“Put those down.” My voice comes out gruff, almost angry. “Unpack the items and put them away. I’ll unload the car and park it.”
She looks up at me, and for the first time I see her face clearly.
Dark eyes. Not brown, not quite. Something lighter, almost olive-toned, striking against her rich brown skin. They catch me off guard, those eyes. Hold me in place for a half-second too long.
“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”
I don’t acknowledge the thanks. I just turn and storm back out into the snow.
I suck in a breath, trying to clear my head. What the hell was that? Since when do I care how much a cleaning lady is carrying?
I pop the trunk and stare at the contents. Bags upon bags of groceries, cleaning supplies, what looks like extra linens. She really did fit everything on the list in this tiny car. I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned about her spatial reasoning.
My bear is acting strange. Excited. Eager in a way he never is when strangers come to the cabin. Usually he wants them gone as quickly as possible. But now he’s practically vibrating beneath my skin, pushing toward the surface like he wants to see something.
See her.
I grab as many bags as I can carry and head back inside, shouldering through the door hard enough to make it bang against the wall.
And then I see her.
She’s taken off the coat. The hat. The scarf and the gloves. She’s standing in my kitchen in a simple gray polo and black pants, her back to me as she reaches up to put something on a high shelf.
The curve of her ass.
That’s the first thing I notice, and I hate myself for it. Round and full, straining against the fabric of her pants as she stretches onto her toes. Her hips are wide, her waist nipped in just enough to make my hands itch with the urge to grab hold.
Then she turns slightly, reaching for another bag, and I see the rest of her.
Full breasts. Soft stomach. Thick thighs. A body built for comfort, for holding, for?—
Her hair.
It’s loose now, tumbling around her shoulders in a riot of thick, dark curls. Wild and untamed, the kind of hair that would wrap around my fingers like silk. The kind of hair my cubs would have.
Wait. What?
My bear erupts inside me, roaring with raw recognition that makes no sense. We haven’t caught her scent. We haven’t imprinted. There’s no fated bond here, just a woman unpacking groceries in my kitchen.
A beautiful woman. A fucking gorgeous woman.
Why the hell did Derrick send me the most beautiful woman on his staff?
That’s why he was so insistent on the phone. All those warnings about being nice, about not running this one off. He wasn’t just worried about his business. He was worried about her specifically.
I’m going to kill him.
She turns fully, catching me staring. Those olive-toned eyes meet mine, and something shifts in her expression. Surprise, maybe. Or wariness.
I look away first, dropping the bags on the counter.
“I’ll get the rest,” I mutter, and escape back into the cold.
The snow is falling harder now, thick curtains of white that blur the treeline. I stand by her ridiculous little car and breathe, in and out, trying to get myself under control.
What is wrong with me?
I’ve had beautiful women in this cabin before. Not often, and never for long, but it’s happened. I know how to compartmentalize. I know how to keep my hands to myself and my mind on the task.
