Chapter 4
Lex
Lex stood in the kitchen doorway watching Jules make coffee.
She'd found his French press and figured out where he kept everything. Now she was softly humming a song he didn't recognize while she waited for the water to boil. Fred sat in the kitchen window where she'd placed him last night before she went to bed, positioned to catch the morning sun.
Fuck.
He hadn't slept at all. Every little sound from the guest room had kept him on edge. The whisper of sheets, her soft breathing, the way she'd murmured something around three AM that his enhanced hearing couldn't quite catch but made his wolf whine.
She looked good in his kitchen. Too good. Like she belonged there.
"Morning." She'd spotted him, offering a tentative smile that made his gut twist in ways he didn't want to examine too closely. "I made coffee. Hope that's okay."
She was still wearing yesterday's clothes—jeans and that green sweater that made her eyes even brighter. Her hair was damp from the shower. His shower. Christ, she'd used his soap. He could smell it on her from across the room.
"It's fine." His voice came out rougher than intended.
She glanced at him, one eyebrow raised at his tone, but didn't say anything. "How do you take it?"
"Black."
She poured two mugs, sliding one across the counter toward him. Their fingers didn't touch—she was careful about that—but he still felt the spark. That invisible pull that had been driving him insane since she'd walked into his garage Monday afternoon.
The same pull he'd felt a year ago when she came in for an oil change.
The same pull he'd been trying like hell to stay away from ever since, without much luck.
"The storm's really picked up," she said, glancing toward the window where snow continued to fall in big flakes.
"The news is saying you were right. They've closed down the roads, and they probably won't open for a few days.
Maybe longer." She watched him carefully over the rim of her cup as she sipped her coffee.
Trapped. He was utterly trapped here with a woman who turned his blood into gasoline.
His wolf was no longer just pacing restlessly, it was prowling against the bars of his ribcage, scratching to get out, demanding he close the distance between them and act on the possessive urge roaring in his ears.
And that scent—her inherent cinnamon and vanilla sweetness mixing with the sharp pine and cedar of his own soap—hit him like a punch to the gut every time she shifted. He could smell the clean scent of her hair. It was intoxicating. And it was absolutely maddening.
Lex clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, forcing his gaze away from the damp tendrils of cinnamon hair curling against her breasts and down to the scarred wooden counter.
He had to lock his knees to keep from moving toward her.
He couldn't let her see this wildness. He couldn't let her see the raw hunger that was practically vibrating through his bones.
She was just sipping coffee, looking worried about the weather, totally unaware of the beast she was provoking just by existing in his space.
"I'll get your car fixed for you as soon as the roads clear," he managed. "The parts came in yesterday before the worst hit, but I didn't have time to get to it before we closed up."
"Thank you." She cupped her mug with both hands, steam rising between them. "And thanks again for letting me stay. I know this isn't... ideal."
Ideal? Having her here, in his sanctuary, the place he came specifically to get away from everyone and everything? Using his shower, drinking his coffee, driving his wolf to the edge of control? No. Not ideal. More like sweet torture designed specifically for him.
"How bad is the damage to your house?" He needed to focus on practical things. Not the way the dim morning light caught in her hair and played on her skin.
"I don't know. It looked bad." She sighed, adjusting Fred's position slightly. "Sometimes I think I should just give up on that old house and move into a rental."
He didn't know what to say, so he changed the subject. "There's cinnamon in the cupboard to your left. You said you like a little in your coffee."
She blinked, lowering her mug just an inch. "Out of all the things I said yesterday, you actually remembered that?"
He remembered everything. Every nervous laugh. Every time she'd played with her hair. The way her pulse had jumped when their fingers touched. His wolf had filed it all away like treasure.
His phone buzzed on the counter. Pack business, probably. He ignored it.
"Breakfast?" he asked, needing something to do with his hands that wasn't reaching for her.
"I can cook—"
"I've got it."
He moved past her to the fridge, catching another lungful of her scent. His cock swelled and he held his breath until he got to the fridge.
It was going to be a very long few days.
He pulled out eggs and bacon, putting his cast iron skillet on the stove to heat, then started whipping up some pancakes. Jules perched on a barstool to watch, and he tried not to notice how perfectly she fit in his space.
