Consequently, they’d stripped off the chocolate-covered bottom sheet and put on the top sheet. Only one pillowcase was smeared, which left three others for them to use. When they’d added the comforter, dry side down, they’d been in business.
Eventually exhaustion had claimed them in the early-morning hours, and they’d slept. Giselle woke up first, as pale light filtered in from the window. She was disoriented until she glanced over and saw Luke sleeping peacefully beside her.
He was quite an Adonis, this human male she’d chosen as her one-and-only non-Were sexual partner. His dark blond hair was tousled from wild sex and deep sleep. He had a tiny spot of blood on his jaw where he’d nicked himself shaving in the middle of the night.
She’d tried to talk him out of that scheme, but he’d insisted that good oral sex required a clean shave, and he wasn’t forgoing it because he was too lazy to get out his razor. She’d been the beneficiary of that resolve, and thinking about it made her flush with pleasure all over again.
He’d followed that with some good old-fashioned missionary sex that had curled her toes. And, boy, did he have staying power. She’d heard rumors that human males didn’t possess the stamina of a Were when it came to the duration of each episode and frequency of said episodes. If Luke Dalton was typical, then the rumors were dead wrong.
She didn’t think he was typical, though. True, having sex without a condom seemed to inspire him. Yet even taking that factor into account, his performance was nothing short of amazing. She, who’d always prided herself on being sexually fit, had begun to wonder if she’d be able to ride her rented motorcycle the next day.
If not, it was her own fault. After the shower incident, she’d made the decision to pull away from this unwise attraction. She could have stuck to her guns and not allowed him to charm her right back into his arms. But her willpower, something she’d always been so proud of, seemed to be AWOL when it came to Luke.
She melted every time he smiled at her. Then warning bells would clang in her head because she shouldn’t be melting at the sight of a human male’s smile. A loud siren screeched when she remembered that fateful moment in the shower when she’d allowed him to take her from behind.
Luckily, it hadn’t been a binding. They would have had to be on all fours for that, but still . . . they’d skated dangerously close to having Were-style sex. Worse yet, she’d wanted to have that kind of sex with him.
She’d even fantasized breaking her self-imposed rule against Were-human mating. Others had done it. The Wallace brothers from New York, Aidan and Roarke, both had human mates and seemed very happy. More recently Jake Hunter, the Alaskan Were who’d been so opposed to mating with humans, had done an about-face and chosen human Rachel Miller.
But she knew of only one female Were who’d taken a human mate. Penny Stillman from the Stillman pack in Denver had abandoned her Were family so that she could live as a human and marry in the human way. She hadn’t told her husband, Tom, she was Were and had insisted on adopting children to guarantee she wouldn’t end up with werewolf offspring.
Now that Giselle was involved with Luke, she could understand Penny’s decision to live a lie. The truth might have driven away the love of her life. But whether he had stayed or not, he would have become the guardian of a dangerous secret, one he’d have to keep from every human he knew, including those he loved. It was a burden that some had agreed to carry, including the three human female mates Giselle knew of. But a Were always had to consider whether it was fair to ask such a thing of the human they loved.
Ultimately, Giselle couldn’t imagine choosing Penny’s solution, but expecting Luke to deal with the secrecy seemed presumptuous. Neither choice was a good one, which meant she had to let him go, and he would never know why. She should be filled with regret for allowing this relationship to happen.
Whatever it said about her, she didn’t regret any of it. She didn’t think Luke did, either. He’d made it clear that he’d take what was offered and be grateful. If they dealt with heartache when all was said and done, it was the price they’d both pay. Speaking for herself, she would willingly pay that price for the memories she’d have of loving Luke.
His nose twitched and he reached up to scratch it. Then, slowly, those dark lashes, surprising for his fair coloring, lifted, revealing his blue-eyed gaze. He ran a tongue over his lips. “Did you hear the one about the fireman and the pole dancer?”
She chuckled. “If that’s an invitation for another round of mattress bingo, I should probably pass. I need to be able to function today, and I’m not sure I can walk.”
“Really?” He pushed himself to a sitting position. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t meant to—”
“It’s okay, you sweet man. I could have stopped you at anytime, but I was having too much fun.”
His frown turned to a grin. “So it’s a good kind of sore?”
“Uh-huh. Every little twinge today will remind me of you.”
“Good.” He looked quite pleased with himself.
“You’ll be on my mind constantly.”
“And vice versa. Manly men don’t usually reveal such things, but I’m a little sensitive this morning, too.”
“So what was the deal with starting off with a joke? It sounded like a signal that you wanted to get it on.”
He pushed the comforter away and stroked her breast. “I do. I’d put up with a little discomfort for the ultimate reward.”
Delicious tension coiled tighter with every movement of his hand. “Keep that up and I’ll agree with you.”
“Nope. If you’re sore, then we need to back off for a little while.” Leaning down, he kissed the swell of her breast before hopping nimbly out of bed. “I’ll go get your suitcase out of the guest room and then I’ll start a bath for you.” He grabbed his phone from the top of the low dresser. “Mr. Thatcher can bring up Epsom salts.” His thumbs typed in a message. “You can soak your tender parts while we wait for breakfast.”
Epsom salts and a bath. She felt cherished in a way that she hadn’t felt with her Were lovers. Then she realized why. Werewolves healed their injuries by shifting. If she shifted into wolf form and back again, her soreness would disappear.
Her Were lovers had known this. They hadn’t needed to worry about any issues, from love bites to overworked muscles. She could take care of herself.
But Luke was a considerate human male who wanted to coddle her. She was touched by his impulse to do that. But it wasn’t love notes and flowers, she reminded herself. He’d promised to stay away from that kind of gesture, and she was glad they’d established those ground rules.
After he’d wheeled her suitcase into the bedroom, he walked into the bathroom. Soon she heard water thundering into the large Jacuzzi tub. His caring gestures settled over her like a warm blanket, and she admitted that there were many ways to show affection besides love notes and flowers. Ordering up Epsom salts and running a warm bath were two of them.
With a sigh, she climbed out of bed. They were falling for each other, but maybe if they never acknowledged it, they could pretend it wasn’t happening. The final separation would still hurt like hell, but at least they would have saved face.
Walking over to her suitcase, she unzipped it and rummaged around until she came up with a bag of elastic hair bands. She drew her tangled hair into a high ponytail and fastened it with a bright green one. About that time, she heard the front door open. Mr. Thatcher must be here with her Epsom salts.
She put on the short terry-cloth robe she’d packed and belted it securely around her waist. When she walked into the bathroom, Luke glanced at her with tenderness. “In that ponytail, you look about fifteen.”