entered the shop.
“How did it go?” she asked.
A number of books were piled on the counter, and Monroe noticed that she’d removed her sweater and was now wearing a Portland Fire T-shirt. A light sheen of sweat coated her skin. The perspiration intensified her natural scent, and he found himself responding to it.
Down boy
, he told himself.
We have work to do.
As he headed for the counter, he slipped off his jacket. It was still too warm in here, almost sweltering, really.
“No luck,” he said.
He went into the back room, tossed his jacket onto a chair, and then joined Rosalee at the counter.
“Turns out Wechselbalgen don’t have a scent,” he said.
Unlike you
, he thought. He sidled closer to her without being fully aware he was doing so.
“Don’t stand so close!” she snapped. She was immediately apologetic. “Sorry. It’s just so hot in here.”
Monroe did as Rosalee requested and moved a couple feet away from her. Something inside him bristled at having to give up the territory he’d claimed, even if it was only a handful of inches.
“What’s up with that anyway?” he said. “Did you turn the heat up full blast while I was gone?’
Rosalee gave him a withering look. “Now why would I do something stupid like that? I actually turned the heat off. And it’s
still
hot in here.”
“Maybe you only
thought
you turned it off. Maybe you really turned it up higher.”
“Seriously? Are you saying you think I’m too dumb to read a thermostat?”
What’s her problem?
he thought. Aloud, he said, “I’m saying that anyone can make a mistake.”
Without waiting for her to reply, he went into the back room to check the thermostat. The heat
was
off, and the readout said the temperature in the building was currently sixty-two degrees. He stared at it for several moments. He felt an urge to slam his fist into the damned thing and knock it off the wall, but instead he turned away and walked back out to the front.
“Maybe there’s something wrong with it,” Monroe said. “Maybe it just looks like the heat’s turned off, but it’s really still going.”
Rosalee looked down at one of the books open on the counter. “Maybe there’s something wrong with
you
,” she breathed. The words were almost inaudible, but Monroe heard them clearly.
He scowled. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”
She didn’t look up from the book as she replied. “What’s
what
supposed to mean?”
Monroe heard a low rumbling sound then. At first he had no idea where it was coming from, but he realized with a start that it came from his throat. He was growling. At Rosalee.
His
Rosalee.
She looked up at him then, and he saw anger flash across her face. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d growled back. But she didn’t. After a moment her anger drained away, and she looked shocked.
“I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Again. It’s the heat. It’s put me on edge.”
The irritation that had built inside him vanished when he saw the regret in Rosalee’s eyes and heard the upset tone in her voice.
He stepped toward her once more, not thinking about territory, thinking only of being close to her, to give and seek comfort in equal measure.
“I’m sorry, too. I don’t know why I growled. Maybe I’m just frustrated that I couldn’t help Nick.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand. “The full moon is less than a week off. You usually get a big more growly around that time.”
He gave her a sheepish smile. “I suppose. So, you find anything new while I was gone?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Want to help?”
“Of course. Which books haven’t you looked through yet?”
Rosalee slid a stack toward him. “Here you go.”
She smiled at him, he smiled in return, and they started reading. But despite their apologies, tension still lingered in the air between them, and Monroe felt sweat began to bead on this forehead. Why was it so
“How did it go?” she asked.
A number of books were piled on the counter, and Monroe noticed that she’d removed her sweater and was now wearing a Portland Fire T-shirt. A light sheen of sweat coated her skin. The perspiration intensified her natural scent, and he found himself responding to it.
Down boy
, he told himself.
We have work to do.
As he headed for the counter, he slipped off his jacket. It was still too warm in here, almost sweltering, really.
“No luck,” he said.
He went into the back room, tossed his jacket onto a chair, and then joined Rosalee at the counter.
“Turns out Wechselbalgen don’t have a scent,” he said.
Unlike you
, he thought. He sidled closer to her without being fully aware he was doing so.
“Don’t stand so close!” she snapped. She was immediately apologetic. “Sorry. It’s just so hot in here.”
Monroe did as Rosalee requested and moved a couple feet away from her. Something inside him bristled at having to give up the territory he’d claimed, even if it was only a handful of inches.
“What’s up with that anyway?” he said. “Did you turn the heat up full blast while I was gone?’
Rosalee gave him a withering look. “Now why would I do something stupid like that? I actually turned the heat off. And it’s
still
hot in here.”
“Maybe you only
thought
you turned it off. Maybe you really turned it up higher.”
“Seriously? Are you saying you think I’m too dumb to read a thermostat?”
What’s her problem?
he thought. Aloud, he said, “I’m saying that anyone can make a mistake.”
Without waiting for her to reply, he went into the back room to check the thermostat. The heat
was
off, and the readout said the temperature in the building was currently sixty-two degrees. He stared at it for several moments. He felt an urge to slam his fist into the damned thing and knock it off the wall, but instead he turned away and walked back out to the front.
“Maybe there’s something wrong with it,” Monroe said. “Maybe it just looks like the heat’s turned off, but it’s really still going.”
Rosalee looked down at one of the books open on the counter. “Maybe there’s something wrong with
you
,” she breathed. The words were almost inaudible, but Monroe heard them clearly.
He scowled. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”
She didn’t look up from the book as she replied. “What’s
what
supposed to mean?”
Monroe heard a low rumbling sound then. At first he had no idea where it was coming from, but he realized with a start that it came from his throat. He was growling. At Rosalee.
His
Rosalee.
She looked up at him then, and he saw anger flash across her face. Her eyes narrowed and her upper lip curled. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d growled back. But she didn’t. After a moment her anger drained away, and she looked shocked.
“I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Again. It’s the heat. It’s put me on edge.”
The irritation that had built inside him vanished when he saw the regret in Rosalee’s eyes and heard the upset tone in her voice.
He stepped toward her once more, not thinking about territory, thinking only of being close to her, to give and seek comfort in equal measure.
“I’m sorry, too. I don’t know why I growled. Maybe I’m just frustrated that I couldn’t help Nick.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand. “The full moon is less than a week off. You usually get a big more growly around that time.”
He gave her a sheepish smile. “I suppose. So, you find anything new while I was gone?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Want to help?”
“Of course. Which books haven’t you looked through yet?”
Rosalee slid a stack toward him. “Here you go.”
She smiled at him, he smiled in return, and they started reading. But despite their apologies, tension still lingered in the air between them, and Monroe felt sweat began to bead on this forehead. Why was it so
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