Page 20 of If The Shoe Fits

But, oh hell, I am only human.

Sorta.

“Don’t you remember?” I ask, panting as his big hands slide down my back.

“Remember? Remember what? Christ, your body is fucking perfect,” he says, molding his fingers to my hips, then moving them down further until he is squeezing my ass over my skirt.

The air is ripe with urgency. The need to spread my legs and have him inside me is so strong, it’s like every cell in my body is working towards that singular goal.

He flexes his hips, rubbing the steel rod I feel beneath his slacks against my stomach.

Holy hell.

The man is huge.

“Try to think. You must know why I am here,” I say, gasping as he starts to lift the fabric.

“I remember the first moment I saw you, my tongue going dry, and my heart racing. You smell like sweet apple cider and fresh baked rosemary bread. Goddess, I want you so badly,” he murmurs, licking my neck and biting down, but not hard enough to break skin.

I’m halfway gone.

Intoxicated by his touch.

But this isn’t right. I just know something is wrong.

I push against his chest again, and I feel his responding growl, but he is a good man, and he loosens his hold.

“Okay, something happened in the last ten minutes. We need to figure it out,” I say and push a little harder until he releases me completely.

I am sure I will regret this, but really, I can’t just allow this to continue.

Another five minutes, and I’d let him bend me over his desk and have his growly way with me.

“I am ready to bend you over anywhere, anyway, and any when. Just say yes, Sweet Witch,” he responds to a statement I know I didn’t make out loud, and I startle.

“Did you just read my mind?” I demand, my voice a little too high-pitched for my liking, my eyes wide as saucers.

“I did,” he replies, grinning like the Big Bad Wolf himself, all sharp teeth and unrepentant swagger. “You know, that’s pretty common with fated mates.”

My heart stops. Then starts again. Then begins pounding so hard I’m pretty sure it’s trying to escape my ribcage.

Fated mates?

No. No, no, no.

This can’t be. I mean, do I wish it were true? Obviously.

I’d be lying if I said the thought of being Wulfy Tremayne’s fated mate didn’t give me a thrill.

But if it were true—if we were really fated mates—he would’ve said something long before now. Right?

No, this has the unmistakable stink of magic all over it.

“No,” I blurt, shaking my head vehemently. “No, no. There’s a mistake. I am not your mate. Mr. Tremayne?—”

Before I can finish, I realize his hands are on me again.

When did that happen?

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