out, just casually invite her to come along. But he had a feeling a rowdy victory party with strangers wouldn’t be her idea of a good time.
“Nah. Essay due tomorrow. I’m just going to grab a bite to eat. Do you know any decent places around here?”
“No, but I’m sure we could find one.” Another blush. “I mean, if you want. Buying you an early dinner is the least I can do.”
Over the meal, he smoothly led the conversation, searching for a subtle way to ask her out. He knew he was being overly cautious. She’d wanted to have dinner with him, and by the time they’d found a restaurant she’d been laughing and chatting, completely relaxed, giving all the signs that said, “I’m interested.”
Still, he was careful. When he steered the conversation into recent movie releases, though, she admitted there was one she really wanted to see and, wouldn’t you know it, so did he. Or so he said. He suggested they go together. She said yes. And that was that.
Reese hadn’t had a girlfriend since high school. There wasn’t any reason to, not when plenty of college girls were happy to hook up for a night. If he could get sex without the dangers of a romantic relationship, then he would. Because romantic relationships were, indeed, dangerous for a werewolf. Too many secrets to keep.
After three dates with Daniella, though, he’d decided he could make an exception. Sex was still off the menu—he wasn’t pressuring a girl who’d nearly been raped—but that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her as often as he could, which was as sure a sign as any that this was different.
Daniella was different, too. When he’d first met her, he’d thought she was sweet and shy. He liked that in a girl—or his werewolf instincts did. Someone gentle and delicate, someone he could take care of and protect. And she
was
sweet and shy, but as he’d seen the night of the attack, there also was strength there. An iron will hid behind her delicate exterior. Passion, too. When they kissed, she always started slow and tentative, but it didn’t take long to get her motor running.
Delicate and innocent on the outside, tough and hot-blooded on the inside. That fascinated him. Excited the hell out of him, too. Wherever this relationship was going, he planned to follow.
They’d been dating for a month when a long weekend meant trips home for both of them. Daniella’s family lived near Sydney, so he saw her off on the plane Thursday night, then made the drive home himself right after his Friday morning class.
Before Daniella left, she’d told him how much she’d miss him, how much she wished she could stay. He’d felt kind of guilty at that. Though he’d miss her, too, he was looking forward to going home.
Home was the outback. Home was endless, empty expanses of red desert and scrub brush. Home was the smell of diesel and wet sheep, the whoosh of the windmill and the whine of the wind. It was his dogs, racing up the dirt road when they heard his truck coming. It was his mother, waiting on the porch with a cold beer and a hot meat pie. It was his dad, ambling in from the barn, his weathered face lit up in a smile. For the next two days they wouldn’t do much of anything, just hang out together, talking, then he and his father going for runs at night, his mother coming along, staying in the truck with picnic baskets of food for an American-style tailgate party afterward.
His home life was damned near perfect. A helluva lot better than Daniella’s, as he realized during their calls that weekend. By Saturday night her parents were driving her nuts. More than that, she seemed depressed, which worried him. He told himself she just wanted to get back to school—and maybe back to him—but he couldn’t help wondering if there was more to it.
His werewolf streak of possessiveness kept nudging him toward one conclusion: she had a guy back home, a boyfriend she’d broken up with to go to college, and now she was reconsidering
“Nah. Essay due tomorrow. I’m just going to grab a bite to eat. Do you know any decent places around here?”
“No, but I’m sure we could find one.” Another blush. “I mean, if you want. Buying you an early dinner is the least I can do.”
Over the meal, he smoothly led the conversation, searching for a subtle way to ask her out. He knew he was being overly cautious. She’d wanted to have dinner with him, and by the time they’d found a restaurant she’d been laughing and chatting, completely relaxed, giving all the signs that said, “I’m interested.”
Still, he was careful. When he steered the conversation into recent movie releases, though, she admitted there was one she really wanted to see and, wouldn’t you know it, so did he. Or so he said. He suggested they go together. She said yes. And that was that.
Reese hadn’t had a girlfriend since high school. There wasn’t any reason to, not when plenty of college girls were happy to hook up for a night. If he could get sex without the dangers of a romantic relationship, then he would. Because romantic relationships were, indeed, dangerous for a werewolf. Too many secrets to keep.
After three dates with Daniella, though, he’d decided he could make an exception. Sex was still off the menu—he wasn’t pressuring a girl who’d nearly been raped—but that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her as often as he could, which was as sure a sign as any that this was different.
Daniella was different, too. When he’d first met her, he’d thought she was sweet and shy. He liked that in a girl—or his werewolf instincts did. Someone gentle and delicate, someone he could take care of and protect. And she
was
sweet and shy, but as he’d seen the night of the attack, there also was strength there. An iron will hid behind her delicate exterior. Passion, too. When they kissed, she always started slow and tentative, but it didn’t take long to get her motor running.
Delicate and innocent on the outside, tough and hot-blooded on the inside. That fascinated him. Excited the hell out of him, too. Wherever this relationship was going, he planned to follow.
They’d been dating for a month when a long weekend meant trips home for both of them. Daniella’s family lived near Sydney, so he saw her off on the plane Thursday night, then made the drive home himself right after his Friday morning class.
Before Daniella left, she’d told him how much she’d miss him, how much she wished she could stay. He’d felt kind of guilty at that. Though he’d miss her, too, he was looking forward to going home.
Home was the outback. Home was endless, empty expanses of red desert and scrub brush. Home was the smell of diesel and wet sheep, the whoosh of the windmill and the whine of the wind. It was his dogs, racing up the dirt road when they heard his truck coming. It was his mother, waiting on the porch with a cold beer and a hot meat pie. It was his dad, ambling in from the barn, his weathered face lit up in a smile. For the next two days they wouldn’t do much of anything, just hang out together, talking, then he and his father going for runs at night, his mother coming along, staying in the truck with picnic baskets of food for an American-style tailgate party afterward.
His home life was damned near perfect. A helluva lot better than Daniella’s, as he realized during their calls that weekend. By Saturday night her parents were driving her nuts. More than that, she seemed depressed, which worried him. He told himself she just wanted to get back to school—and maybe back to him—but he couldn’t help wondering if there was more to it.
His werewolf streak of possessiveness kept nudging him toward one conclusion: she had a guy back home, a boyfriend she’d broken up with to go to college, and now she was reconsidering
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