“He’s no doubt calling the Moores,” said Bracken.

Gwen’s scent slid over Zander moments before she appeared—and, predictably, Zander’s wolf annoyingly retreated again. Sighing, she scratched her nape. “That was pretty much how I expected things to go.”

“He’s not going to make us leave,” Zander told her, but she didn’t look convinced. As she moved to leave, he grabbed her hand. “Hey, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Good,” she said, but she still didn’t seem entirely certain of that.

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

At the end of Gwen’s shift, Zander drove her home with Bracken riding shotgun again. Back at the B&B, they all parted ways, and Zander went straight to his room. He made himself a coffee and sat on the balcony, but he couldn’t relax. He felt irritable and restless. The same tension rode his wolf, who paced within him, feeding Zander’s edginess.

He closed his eyes, seeking calm and peace. He concentrated on the feel of the light breeze on his skin and the sounds of the crickets and—

“Zander.” The floaty whisper was accompanied by the brush of fingers across his forehead.

Eyes snapping open, he jumped to his feet. No one. Like last time, there was no one there. And, just like last time, he didn’t feel alone.

Deciding to go for a run—no, he wasn’t freaked out and fleeing from nothing—Zander headed downstairs. But he didn’t go to the front door. No, he stalked into the kitchen as a familiar scent caught his attention. And there she was, cleaning the coffee maker.

Tense now for a totally different reason, his wolf withdrew. Well, at least he’d stopped pacing.

Somehow sensing she wasn’t alone, she looked over her shoulder. “Hey.”

Zander planted a hand on either side of the doorjamb. “Hey.”

“Going for a run or something?”

“Yes.” He looked at the now–immaculately clean coffee machine. “Do you ever do anything but work?”

Brow furrowing, she turned to fully face him. “Sure. I was just cleaning up after myself.”

“What do you do when you’re not working?”

Gwen gave a little shrug. “Stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Just stuff.”

“Like what?” he persisted.

Gwen tensed as he walked farther into the room. His gaze was locked on hers, searching her eyes for . . . something. She didn’t like it. He looked too hard, watched her too carefully. And her mouth dried up under the scrutiny of those brooding winter-gray eyes.

Even with all that distance between them, she felt overwhelmingly aware of him. Her stomach knotted at the vision of him standing there, head up, chest out, feet wide apart. That powerful, authoritative stance totally revved her engines.

She didn’t want to react to this guy she had no chance of having. But he was the living embodiment of raw sex appeal, and she was apparently helpless against it. Need churned in her stomach, her blood thickened, and her nipples beaded.

“Tell me,” he coaxed.

“You wouldn’t get it. You’re a shifter; you guys are all about action.” And she’d sound utterly dull to him, which wasn’t on her agenda.

“Maybe I would. Tell me.”

Fine, it wasn’t like she had to impress him. “I just like to sit outside. Sometimes on the porch. Sometimes on the swing. Sometimes on my balcony. I find peace in just sitting around, soaking in the view and the quiet, and admiring the wildlife. Not thinking, not talking, not listening to trivial conversation, just being. That will no doubt seem boring to you, but—”

“It doesn’t. When I’m on pack territory, I like to sit on my porch and just be alone. It’s not that I need time to reflect and meditate or some shit like that. Sitting back, listening to sounds of nature, is a good way for me to wind down.” When he was alone, he could relax and recharge. You didn’t get much time alone when you were part of a pack, though.

Zander’s eyes involuntarily dropped to her mouth. How hadn’t he noticed how lush it was before now? He couldn’t help picturing her on her knees as he wrapped her braid around his fist and fed her his cock. “Do you like working here and at Half ’n’ Half, or do you just do it to support your family?”

She tilted her head. “You’re pretty nosy, aren’t you?”

“Only when something interests me.”

Gwen did a double take. “I interest you?” It came out a skeptical statement.

“Yeah.”

Bullshit. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?” He had to be sweetening her up to get something.

Zander’s lips twitched. “So suspicious. I thought we were just talking.”

“No, you were quizzing me.”

“Go ahead and ask me a question.”

She lifted her chin. “All right. I always wondered . . . You don’t have to answer if it’s personal, but . . . does it hurt to shift?”

“A little, but not enough to matter.”

“Do you have to do it, like, daily?”

“I don’t have to, but it’s good to let my wolf free often, especially when he’s somewhere new—he needs to know the territory to feel secure.” Zander closed some of the distance between them in two slow strides. “My wolf likes it here; he likes the marsh.” She smiled at that. Not a distantly polite smile—a real, genuine smile that lit up her face and should have knocked him on his ass. How had he ever thought her anything close to plain? She was stunning.

“I’ve always loved the marshland,” she said. “It’s peaceful. Lots to see and do.”

“I guess you’ve explored every inch of it over the years.”

“To Yvonne’s consternation, yes.”

“Maybe you can give me a tour.” He’d seen boats at the dock.

“It’s mostly Marlon who gives tours,” she said, smile slipping from genuine to professional as she seemed to subconsciously adopt her receptionist tone. “We hold them on Mondays, Wednesdays—”

“Don’t do that.”

A line formed between her brows. “What?”

Zander prowled toward her, backing her against the fridge. “I don’t want to talk to Gwen the receptionist. I want to talk to you.” But she looked like she had no idea what he meant.