Page 11 of Wolf Fated

Her eyes flare wide and her lips part. Shit, I should have not sounded like that, but I can’t stand to see her look shrunken in on herself. As though she’s less than. When in reality, she’s a fucking goddess.

“How do you know my name?” she asks.

I know her name because I damn well demanded it from my sister when I turned up here before dawn. “I’m the sheriff. I asked Cindi to give it to me. I like to keep people safe around her. It’s quite the wilderness out there,” I offer, holding my breath to see if she accepts my words.

“Oh, well. Thank you. I guess. That’s very hospitable of you,” she says, and I’m worried because she still wears that frown.

I smile at her, delighting in the way her pupils dilate and her delicate scent fragrances the air. “We’re a small town. It’s my job to make sure everyone stays safe.”

That at least, is the truth.

“In that case, could you tell me where the garage is? I’ll need to fill up with gas before I leave,” she says.

I give her directions over the rocks in my mouth, while my mind spins with ways to keep her here.

She offers me a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you for the directions and the coffee, Sheriff.”

She turns. The door closes behind her and she’s gone.

My wolf snarls, not liking her out of his sight where he can’t protect her, but I settle him down.

She might be gone for now. But she’s still not gone for good.

Chapter Seven

Sarah

I all but flee from the kitchen, my cheeks burning with arousal and embarrassment. I still feel the weight of his searing gaze upon me, as if the sexy sheriff had the power to strip me bare and lay my secrets exposed.

Except one secret in particular remains firmly cloaked, hidden beneath the layers of damp cotton that cling to my thighs. Because despite my best efforts, despite every ounce of willpower I could muster, I couldn't stop the visceral reaction that his presence elicited.

Pure, potent male power would be words I’d use to sum him up, and even they wouldn’t be enough.

I've ruined my panties, just from the simple act of standing in the same room as him, breathing in his intoxicating scent and drinking in the raw masculinity that radiates from his every pore.

Heat floods my cheeks at the realization, and I quicken my pace, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible before he can catch a whiff of my arousal. I've never been so utterly undone by a man before, never felt such all-consuming need that borders on the animalistic.

Part of me, the part that still clings to the remnants of logic and reason, screams at me to run, to flee this town and the dangerous temptation. I've barely managed to extract myself from one disastrous relationship–do I really want to risk plunging headfirst into another, especially with a man who exudes such an aura of danger and raw, unbridled passion? Another part of me, a treacherous, wanton side that’s newly awoken tells me to surrender.

And why the hell am I even thinking relationships at all? The guy just gave me a cup of coffee. Not an engagement ring.

I long to bury my face in the crook of his neck, to breathe in the heady musk that clings to his sun-kissed skin. To press myself against the hard planes of his body and let him take me.

Claim me.

Make me his in every sense of the word, and hell if that doesn’t send another wet burst of arousal sliding between my thighs. But then, the image of Mark's bobbing bare ass, a timely reminder of my own foolishness.

Anger surges through me, hot and caustic, burning away any lingering tendrils of desire. How could I have been so blind? So naive? How could I have given Mark not only my heart, but my trust, my loyalty, only to have it all thrown back in my face?

I should know better than that.

I can only trust men as far as I can throw them, and as a curvy five and a half foot woman who hasn’t had time to set foot in the gym in years, that isn’t far.

As the sting of betrayal and humiliation washes over me, the fury that has been simmering beneath the surface erupts in a blinding flash of white-hot rage. In that moment, I make a decision–a decision born of pain and heartbreak, but also of a newfound determination to never again be so blindsided.

I will leave this town, just as I planned. I will pack my suitcase and hit the road, putting as many miles as possible between myself and the temptation of the sheriff. Because, as alluring and intoxicating as he may be, I won’t be drawn in by another man.

Not again.

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