Page 77 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

He stood near the windows, his back to her as he pulled the patch over his head and settled it into place.

Indecision made her bite her lip. Should she go to him? Help him?

Outside, the snow fell so heavy the flakes made shadows on the floorboards as it drifted down. He was a tall silhouette, his broad shoulders framed by the window casing. Moonlight caught in the silver in his hair, making it seem like he wore a crown of snow.

A winter prince, more Fae than wolf.

He dropped his hands and faced her, the patch obscuring his eye once more.

She started toward him.

“Cover yourself,” he said, the words harsh and clipped.

She stopped. As a shapeshifter, nudity wasn’t that big of a deal. She’d seen everyone in the New York pack naked at one point or another. It was unavoidable.

But his tone made embarrassment creep over her. Which just made her angry. He’d been an avid participant in what passed between them, and now he sought to shame her?

On the other hand, arguing with him while she was half naked put her at a disadvantage.

She clamped her mouth shut and turned, her gaze going to the floor where her clothes lay in a messy heap. Her cami was on top, so she grabbed it and yanked it over her head. The fabric scraped her tender nipples, and she winced. No pain, no gain. She tugged the thin material to her hips and spun around.

“Listen, I’m sorry I—”

“So you’ve said.” He cut her off, his posture rigid as he remained in the shadows. “Apology accepted. Now go upstairs.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Anger sparked in her veins. “No.”

His good eye gleamed blue, his wolf showing its presence in the darkness. His voice grew quiet, almost silky. “No?”

The hair on her nape lifted. Danger, Alpha werewolf ahead. But she couldn’t just roll over and take his shit. Not when he was being so unreasonable. She swallowed. “I’ll go upstairs, but first I want to know why you’re acting like this.”

“How am I acting, Miss Michaels? Please enlighten me.”

She propped a hand on her hip. “You always do that, you know.”

“What?”

“You ‘Miss Michaels’ me whenever you’re uncomfortable.”

She sensed rather than saw him bristle. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Or when things get too personal.”

His laugh was a bitter crack in the quiet room. “I’m hardly responsible for things getting too personal between us.”

“Excuse me?” She pointed at him, then jerked her thumb back at herself. “You kissed me.”

“Please.” Condescension laced his tone. “You knew what you were doing with that little move with your tongue.”

Outrage was like an exclamation point in her brain. He was slut-shaming her? She let sarcasm fill her voice. “You know what, you’re right! I totally stuck your tongue down my throat, and I definitely made you pull me onto your lap.” She smacked her palm against her forehead. “Holy shit, I even made you suck on my tits!”

His voice rose. “It’s kind of hard not to when you stick them in my face!”

Speech deserted her—but only for a second. “You fucking asshole!”

---