Like…everything.
Mama Draven halts mid-pour with a jug of batter in her hand.
Zane freezes with a whisk lifted in the air.
A single drip of pancake goop falls in slow motion.
And then, Mama Draven points a floury finger at me and blurts, loud and triumphant.“She’s fertile!”
Silence.
Then…Zane inhales. And it’s not a normal inhale. Asavageinhale. A deep, chest-expanding, pupils-blown, oh-god-he’s-going-to-do-something-deranged inhale.
I stumble back a step. “No. No no no, whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.”
He stares at me. Unblinking. Motionless.Predatory.
The longer he stares, the more my stomach tries to crawl up my throat. “Zane?” I whisper. “Zane, please.”
His voice is deceptively calm. “Please, what? I haven’t done anything.”
“But you’re going to,” I snap. “I canseeit in your eyes.”
“Yes, he is,” Mama Draven murmurs. Proud as sin.
I whirl toward her. “Please don’t encourage him, Mrs.—”
“I told you to call me Mama. We’re a family.”
I blink rapidly. “We’re not…” I hesitate because I genuinely like her, but also? We are absolutely not a family. I’ve fallen into a fever dream. A sexy, deranged, rockstar-flavored fever dream.
I’m in a nut house with two insane people, one who happens to be hot as the fires of fucking Hades, and the other is his mother, egging him on with each manic thought that enters his dark and filthy head.
Mama Draven beams wider and wilder. Zane continues staring like a wolf picking its cutlery.
His gaze drags over me, slow, methodical, absolutely inappropriate, cataloging things Ido not want to know.
When it stops at my hips, I panic.
Actual panic.
I rise onto my tiptoes like that would somehow deflect the trajectory of the unhinged thoughts firing through his skull.
It does not.
Because I know him. I’ve learned him. And I know beyond any doubt that anything resembling panic or flight on my face will trigger The Beast.
Of course my body doesn’t listen. I take another tiny, stupid step backward.
A dark rumble vibrates from his chest.
It’s not metaphorical or sexual or whatever.
It’s a realanimalgrowl. Primal and visceral and possessive enough to yank air from my lungs.
Mama Draven eyes him and claps her hands like she’s watching him win gold at the Olympics. With pride. Then she flashes me a gleeful smile. “If I were you, sweetheart, I’d stay exactly where you are. Or maybe you should run.” She nods sagely. “It kicks up the blood and makes for fierce mating.”
“What the hellish Lululemon is happening right now?” I whisper. My voice sounds dazed, thin, nearly hypnotized by the intensity radiating off this man.
