But he’d been talking about the day of the week and not her, of course, and she was being ridiculous.
“As it turns out, I’m free Monday, and I think we can do away with the whole ‘bondage I can escape from’ thing.”
He studied her a moment with that unhurried assessment she was starting to recognize as his version of saying something he wasn’t going to state with words.
“I’m honored,” he finally said. “Thank you for the trust. Any chance I can convince you to give me a twelve-hour scene? Extended stress suspension? Say, noon until midnight? Or ten until ten, if you’ll need to wake early Tuesday.”
Want and need hit her out of the blue like a sledgehammer, and she knew he’d scent every bit of it. No way to hide it, so she shrugged and grinned. “I feel like I should negotiate it down to eight hours, but what the hell? We’ll go with twelve and see what happens. I can be here at ten that morning. Will you feed me during the twelve hours? Should I eat beforehand, or should we eat together before we start?”
“I’ll make French toast with bacon and sausage on the side, plenty of carbs and protein,” he said. “We’ll eat breakfast first, and time won’t start until we head upstairs. I’ll give you juice and electrolytes throughout the day, but no food.”
She finished her omelet and decided not to think about what she’d just agreed to, because the elephant in the room was getting louder — not only were they not slowing whatever this was down, they’d just turned the volume up.
Chapter 7
Tuesday stepped onto her brother’s porch, and the door opened before she could knock. He’d likely heard her car from at least a mile away.
“Finally. I was getting worried,” he said, taking the paper-wrapped tenderloin from her with the reverence it deserved.
She glanced at his clock. “I’m four minutes early. You’re just anxious.”
“I’m not anxious.” He was beyond anxious, and Tuesday thought it was cute.
She followed him to the kitchen, where he unwrapped the paper and settled the Wellington on the counter, his eyes wide. “Oh, wow. You’ve outdone yourself. This is perfect.”
“I know.” She took a breath and scented duxelles along with something chocolaty.
“Where’s Amber?”
He rolled his eyes. “Getting her nails done.”
She smiled at him, her sensible brother in his sensible house, with a well-paying but boring job, head-over-heels inlove with a woman who was the opposite of sensible, but who seemed to love him as fiercely as he loved her.
Amber was sweet, genuinely kind, and honest. She put ketchup on her spaghetti, but Tuesday had mostly made her peace with it because she made her brother happy.
“You seem distracted,” August said.
“I’m fine.”
He stepped closer and sniffed, his gaze on her face. Her brother had their grandmother’s dark eyes that seemed to see everything, and it was unnerving. “You smell like someone.”
“I smell like me.”
“You smell like youandsomeone.” He tilted his head. “Male. Wolf, but not pack.” A pause. “Verymale.”
She held his gaze and said nothing, which was its own kind of answer.
August was quiet a moment, the deliberate focus of a man deciding how much to say.
“Is it serious?”
“It was one night. We fucked.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She sighed. “Like you said, not pack. Not a sensible partner. A really fun fuckbuddy though.”
“Hmm.”
