Page 40 of The Wolf Professor

As she shook out her hair, noting the gleam in her eyes, the flush along her cheekbones, Charlie had to smile.

She had no idea how it was going to pan out between them, but no way was she going to give up on the bond between her and Max without fighting for it.

Because it felt like it was fated somehow, this chemistry between them. Had done from the moment Max opened the front door to her. Even more so since his wolf had saved her on Saturday night.

She got why Max was confused by it. Disturbed, even.

She just wished he had as much faith in his wolf as she did.

All Sunday she’d kept out of his way, mostly reading in her room. That night, she’d met Simone and Gina for dinner, though she kept what had happened firmly to herself. Even when they mentioned the scratch on her cheek, she passed it off as someone on the dance floor at Tod’s party flinging out a hand. She’d promised Max she wouldn’t tell anyone, and besides, it felt like something no one else could possibly understand anyway.

When she got back to the house, she’d walked in to find the snug door ajar (maybe on purpose?) and her desk and chair set up in there. She’d refused to let it get to her.

If Max was determined to put distance between them, so be it. He was going to be slower to process this than her, clearly. After all, she’d been in love with him for a fair while now.

Gosh! Charlie stopped midway between doing up the buttons on her blouse.

Were these feelings she had for Max love?

Her heart thudded its agreement.

Yep, she was going to admit it to her reflection. She was falling madly in love with Max Hunt. What was the point in pretending otherwise?

Was he falling in love with her too?

She dared to hope so.

Charlie tied her hair up in a bun, smoothed down the stray curls and pinned them. She was aiming to look ultra professional and sophisticated today for their meeting at Motham Palace. At least on the surface. What was underneath her suit was somewhat less so, but she guessed only she knew that.

But she wondered if Max might just scent it.

In his study, dressed impeccably in a pinstriped charcoal suit and crisp light gray shirt, Max fiddled around with his notebooks and tried to organize his thoughts. He should be excited at seeing Athelrose’s handwritten dairies—and many other texts of the period, too, eyewitness accounts of those early months and years of Motham City.

He should be focused on his book. The problem was, Charlie was taking up valuable real estate in his head.

All yesterday he’d busied himself, first by moving her desk and chair into the snug, then wishing he hadn’t. Changing the bedding so he wouldn’t smell her on it, then holding the sheets to his face and delighting in her scent before shoving them in the washing machine. Next, he’d gone and wandered around Old Motham, trying to get in the mood for writing. But he could only get in the mood for more of Charlie, his X-rated thoughts tightening his fly. In desperation, he considered visiting his pack as a diversion, but rejected the idea and instead fantasized about going to find the ferals that had hurt Charlie and beating the crap out of them.

At that point he decided he was fucking losing it. He came home and drank whisky alone in his study until he was drunk enough to sleep.

And although he was nursing a slight hangover, today he was determined to put it all behind him.

Or there would be no book to send to his agent.

When Charlie walked in, he sighed with relief to see how professionally she was turned out. Her hair was pulled tight into a bun, not a single curl escaping from its confines. But when he saw the line of that scratch under her make-up, his heart yet again tugged protectively.

Shut that down.

He shaped his lips into a polite smile. She returned it. All good.

“What shall I bring?” she asked.

“Your laptop to record things on, if you’re okay with that. I have a notebook. I don’t believe they allow photos.”

“Well, if they do, we have our phones.” She put on her coat, and he forced himself not to help her, even though good manners ensured he held the door for her.

“It’s colder than I thought,” she said. “Can you wait a sec?” She ran back inside, and he stood on the doorstep, stamping his feet, blowing on his hands. When she came back, she had a brightly striped knitted hat on her head with a big bobble on top. She looked totally adorable, and he noticed that in the act of pulling it onto her head she’d freed a couple of ebony curls, which now poked out the sides.

It occurred to him that, like her personality, Charlie’s hair was irrepressible.

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