Chapter 28
“W here,” Buck growled, searching under his mattress, “are my motherloving handcuffs?”
They should have been easy to find. He kept them with his chains and dog collars, in a large metal box—locked, of course, because the camp was full of curious kids and he wasn’t a motherloving idiot. He distinctly remembered putting them away that morning, just as he always did.
Now there was no sign of them. Or, indeed, the whole damn box. Buck glared at the space where it should have been.
“Someone is not going to live to see their tenth birthday,” he muttered. “Possibly multiple someones.”
Straightening, he checked his pockets. He let out a breath of relief as he found he still had all his keys. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he had to chain himself up every night, but he still didn’t want to see his bondage gear flying from the flagpole.
“Hilarious, kids,” he grunted, levering himself back to his feet. “I’m supposed to be off the clock. I have to yell at you enough during working hours without making it a motherloving hobby as well.”
But if he didn’t want to wake up on the cabin roof tomorrow, he had to get his restraints back.
The damn beast had been weirdly docile recently, but it was probably just lying low, waiting for him to relax his guard.
The only way he was going to get a peaceful night’s sleep was with a logging chain around his neck and both ankles fastened to the bed frame.
Intent on recovering his stolen goods, he strode out of his cabin—or at least, he tried to. As he reached for the door handle, a crushing pain seized his arm, dragging him back.
“Motherlover!” In reflex, he snatched his hand away from the door.
The pain immediately disappeared.
Buck frowned. He put his hand out again, more slowly this time. A warning twinge shot through his arm. The closer his fingers got to the door handle, the deeper the pain bit.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he told his scar. “I spend weeks going nuts trying to figure out how to keep myself in my own damn bedroom, and now you won’t let me out?”
“Buck!”
He started. “Honey?”
“Oh, thank God.” Her voice didn’t come from the other side of the door, but from somewhere behind him. “Quick, open your window!”
“What? Why?”
“Buck, this is not the time for questions. Just open the window and turn around, okay?”
Perplexed, he did as she asked. Partially, at least. He’d barely got the window half-open before Honey slithered inside, practically falling into his arms. And then there was no question of turning around, because she was
Stark.
Damn.
Naked.
“Buck!” Honey yelped. She twisted out of the frozen circle of his embrace, trying to cover herself. “I told you to turn around!”
There were a lot of things he could have said to that.
“Sorry,” that would have been a good one.
“Quick, take this blanket,” could have worked.
Or even, “Unfortunately, I have been stricken with sudden total paralysis, and on an unrelated subject did you realize you seem to have completely mislaid your clothes?”
What came out of his mouth was: “Fuck me.”
“Well, at least now I know what it takes to make you swear.” Honey glared at him over the arm she’d clamped across her chest. “Are you going to turn around or not?”
“Woman, I cannot remember where my eyelids are at the moment, let alone my legs,” is what he would have said if he’d had any higher brain functions remaining.
Since he didn’t, he instead said, again, “Fuck me .”
Honey gave him an exasperated look. “Will you stop swearing and say something sensible?”
This, he felt, was unfair. He had already made a very sensible suggestion. Twice.
When he continued to stare at her in mute appreciation, Honey rolled her eyes. She pushed past his arm, covering herself with her hands as best she could. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You launched yourself naked through my window, in case you’ve forgotten. At least I didn’t just stand there gawping.”
Right. He should probably be doing something. That thing he should be doing was almost certainly not staring at her breasts. He was definitely going to stop doing that, and start doing the other thing, just as soon as he could figure out what that was.
Breasts.
He rotated with the helpless focus of a compass needle as Honey sidled past him, her back to the wall. She disappeared into his bathroom, slamming the door in his face.
A moment later, she demanded, “ Why is your towel so small? ”
Right.
Honey. Naked. Insulting his towels.
This was not how this fantasy usually went.
“It’s a towel,” he said, still trying to figure out if all this was actually happening outside his imagination. “It’s towel sized. I did not realize there was going to be an audit. You’re naked.”
“Yes, thank you, I am quite aware. And this towel is nowhere near big enough to rectify that situation.” The door opened a crack, and Honey’s bare arm thrust out. “Hand me a shirt.”
This, he could do.
She whisked the shirt away from him, closing the door. After a few moments, a whole Honey emerged, breasts now tragically covered.
“We’re too similar in height.” She tugged at the hem of the camp t-shirt, which just barely skimmed her upper thighs. “I’d ask to borrow a pair of your pants, but I’d never get them over my—”
She glanced up at him, and stopped dead.
Excellent. That meant he could stare at her too, and she couldn’t complain about it. Even with the woeful loss of nipples, there was still a lot of Honey to admire. Things were looking up.
“Buck,” Honey said in very calm, level tones. “Why are you shirtless?”
He struggled to recall. “You… told me to give you a shirt?”
“I didn’t mean the one you were wearing!”
“It was the closest one to hand. Why are you naked?”
“I’m not!”
“Right, sorry. Why aren’t you naked?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Buck, have you been drinking?”
“No. Have you?”
