Page 30 of What a Wolf Demands

“Ah, but I warned you not to run. Actions have consequences.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell. At the same moment, her stomach let out a growl so loud it seemed to echo off the walls. She slapped a hand over her midsection.

Prado dipped his gaze to her middle. “As I said, I’ll call for room service while you shower.” He looked up, and for a second she could have sworn laughter glinted in his eyes. But then he jerked a thumb toward the double doors over his shoulder, and the moment was gone. “Bathroom’s through there.” His eyes moved over her hair. “This hotel is generous with toiletry samples. You should have everything you need.”

She folded her arms . . . which made rum waft under her nose. She could refuse. But that meant sleeping in jeans and a booze-soaked shirt. Right after the thought formed in her head, her scalp started to itch.

Dammit.

Prado waited by the phone, his patient mask back in place. Did anything ever startle or anger him enough to break through that unflappable facade? It was hard to believe he was the same male who pressed her against a wall and kissed her like she was the only woman on earth.

Without warning, heat rushed through her. It started in her chest and seared a path to her sex. Her nipples tightened. She sucked in a breath and squeezed her arms tighter over her chest.

A slight frown wrinkled Prado’s forehead. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” The denial leapt from her in a near shout. She cleared her throat. “I . . . Sorry. You know, I think I would like a shower.”

He narrowed his gaze, a little spark of skepticism in his eyes.

Another wave of desire rushed through her, and she had to fight to stop her hips from rolling toward him. She clenched her thighs together. Why? Why now? She had to get to that bathroom, where she could stand under a stream of cold water. That usually helped.

Except Prado hadn’t budged.

“I’m really sick of smelling like rum,” she said.

A beat passed. Oh god, what if he just kept standing there? Warmth gathered between her legs. Her sex throbbed. Just as panic mounted in her gut, he nodded. “All right. I’ll use the living room phone.” He headed toward the door.

She let out a trembling breath.

He stopped in the doorway and turned. “I’ll have the concierge send someone to get you something new to wear.”

Surprise cut through her desperation. “You can do that?”

“Yes.”

Huh. “I’ve never heard of a hotel that shops for its guests.” Then again, her experiences with the hospitality industry were pitifully limited.

The shadow of a smile played around his mouth. “Trust me, for the right price I could ask for a bag of cocaine, and they would deliver it.”

“Really?”

“No.”

She snapped her mouth shut. Another joke? Or was he making fun of her? It was true she’d rarely ventured outside Bon Rêve, but she wasn’t ignorant. She’d grown up with an internet connection and the town’s public library.

Of course, neither of those things would impress someone like Prado. He came from New York. Every loup-garou knew what Yankees thought of her kind. Not that she could really call herself a loup-garou. Not as a latent. When her parents died, any tenuous link she’d had to the community died with them.

A lump formed in her throat.

Prado frowned. “Are you okay?” He lifted a hand as if he might walk over and touch her.

“I won’t be long,” she said. Before he could reply, she darted around the beds and made a beeline for the bathroom. She swept inside, shut the double doors, and leaned against them. A huge mirror over a wide marble sink showed a flushed woman with wild red hair that fell over her shoulders in long tangles.

Ugh.

She pushed away from the doors, then turned and pressed the lock. It wouldn’t keep Prado out if he was really determined to enter, but even a flimsy barrier was better than nothing. At least she knew the bathroom was empty since he’d checked it when they first arrived.

Come to think of it, she never got a chance to ask why he did that. Maybe he was just really paranoid.

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