork loin, and crispy monkfish, plus a bottle of red wine.
“Wow, this is a lot.” Her eyes grew wide at the table laden with food. “I don’t think I can finish this all.”
“Don’t worry, anything you don’t finish, I will. I’ll probably order more.” The food looked and smelled amazing. Chef Dominic was indeed a master. I’ll have to eat here more often.
They shared the meal, making small talk as they ate and praised the meal. Cliff’s attention, however, was divided between the delicious food and Stella. He couldn’t help but stare as she savored every morsel, moaning and licking her lips in a sensual way as she ate. He imagined that mouth and tongue licking other … things.
Imagined her under him, making similar noises. He’d grip her hips until she bruised, tell her to take what he had to give. Make her beg for more.
Harder.
Faster.
“More wine, sir?”
The server’s voice cut into his fantasy.
Thank fuck.
“Yes, please.”
He avoided looking at her mouth for the rest of the meal.
“I guess I underestimated my appetite,” she said as she wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life. I hope you don’t mind.”
They had demolished the entire meal, leaving only bones on the plates. “Not at all.” He liked that she had a healthy appetite. “French food is pretty rich though; I couldn’t eat this all the time. Have you had French food before?”
“Once,” she said. “And, don’t laugh—it was at the Paris Casino on The Strip.”
The last two words made his entire body tense—it happened every time anything reminded him of Vegas. Grabbing his wine glass, he took a sip of the dark red Bordeaux. “Oh. Was it a girls’ trip or something?”
“No, it was my twenty-first birthday, and my parents wanted to take me somewhere special, but it wasn’t like we could afford to go out of the country. So, they did the next best thing—a tour around the world in our very own backyard.”
“Your … backyard.” A throbbing began behind his temple.
“Yup.” She nodded. “We went to Venice, then Egypt too. But just so you know, us Nevada natives don’t frequent The Strip or the casinos.”
She lived in Las Vegas.
Cliff took another sip—no, a swig this time—of his wine, draining the last drop.
Devon didn’t tell him Stella lived in Las Vegas.
Why would he?
Cliff’s job had been to watch her in New York. It didn’t matter where she came from or where she lived.
But on some level, it did matter to him, and he didn’t know why the thought of her being there made a pit form in his stomach.
“So, you lived in Nevada all your life?” The question popped out of his mouth without a thought.
“As far as I can remember, since I was adopted and all. My parents live an hour away in a small town, but I live in the suburbs of Vegas, near where I work. But Las Vegas is more than just The Strip, you know.”
“Really.” He didn’t know what else to say—there really was nothing else to say.
“Yeah, there’s state parks and ….”
He tried to concentrate on what she was saying about Las Vegas, but he just couldn’t. The memories of the last time he was there—and the reason why he would never ever go back—were just too strong.
“And … oh.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Here I am being a Chatty Cathy. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” His throat went dry. “You sound like you really enjoy living there.”
“I don’t think I can be anywhere else. I wouldn’t want to be too far from my parents,” she added. “And really, where else would I live?”
Cliff didn’t know what to say to that. Thankfully, their server had arrived, bringing a tray of desserts and coffee and tea. It all looked delicious, but Cliff had lost his appetite. He shoveled the rich confections into his mouth anyway, even though he could hardly taste them.
“That was amazing,” Stella proclaimed once all the food was gone. “Thanks so much for bringing me here.”
“It was Devon and Charley’s plan,” he said flatly. “I was just your substitute date.”
She blinked. “Date?”
“I mean … no.” Damn it. “Er, it’s getting late, I should probably get you back to your hotel.”
“Oh.” There was an obvious disappointment in her voice. “You’re right, of course.” Straightening her shoulders, she reached for her purse. “How much?—”
“It’s all taken care of. Devon took care of it, I mean.” He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “If you want to wait outside, I’ll go to the garage and pick you up out front.”
“N-no!” She got up quickly. “We should just walk together.”
“Whatever you want.”
After thanking the server and asking her to relay their regards to Dominic, Cliff led Stella out of the restaurant and to the car. Much like their first car ride together, this one too had been silent and awkward, like someone had sucked out all the oxygen from the vehicle. Though he concentrated on the road, he could see from the corner of his eye that several times, she would attempt to say something, but quickly stopped herself.
Good.
This afternoon had been a fluke, a moment of weakness on his part. He’d been thinking about her since they met, and a few hours alone had made him drop his guard.
But seeing as she lived in the one place he would never step foot in again, there was no reason for them to be more than just cordial.
“So, thanks for the ride,” she said as the car stopped in front of their hotel.
“You’re welcome.”
“Um, so maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” Her fingers fiddled with the seat belt. “I mean, I’m assuming that party is still on.”
Fuck, he’d forgotten about the party. Charley had mentioned it and everyone was going to be there—his parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. “Better check in with Charley and Devon on that one.” He prayed that they would cancel it and then he wouldn’t have to see her again, at least not for a while.
“Yeah.” More awkward silence stretched between them, until her hand slid down to the seat belt buckle, the audible click breaking the tension. “Good night, Cliff.”
“Night,” he responded without looking at her. When the door closed, he smacked his forehead on the steering wheel.
His wolf let out an audible growl that sent a vibration across his chest.
I know, he sighed.
He was an ass, treating her like he did before their afternoon and their dinner together. Everything had felt so right up to that point she had mentioned Vegas.
His teeth ground together so hard, it hurt. He had spent the last few years forgetting about the events of that night and that town. And yet still, any reminder of it had him raging and spiraling back as if the wounds were fresh.
Lifting his head, he gave one last glance at the hotel before he put the car in gear. If the party pushed through tomorrow, he would just have to avoid her.