“I’m beginning to wish that I was.” She grimaced, taking a limping step toward the bed. “Go put on a shirt. A different shirt. I need to sit down.”
His gaze traversed down her body. Somewhat belatedly, he took in the state of her feet; bare, filthy, and not in the good way. Mud splattered her legs up to the knee, and her calves were striped with dozens of thin red scratches.
A deeper need drove aside the fog of desire. “Damn it, Honey, you’re bleeding!”
“It’s nothing,” she started, but he was already scooping her up in his arms. She let out an undignified squawk, kicking her legs. “Buck! Put me down!”
“Stop struggling and I will, woman.” He carried her over to his bed. “What the hell did you do, run through a field of feral cats?”
“The woods.” Honey winced as he lowered her to the mattress. “Turns out it’s hard to see brambles at night. Stop fussing, I’m fine.”
Her borrowed t-shirt had rucked up round her waist. Flushing bright red, Honey grabbed his sheet, dragging it over her legs. He promptly flipped it back again, grabbing her ankle before she could pull away.
“Hold still , woman.” He ran his fingertips over her calf, inspecting the lacerations. They were superficial, but still needed cleaning. “Are you going to stay put while I get my first aid kit, or am I going to have to chain you to this bed?”
Honey blew out her breath, but grudgingly subsided. “I suppose that’s not an empty threat, coming from you.”
“Damn straight.” Even though he didn’t have his handcuffs, he was quite prepared to lash her to the bed frame with his belt, if necessary. “For the love of Santa, why did you take a stroll through the woods in your birthday suit? I hope I didn’t make it look that much fun.”
“I had to get undressed,” Honey said as he went to fetch a clean cloth and some alcohol wipes. “Wolf shifters can’t take their clothes with them when they transform. If I hadn’t left my things behind for Ignatius to find, he would have known I didn’t shift.”
He started dabbing at her calves, wiping away the grime. “I think you’d better start at the beginning.”
She relayed the whole story as he tended to her cuts as gently as he could. By the end, her feet were clean, and he was grinding his back teeth.
“Those damn kids,” he growled. “Every time I think they’ve finally started to settle down, they double down instead. I’m going to start chaining them to their bunks at night. See how they like it.”
“The girls had good intentions.” Honey winced as he dabbed antiseptic ointment on the last of her scratches. “They were just worried about me. I’m not sure why they seemed to be trying to get you to shift at the same time, though.”
“I do.” He briefly relayed the partial conversation he’d overheard during pottery.
“Motherlovers figured out we’re not fully mated.
Must have decided that we were both denying our animal instincts.
I reckon they thought that if I bumped into you when we were both on four feet, nature would take its course. ”
“Wonderful.” Honey tipped her head back against the wall, letting out a long sigh. “I should have known. Kids always see more than adults assume. So much for fooling them by occasionally holding hands.”
“Yeah. Looks like we’re going to have to step up the misinformation campaign.”
Thank you, kids.
At least this latest asinine stunt had an unexpected silver lining. Maybe he’d take them out for ice cream, after he’d fashioned a fetching patchwork vest out of their collective hides.
“Shouldn’t take much,” he continued. Since he’d run out of excuses to keep holding her ankle, he set her foot back down on the bed. “If we lie low tonight and make a bit of a show tomorrow, they’ll assume their latest harebrained scheme worked.”
Honey did not look nearly as thrilled by this prospect as he was. “What kind of show?”
“Few more kisses ought to do it.” He kept his tone casual, while some idiot part of his brain fist-pumped yes!
and high-fived his hormones. “Should be easy enough to stage. After the kids have walked in on us with our lips locked and our hands all over each other a few times, their fears will be put at rest. Probably start planning our wedding, dog help us.”
Honey sighed again. “I suppose there’s no alternative.”
“Sweet baby cheeses, woman. Don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
“Sorry.” She gave him a wan smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “I just hate this.”
“My masculine pride is taking a real kicking here, you know.”
“I didn’t mean…” She waved a hand, gesturing at him. “Obviously. I mean, I’m tired of all this pretense.”
He looked at her; stretched out on his bed, wearing his shirt.
Despite her earlier complaint, it was too big for her, slipping down over the curve of one shoulder.
Her lips were parted a little, pink and soft.
She’d closed her eyes. She looked tired and disheveled and so damn perfect that his whole body hurt.
“Yeah,” he said thickly. “Me too.”
“Sometimes,” Honey said softly, eyes still closed, “it feels like my whole life has been a lie.”
“I’m…” he started, and stopped.
He couldn’t tell her he was sorry for dragging her into all this. Couldn’t tell her he wished it hadn’t been necessary; that he wished she was a shifter, or had never come to the camp in the first place. Because he didn’t, and he wasn’t.
While he was still trying to figure out what he could say, Honey opened her eyes. She pushed herself more upright, squaring her shoulders.
“Oh, no need to look at me like that.” She offered him another smile; a brighter one this time, but no less fake. “I’m just tired. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll play my part. I know we have to keep up the charade.”
“Honey,” he said, and had to stop, swallowing. “What if we didn’t?”