“Asshole,” he threw back, but he was almost smiling as he said it.
The tavern noise swallowed him up—voices and music and the clatter of glasses—but he moved through it without stopping. He grabbed his jacket from the office, told Nina he was leaving early, ignoring her shocked expression, and slipped out the kitchen door.
Sara’s cottage was a fifteen-minute walk. He could run it in five.
He chose to run.
CHAPTER 17
Sara’s phone buzzed against the nightstand, jolting her from the edge of sleep. She blinked at the ceiling, disoriented, her body warm and heavy beneath the quilts. The buzz came again—not her phone, she realized. Someone was at the door. The old doorbell, temperamental as always, was vibrating rather than ringing.
Her first thought was Ben.
Her second thought was that it was nearly midnight and she should probably be more concerned about someone showing up unannounced.
But her heart was already racing, already knowing, and she was throwing back the covers before her brain could catch up with her instincts.
The cottage was dark. She’d fallen asleep on the couch watching a cooking show, then dragged herself to bed around eleven, disappointed that Ben hadn’t stopped by even though she knew Friday night was one of the busiest nights at the tavern. After lastnight, his absence felt wrong. Like a missed note in a familiar song.
She’d been hoping he’d come.
She padded to the front door in bare feet, her sleep shorts and lacy cami not exactly company-appropriate. Through the frosted glass panel, she could see a tall shape. Broad shoulders. The silhouette of long pointed ears.
Ben.
She opened the door, her greeting dying in her throat.
He looked… wild. That was the only word for it. His silvery-grey fur was disheveled, his chest heaving like he’d been running, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes that usually watched her with careful control—were blazing with something raw and urgent.
“Ben? What’s?—”
“I need to show you something.”
His voice was rough, scraped bare of its usual gruff composure. Her sleepiness evaporated, replaced by a sudden, thrilling awareness that something had shifted. Something more than what had happened the previous night.
“Now?” she asked. “It’s midnight.”
“Now.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Please, Sara. I need you to see.”
She should probably ask questions and demand to know what was so important it couldn’t wait until morning.
Instead, she nodded. “Okay.”
Relief flooded his features—just for a moment, quickly schooled—and then he was reaching for her. Strong hands closed around her waist, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. She squeaked in surprise, her arms flying around his neck for balance.
“Ben! I can walk?—”
“I know.” He was already moving, carrying her down her porch steps and across the dark lawn towards his house. “But I need… I can’t…”
He couldn’t seem to find the words. His jaw was tight, his grip on her almost desperate, and something fluttered in her chest. This wasn’t the careful Ben who’d spent weeks keeping himself in check, or even the desperate Ben of the previous night. This was something else entirely.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
He made a sound, low and rough, and his arms tightened around her.
His house was dark except for a single lamp burning in the entryway. He shouldered through the front door without breaking stride. She had been inside before, but only in the living room and kitchen. But headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time, his breathing still ragged. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She had a feeling, an instinct of her own, that she was about to see something important. Something he’d been hiding.
He stopped in front of a closed door at the end of the hallway. His bedroom. His chest expanded with a deep breath, steadying, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter.
