“You’d better get dressed. Otherwise I’ll be tempted to take this to the bedroom.” Her voice was just as deep and raspy as his. He felt her tremble at his touch. “As much as I’d like to keep you naked all day, I don’t think Gramps would approve of you visiting his home in your birthday suit.”
“Do you really care what he thinks?” A stupid taunt but he couldn’t help himself. Seeing Chloe relaxed and comfortable in her own skin was something he wanted more of.
“Do you think I’d have asked you to cover that amazing body of yours if I didn’t?” she countered with a smile.
“Maybe you just don’t want other women to see me naked.”
This time when she met his gaze she was deadly serious. “Only as much as you want other men to see me in the buff.”
Damn. When he thought it was safe to push, she pushed right back.
He hadn’t counted on how furious the notion made him. Werewolves didn’t blink at nudity. It was second nature to be comfortable in either skin. But the thought of other males staring at his mate and seeing what she kept hidden beneath her clothes pissed him off.
Good thing we’re enjoying the first moon alone.
“Point taken,” he grumbled, releasing her chin and rising to his feet. “I’ll have to make sure you keep extra clothes handy. I’d hate to kill someone for doing something as innocent as enjoying a breathtaking view.”
Placing her hands on the sides of the tub, she reclined against the back and relaxed. “Just remember it goes both ways. Turnabout is fair play.”
With a shake of his head he turned from the enticing vision resting in the water and went to put on some clothes. She didn’t have to worry about him remembering things went both ways. How could he possibly forget? The message she’d been sending was loud and crystal clear. If he displayed the goods, she’d do the same.
He recognized a threat when he heard one.
I’m so fucked.
When the pack learned Chloe’d had him by the balls, Jackson knew he’d never live it down. The first time he ducked behind a tree or bush to shift forms would be the end of it. Word would spread and his image would take a nosedive. Jackson Donovan—pack Alpha, successful tattoo artist and businessman, whipped into shape by a small armful of female who made the rules and enforced them with an iron fist.
Son of a bitch.
Tonight was going to be hell.
Chapter Eleven
Chloe squirmed in her seat, stuck between her grandfather and her lover, rocking with the motions of the truck Gramps had insisted they drive. Jackson had gotten dressed as she’d requested, accepting the gauntlet she’d tossed. He’d teased her with kisses and lingering touches, on his best behavior when he took her home to speak to her grandfather.
Things had gone better than she’d expected.
Jackson had told her grandfather of his intentions and promised to marry her properly to appease his human in-laws. She’d been shocked by his declaration. Jackson had indicated their mating was a forever deal but having him state it so clearly—without a trace of hesitation—impacted her in the most wonderful way. She wanted to greet each day with him, learn everything there was to know about him and enjoy every single moment of their lives together. There was no doubt, no nervous jitters. She’d finally found what she needed—the man who complemented and completed her.
The day had been amazing. Almost perfect.
Until they went into Gramps’ office and her grandfather relayed his terms for meeting with Gavin Worthington.
The man, without a doubt, was bloodthirsty.
He’d stated his terms clearly, so there was no misunderstanding. He would drive himself to the hunt and return in his truck, thank you very much. No need for an escort. He also wanted to bring his gun. Additional ammo was optional, so long as he had a round in the chamber. He wanted one-on-one time with Mr. Worthington, meaning he didn’t want any interference.
The no-interference part had terrified her.
Gramps—youthful and energetic despite his age—was too old to fight.
He would hate her for saying so, but he couldn’t move as well as he used to. Arthritis in his hips, hands and knees made him slow. There was no way he could avoid a quick swipe to his head or a blow to his body. Jackson had attempted to reassure her, promising he wouldn’t allow anything to happen, but she couldn’t stem the flow of fear that had arisen when she pictured her grandfather addressing the man who’d wronged his child.
“Have faith,” Grams had told her before they departed from the place Chloe had always called home, attempting to calm her fears. “Sometimes, when things like this happen, it’s all you can rely on.”
Sound advice. Too bad she had sensed Grams’ tension and scented the older woman’s fear. Grams hadn’t been entirely honest. It had been strange to learn she could tell the truth from a lie with something as simple as a deep breath. In a way she’d been relieved. As frazzled as Grams had been about things, Gramps had been calm as a cucumber. The only scent she could detect from him was anger. The man who’d raised her since birth had no qualms about meeting Gavin.
Fletcher Bryant was comfortable in his decision.
She’d known part of Grams’ uneasiness stemmed from the inability to attend the hunt or confront Gavin herself. But deep down Chloe also recognized her grandmother was afraid for her husband—the man she’d been with all her life. Their love was as formidable as the mating bond between werewolves. Chloe had always known if her grandmother or grandfather passed away, the other would soon follow. They had been together too long. A separation would destroy them.
A sharp burn radiated up her arm, emanating from the mark on her wrist. She inhaled raggedly and covered the area with her hand, rubbing the itchy skin.
As soon as the sun had started its retreat from the sky eerie sensations had started. At first she’d ignored the tingling burn, focusing on her family and the preparations for the evening. Jackson’s touches had become sympathetic, revealing his awareness of the changes from her mark. As the hours had passed the prickles had gone from annoying to slightly painful.
Jackson leaned in, his shoulder bumping hers.
“Easy,” he murmured, reaching down to place his hand on her leg and giving her a comforting squeeze. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t feed the tension. Fletcher’s edgy enough as is.”
Crap.
Concern about the mark on her wrist evaporated.
There were more important things to consider, such as the fate of the man who’d raised her. Gramps might as well have been driving them to meet his doom. The pack had met them at The Divide and things had gone surprisingly well. Gramps had been cordial when he’d greeted the pack members. He’d even shaken the hands of several of the men. Yet that hadn’t eradicated the forbidding feeling of disaster, as though something terrible was going to happen when they climbed into their vehicles and drove to their destination.
“Chin up, Chloe Bean.” Gramps inserted himself into the conversation. “You don’t have a single thing to be worried about. I’m going to take care of this once and for all.” Sparing her a sideways glance, he said, “It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. Once done, it’s done.”
Only Gramps would make that kind of comparison.
Any attempt to argue would be futile. The odds of winning a debate with her guardian were slim to none. She’d learned that lesson early in childhood.
Lifting her head, she gazed out the window. They were almost at the hunting grounds—an enormous piece of private property outside Atrum Hill. It was the perfect location to enjoy the call of the wild away from prying or curious eyes.