But he did want to. God help him, he wanted to so badly it was making him stupid. The urge to storm out there, and insert himself between Sara and anyone who might touch her, to mark her with his scent until every Other in a ten-mile radius knew she was?—
Not mine, he told himself savagely. She’s not mine.
He couldn’t claim her. He’d given up that right when he’d pushed her away and told her finding someone normal was better for her. The smart thing—the decent thing—was to stay in this office until she left. He should let her enjoy her night. Let her move on.
He drained the rest of his whiskey in one burning swallow.
He was pouring another when someone knocked on his door.
“Busy,” he growled.
The door opened anyway.
Sara stood in the threshold, backlit by the warm glow of the hallway, and he forgot how to breathe.
She’d dressed up tonight in a soft pink sweater dress that hugged her curves in a way that made his throat go dry. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, leaving her neck bare and vulnerable. She looked warm and soft and utterly devastating.
“Nina said you were hiding in here.”
“Nina talks too much.”
“Nina also said you’ve been in a mood for days.” She stepped into the office, closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch felt like a declaration of war. “Something you want to tell me about?”
He set down his whiskey with more force than necessary. “You should go back to your friends.”
“I should do a lot of things.” She moved further into the room, her eyes taking in the cluttered desk, the music posters covering the walls, the worn leather couch pushed against one wall. “You play in here sometimes, don’t you? Late at night when you think no one can hear.”
His jaw tightened. “What do you want, Sara?”
“Answers.” She settled into the chair across from his desk, crossing her legs in a way that made the pink fabric tighten temptingly around her luscious thighs. “Starting with why you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I haven’t been?—”
“You ran away three days ago, and you haven’t looked at me since. If that’s not avoiding, I’d hate to see what is.”
Her voice was steady. No accusation, no hurt—just calm observation. Somehow that was worse than if she’d been angry.
“It’s complicated,” he managed.
“Then uncomplicate it.” She leaned forward, and Ben caught a stronger wave of her scent—vanilla and sugar and underneath it, something warmer. Arousal. She was aroused, sitting in hisoffice, looking at him with those sharp green eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Ben. So you can either explain why you kissed me like I was oxygen and then told me to find someone else, or we can sit here all night while I make increasingly creative guesses.”
A sound escaped him that was almost a laugh. “You’re infuriating.”
She shrugged. “Just persistent.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the short fur ripple under his fingers. His ears kept swiveling towards her like they couldn’t help tracking her every breath.
Tell her,a voice whispered.Tell her everything and let her decide.
The thought was both terrifying and liberating. And possibly the worst idea he’d had in six years.
“I used to be someone else,” he said finally.
Her expression didn’t change, but something in her posture softened. “The band.”
“You know about that?”
“Posy mentioned it. And there are…” She gestured at the walls. “Kind of a lot of clues.”
