Page 42 of Rescued

He opened his eyes, his sex-drugged senses finally putting together the noise in the kitchen, and the empty half of the bed.

He dragged himself out from under the covers, found a pair of boxers, and then staggered out to the kitchen, his eyes still bleary.

Breanna turned around from the cabinet. “Hey! You’re up! Good!”

“I am not,” he mumbled. “I’m still asleep.” And he was disappointed she wasn’t naked. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to wake up. We have to go to the grocery store.”

“At zero-dark-thirty?”

“Of course not. I’ve been up for ages. It’s practically noon.”

He squinted at the clock. “It’s seven fucking thirty.”

He rubbed the crusties out of his eyes and focused on her. She was perky and bright-eyed, wearing another pair of those ass-hugging jeans and a top that made the doe eyes look extra blue. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and she had it pulled up on top of her head, with tendrils curling down her neck.

He wanted to bite her. In the best possible way.

Except, he suddenly realized that they’d never quantified exactly what their relationship was supposed to be. Biting might be off the table.

Breanna said, “I had an idea. About Sanchez, and the other guys. So I need you to take me into town, because I need a bunch of stuff at the grocery store, and I don’t know how to hotwire trucks. And you have to pay, sorry, because you know I don’t have any money and I can’t use my accounts because of Quentin. I’m keeping track, though, don’t worry. I’ll pay you back.”

He had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.

She frowned, then came over and put her hands on either side of his face, so she could look straight into his eyes. “Are you even listening to me?”

He couldn’t stand it. His common sense—what little he had—was still asleep.

He pulled her in and kissed her.

Her scent enveloped him like a warm fire on a winter night. Her lips were so fucking soft, and he nipped one just so it would sting, and he could kiss it again and make it better.

She gave a little moan, and then somehow they were sitting on the couch and she was in his lap, and they were devouring each other—lips, tongues, heat and light. It was like there was no thought, just sensation, and this feeling of belonging.

Mine, his wolf said.

Oh, shit.

In the cold light of morning, he knew even more certainly that he couldn’t get attached to Breanna. He for sure couldn’t let his wolf get attached. His world would eat her up and spit out the bones. She deserved a normal life. That’s what he was trying to give her.

But last night…

Last night had been amazing.

Slowly, he pulled away. They sat there, breathing hard like they’d just run ten miles, and staring into each other’s eyes. Those damn doe eyes, that made him want to take care of her, even though he knew he couldn’t. Not in a non-crisis situation. Not that his life was ever a non-crisis situation. That was the problem.

She bit her lip, which made him want to kiss it again. Her lips silently formed the word, “Wow.”

Yeah. Fucking chemistry. That was all great—until it wasn’t.

He said, “Did we decide if we were going to do this again ever, or not?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t think a definitive decision was made.”

Shit. He couldn’t discuss this pre-coffee. Time to pivot.

He said, “Were you saying something? Before?”