“Well?” she said, still standing in the doorway with an edge to her voice that surprised him.
He turned to her. “Well, what?”
“What do you think of the crazy witches?”
He strode quickly toward her and grabbed both her hands to pull her through the door.
“Patchouli, I have never called you crazy, nor thought it. Your room is beautiful.” It was rich in texture and color, but stylish and subtle. “You’re a witch.”
He looked around again, catching bottles of homemade liquids on her bedside table and a book on dreams thrown onto the chair.
He looked at the bed covered in a thick comforter in a vivid teal with heavy embroidery in the same color.
“Is that a full?” he said. It looked miniature.
“I think so? I got it in high school. Does it matter?”
He snickered and lay down until his feet dangled off the bed. He realized it was a metal frame with springs when it squeaked.
“How tall are you?” she asked.
“Taller than a full bed. Come here.”
She stood in the middle of her rug, scratching at one ankle with the toes of her other foot. He could see that grinning child in the woman she had become, and he wanted her. He’d thought he could never have her again.
Visions of crossbows kept flitting across his mind, as did the disturbing book catalogue. There were a hundred reasons this wasn’t a good idea and only one reason it was. She smelled superb. Here in her room, he was drowning in it. There was more than one reason; she was also valiant, caring, risked her life for others, and took care of her family and him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I can’t have you.”
He frowned. “Al contrario, I’m a sure thing.”
She took one step away, and he felt an invisible string between them stretch thin; he pulled on it as hard as he could. She seemed strangely reluctant, or perhaps it was not that strange, given everything truly between them.
He scooted back a little farther, and the springs squeaked again.
He grinned at her, but she wasn’t smiling; she looked even paler as she took another step back.
“Hey, come here. What is it?” He sat up. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”
She took a deep breath and finally stepped closer. When she got within reach, he rested his hands on her hips to draw her between his legs but didn’t pull her further than that.
“You’re some huge giant alpha wolf with god knows how many apartments in New York, and I’m here in my childhood bedroom.”
“Buildings,” he said absently and then bit down on his tongue so hard he tasted blood.
“What?”
“Never mind. I also live with my Nonna and my entire family. I mean, not in the same apartment but in the same building.”
She squinted at him. “That you own. Buildings. That’s what you meant.”
She also wasn’t stupid, which he appreciated in a woman 99% of the time.
“Forget I said anything. I’m not sitting here secretly wondering why you failed to launch. You’re taking care of your family. Most wolves never leave their pack, either. I figured it was the same for you. You’re here because you choose to stay, and I think that’s nothing but noble.”
This whole situation worked for him. He rarely ever went home with a girl, considering most women he slept with were shifters who left their own packs and were on the prowl for an alpha werewolf. They had no interest in sharing their lives with him. They just wanted to slot into his life and spend as much money as possible.
