Storming away from the bathroom, he forced himself not to look back.
One more glance at his female—one more caress of the combined scent of her pussy and his seed flowing to his nostrils—and he’d lose all control.
Chloe stared at Jackson’s back as he walked away. Her heart was racing, her pussy throbbing for attention. One simple look from the man she’d shared the night with and she’d turned into a puddle of goo. She couldn’t think clearly, her thoughts turning on themselves. He’d told her that her father was a werewolf and her birthmark was far more than she’d ever bargained for.
In the light of day what he said seemed plausible and scary as hell.
She ducked her head beneath the water again, letting bubbles of air seep from her lips. The pictures and scents that had invaded her senses when she opened her eyes—of her and Jackson, doing all kinds of naughty things to each other—slowly bled away. What they’d shared was more than she’d bargained for. She’d thought they’d share a night together and her need for him would go away. But she was wrong—so very wrong—and now she wanted him more than ever. In a way that terrified her.
Get clean and go home.
She splashed to the surface and scrubbed at her skin, dismayed as the alluring scent that was all Jackson faded. For a moment she stopped to study her wrist. Oddly, the mark didn’t hurt at all. She couldn’t detect an uncomfortable twinge. She couldn’t be a werewolf. It wasn’t possible. She’d feel it. On some level she’d have to know.
Wouldn’t she?
Getting back on task, she shifted back and let her hand drift to the tender tissue between her legs. She used gentle strokes of the cloth, swiping at the folds, remembering how they’d gotten so swollen and sore in the first place.
Panic made her heart drum in her ears, adrenaline and fear raging through her system. She’d thought about protection but by the time Jackson had started making love to her it was too late. At that moment she’d been lost, thinking only of him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Hadn’t her mother’s loss taught her anything? If she was lucky she’d be able to walk away with a broken heart, not a bun in the oven.
After a cursory glance at the shampoo bottle nestled at the foot of the tub she decided she didn’t have time to worry with her hair. Gram and Gramps had to be frantic. She always made it home on time, determined to prove she was worthy of their trust. They had probably called the police and reported her as missing.
You told Rachel to call them. Calm down.
She quickly toweled off and jerked on her clothes. Her best friend had never failed her. That was why Chloe had called Rachel as soon as she’d realized where she was and what she’d done. Rachel was disappointed she hadn’t been told all the details but she wouldn’t judge. It was the primary reason Chloe trusted her and was able to share things with the young woman she’d never told anyone else.
Like details about her dreams of a man who didn’t exist.
Correction, she reminded herself. A man who does exist. A man you apparently dreamshared with.
Gram and Gramps would kill her when they saw Jackson and realized what she’d been up to. They’d always been protective. If she brought a werewolf home there was no telling what they’d do.
The mouthwatering aroma of cinnamon and butter drifting to her nose caused her stomach to growl. She slapped her hands over her abdomen, hoping like hell that Jackson couldn’t hear the obnoxious sound. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Since Grams was an early riser, Chloe had always greeted each morning with a healthy appetite.
Knowing she had no other choice, she exited the bathroom, tiptoed down the hallway and stepped into the living area. Her stomach knotted as the smells intensified, so vibrant and rich. She could almost taste what she couldn’t see. Jackson appeared, clothed in sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination. He looked as good as the food smelled, mouthwatering in his own way.
He stopped in front of her, his chest blocking the kitchen from view. “Feel better?”
To lie or not to lie? Decisions, decisions.
“Yes,” she answered as honestly as possible.
If he knew she wasn’t being truthful, he didn’t let on. Instead he snaked his arms around her and urged her close. The warmth of his skin caressed her cheek, his scent coming at her hard and fast. She wanted to melt, her muscles relaxing at his nearness. To her surprise she realized she’d never felt so comfortable around another person, as though she’d finally found the one place she was intended to be.
She jolted when Jackson lowered an arm, rested it against her ass and lifted her into the air. Scrambling to maintain her balance, she clung to him, burying her nails in his arms. The deep rumble of approval coming from his chest hummed against her breasts.
“Relax,” he crooned, pressing a kiss to her forehead and stopping at a nearby barstool. He lowered her to the seat and waited for her to let go before he pulled away. “Let’s get some food in you.”
There was no sense in arguing. She was hungry and he’d gone through all the trouble to cook for her. She watched him in the kitchen, awed by his movements.
For a big man he moved silently, prowling through the space. He retrieved a stack of French toast from the counter and brought it to her. Then he turned and retrieved syrup. He piled her plate high, poured the syrup over the scrumptious pieces and retrieved a knife and fork. She reached for them but he stopped her, sawing into the stack. Before she could question him he brought a morsel to her lips.
Watching her mouth, he instructed, “Open up.”
She did, nearly coming apart as the tastes burst in her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. The cinnamon tasted better than it smelled, the toast crumbling in her mouth.
“It’s delicious,” she whispered, licking her lips.
“I’m glad you approve.” He brought another forkful to her mouth, studying her closely. She took the offering and he lifted his eyes, their gazes locking across the counter. “Everything is as it should be. You’ll see. You just have to trust me. I’ll make you happy, Chloe girl.”
The endearment shouldn’t have made her as happy as it did. She should have been fearful or anxious at the sentiment. Instead she felt at peace. She decided not to explore the feelings too deeply, taking the food he offered to her. Soon enough she’d face the demons that plagued her. She’d confront her grandparents and demand an explanation.
Right now she’d accept the pampering he offered.
It was always best to enjoy the small things in life.
Especially if there was a chance something might come along and pull the rug out from beneath you.
Chapter Four
Rachel Gentry slammed the driver’s side door closed. Swiping strands of hair away from her face, she marched toward The Wolf’s Den. Her best friend had called forty-five minutes before in a panic, terrified of something she’d done. Chloe had begged Rachel to tell her grandparents she was fine but before Rachel could ask questions the call had ended.
That shit didn’t fly.
Chloe was always reliable—it was the primary reason they’d always been close. Rachel was the one with the volatile lifestyle, taking things as they came at her. Now, with the strange way her friend was acting, she knew something was wrong. She was going to get some answers, even if Chloe begged her to leave well enough alone. And she was going to start with the tattoo parlor Chloe had become obsessed with in the last few weeks.
She yanked the parlor door open and stepped inside. So flipping what? A werewolf tattoo shop. What was so special about that? Chloe had always been fascinated by the supernatural. Why? She had no idea. Humans didn’t mingle with werewolves or vampires. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t normal. Rational people didn’t venture to Atrum Hill.