"You cook a lot?"
"When I'm here."
"Isn't this where you live all the time?"
"Not all the time."
"Just when you want to get away?"
His hands stilled for a moment. This was where he came when pack dynamics got too heavy, or when he needed to run as a wolf without worrying about being spotted by the humans in town.
"Something like that."
His phone buzzed again. Then again. He glanced at it. There were three missed calls from various pack members. Without listening to their messages, he switched it completely off.
"Work or family?" she asked.
Family. Pack. Same thing, different word. "Family."
She didn't push, which he appreciated. Just sipped her coffee and watched him cook. The domestic intimacy of it made his wolf practically purr.
They were putting everything on the table when it happened. Both reached for the hot skillet handle at the same time to bring it to the table. Her hand landed on his, and the contact shot through him like lightning, his wolf surging beneath his skin.
"Sorry," she gasped, but didn't pull away immediately.
"Jules." Her name came out as warning and plea combined.
She stepped back, color high in her cheeks. "Plates are...?"
It took him a second to answer. "Cabinet behind you."
Jules rambled nervously about nothing and everything as they finished getting food on the table, careful not to touch again. He tried to listen to her. Tried to distract himself from the needs of his body. But the damage was done. His wolf was riding him hard now, wanting more.
Wanting everything.
They ate at his small table, knee-bumping close in the intimate space. Every bite she took, every pleased sound she made, tested his control. And when she licked a drop of syrup from her thumb, he had to look away.
"This is really good," she told him. "Thanks for cooking."
He grunted, not trusting his voice.
After breakfast, she insisted on cleaning up while he escaped outside to check the generator that had come on overnight when they lost power. The cold shocked his overheated system a bit but didn't help much. Not when he could still smell her on his clothes.
He knew the generator was fine. He could hear it humming away. He checked it anyway, needing a little distance. Snow had piled up overnight. It was already two feet and climbing. Visibility maybe twenty feet. They were completely cut off.
When he came back inside, she was sitting crosslegged on the couch with her laptop, Fred positioned on the side table where she could see him.
She glanced up. "Is the internet usually good here?"
"It's satellite. Might get sketchy if the storm gets worse."
She nodded, worrying her bottom lip in a way that made him want to bite it for her. "I don't want to be in your way. I can work in the bedroom if you need—"
"You're fine where you are."
More than fine, his wolf insisted. Perfect. Ours.
He started a fire, then grabbed a book he'd been meaning to finish and took the chair across from her.
Opening it to where he'd left off, he tried to read, but twenty minutes later, he'd only managed to read one paragraph.
Every shift of her position, every thoughtful sound she made, every tap of keys registered in his hyperaware state.
"You're staring," she said without looking up.
Shit. "Sorry."
"It's okay." The corners of her luscious mouth quirked up. "I'm fascinating to watch, I know."
Was she flirting? His wolf perked up with interest.
"I should bring in more firewood," he said abruptly, standing.
Jules looked up, startled, then closed her laptop and set it aside. "I'll help."
"You don't need to—"
"Lex." She gave him a look. "I'm not going to sit here like some spoiled princess while you do all the work. I can carry wood. Just let me get my coat and boots."
A few minutes later, they stood at the woodpile together, snow swirling around them. She insisted on carrying her share despite his attempts to give her lighter pieces.
"I'm not fragile."
"I didn't say you were—"
"You're doing that thing." She adjusted her grip on the logs. "That protective thing guys do where you treat me like I might break."
"I don't—"
"You do." She headed back toward the cabin. "It's kind of sweet, actually. Annoying, but sweet."
He followed, arms loaded with wood, his wolf preening at being called sweet. When had he lost control of this situation? Probably the moment Adam and Faye had orchestrated getting Jules here.
They stacked wood by the fireplace in companionable rhythm. Once. Twice. Three trips. On the fourth, as they walked back toward the woodpile, Jules stopped.
"Can we walk for a bit? I'm going stir crazy being cooped up in the cabin."
He should say no. Should keep his distance. Instead, he heard himself say, "There's a path through the trees. It's not far."