father’s house. Reaching for the door handle, she exited the car and walked across the bridge, ready to give him a piece of her mind.
By the time she reached the porch, she was good and mad and he stood straight as an arrow, waiting for her. His first glance took the wind out of her sails.
“I’m sorry for surprising you like this,” he said quietly. “But I had to see you somewhere I knew you couldn’t run and hide.”
“Well, shit,” she muttered, aggravated that he knew her so well.
He hid a smile behind his hand.
She scowled. He certainly had her figured out. Yet her irritation didn’t last long and she drank him in. He looked tired, with fatigue etched around his eyes and new lines appearing around his mouth.
His eyes—those intense, laser blue pools that always seemed to see straight to her soul—were full of longing. She felt her own eyes welling up and silently cursed Wyatt for destroying her ability to trust.
She unlocked the door and waved Billy inside. Wariness warred with curiosity inside her heart.
She wanted to know what he’d been up to, how he was doing. He’d always talked to her at the diner, even when she tried to be unresponsive and brush him off. It had surprised her when she’d first moved to this swamp how much she missed that wary companionship. But his presence made her nervous, too.
She was ready to take a step, not a leap, and werewolves didn’t tend to operate that way.
Billy wandered around her living room, taking it all in before sitting on the long leather couch. She stood just inside the doorway, her body language a tangle of confusion. He saw nervousness in her hands, fear and interest in her eyes, and caught a faint scent of arousal on her skin. The wolf in him wanted to pounce on her and take her to the floor where she stood, fuck her, and mark her as his. He forced himself to sit still.
He’d come to the meeting with one mission—to convince her to accept his bond and come home with him. He couldn’t take much more of the distance she’d put between them. For at least the ten thousandth time, he wished Wyatt was alive for him to kill all over again. It wouldn’t make him any more dead, but it would give Billy a great deal of satisfaction. The werewolf had stolen his mate and even in death kept them apart. He took a deep breath, willing his hammering heart to slow and reaching for the calm for which he was so well known.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked Chloe.
She silently stepped into the sunken living room and dropped her bag on a side table. Then she surprised him by perching on the far end of the couch, when he’d expected her to choose one of the chairs out of his reach. Her hands fisted in her lap and she looked down at them.
“How have you been?” he asked.
Her head jerked up. He was glad he had her attention, but he wasn’t sure if he could take the scared look in her eyes.
“Fine. You?”
He nodded. “I’m good. No—that’s a lie. I’m miserable and irritable and apparently such a nightmare to work with that Jackson keeps threatening to…well, never mind.” She stared at him like he’d grown an extra head and stood abruptly.
“I can’t do this,” she said, turning on her heel and walking past him.
He grabbed her hand. “Chloe. Wait.”
She looked down at him and tried to pull her hand free. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Ah, hell.
He wished more than anything that she’d let him pull her down onto his lap and kiss them away. He sighed. Another time.
“Let me go, Billy. Please,” she whispered.
The word please almost killed him, almost made him want to redefine his mission. Before he could talk himself into it, he shook his head.
“I can’t, and you know it,” he answered softly. “I can’t stand to see you upset like this. You know I’d never hurt you.”
She snorted a laugh, but quit trying to pull away. “You want to take over my life. You want me to submit.”
He couldn’t deny the domineering nature
By the time she reached the porch, she was good and mad and he stood straight as an arrow, waiting for her. His first glance took the wind out of her sails.
“I’m sorry for surprising you like this,” he said quietly. “But I had to see you somewhere I knew you couldn’t run and hide.”
“Well, shit,” she muttered, aggravated that he knew her so well.
He hid a smile behind his hand.
She scowled. He certainly had her figured out. Yet her irritation didn’t last long and she drank him in. He looked tired, with fatigue etched around his eyes and new lines appearing around his mouth.
His eyes—those intense, laser blue pools that always seemed to see straight to her soul—were full of longing. She felt her own eyes welling up and silently cursed Wyatt for destroying her ability to trust.
She unlocked the door and waved Billy inside. Wariness warred with curiosity inside her heart.
She wanted to know what he’d been up to, how he was doing. He’d always talked to her at the diner, even when she tried to be unresponsive and brush him off. It had surprised her when she’d first moved to this swamp how much she missed that wary companionship. But his presence made her nervous, too.
She was ready to take a step, not a leap, and werewolves didn’t tend to operate that way.
Billy wandered around her living room, taking it all in before sitting on the long leather couch. She stood just inside the doorway, her body language a tangle of confusion. He saw nervousness in her hands, fear and interest in her eyes, and caught a faint scent of arousal on her skin. The wolf in him wanted to pounce on her and take her to the floor where she stood, fuck her, and mark her as his. He forced himself to sit still.
He’d come to the meeting with one mission—to convince her to accept his bond and come home with him. He couldn’t take much more of the distance she’d put between them. For at least the ten thousandth time, he wished Wyatt was alive for him to kill all over again. It wouldn’t make him any more dead, but it would give Billy a great deal of satisfaction. The werewolf had stolen his mate and even in death kept them apart. He took a deep breath, willing his hammering heart to slow and reaching for the calm for which he was so well known.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked Chloe.
She silently stepped into the sunken living room and dropped her bag on a side table. Then she surprised him by perching on the far end of the couch, when he’d expected her to choose one of the chairs out of his reach. Her hands fisted in her lap and she looked down at them.
“How have you been?” he asked.
Her head jerked up. He was glad he had her attention, but he wasn’t sure if he could take the scared look in her eyes.
“Fine. You?”
He nodded. “I’m good. No—that’s a lie. I’m miserable and irritable and apparently such a nightmare to work with that Jackson keeps threatening to…well, never mind.” She stared at him like he’d grown an extra head and stood abruptly.
“I can’t do this,” she said, turning on her heel and walking past him.
He grabbed her hand. “Chloe. Wait.”
She looked down at him and tried to pull her hand free. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Ah, hell.
He wished more than anything that she’d let him pull her down onto his lap and kiss them away. He sighed. Another time.
“Let me go, Billy. Please,” she whispered.
The word please almost killed him, almost made him want to redefine his mission. Before he could talk himself into it, he shook his head.
“I can’t, and you know it,” he answered softly. “I can’t stand to see you upset like this. You know I’d never hurt you.”
She snorted a laugh, but quit trying to pull away. “You want to take over my life. You want me to submit.”
He couldn’t deny the domineering nature
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