Page 11 of Mismatched Mates

What was wrong with me?

I sucked in a deep breath of gasoline-laden air and tried to find my equilibrium.

"Go on home, before I tell Vince" the man said, his tone brooking no argument. "I'll handle this."

Vince didn’t need a last name. I’d never actually spoken two words to him, but every shifter in Pine River knew Vince Elston was the alpha of the wolf pack.

And just like that, all three kids traipsed away, scowling like petulant children who stayed up past their bedtime.

I folded my arms and glared at the stranger, irrationally vexed that he’d interfered.

The corner of his mouth curved into a smirk, and my eyes traced a scar dissecting his lips, silvery and white. I had the sudden urge to run my fingers along it.

Get it together.

As he turned to face me, I straightened, trying to regain my composure. "I appreciate the assist, but I had it under control."

One brow arched in silent contest. "Of course you did. Allow me to give you a ride," he offered, his voice smooth and low. "I promise I don’t bite... unless asked."

I rolled my eyes, though a traitorous part of me tingled at his words. "Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances with the wolves."

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Oh, I don't doubt it. You seem more than capable of holding your own, Miss...?"

"Ms. Thomas," I supplied, surprising myself by using my maiden name. "And you are?"

His lips quirked in a half-smile that was far too attractive for my peace of mind. "Just a concerned citizen, making sure everyone stays out of trouble."

I snorted, unable to help myself. "Right. And I'm just a tourist, admiring the local flora and fauna."

His eyes sparkled with genuine amusement, and I felt an unexpected warmth bloom in my chest. I quickly tamped it down, reminding myself of all the reasons I couldn't afford to be distracted by his handsome face or the way his smile made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

His gaze lingered across my face once more, and my stomach twisted like he’d hooked it with a line. God, it was infuriating how attractive he was—especially when I was standing there looking like I’d just fought with a tree and lost.

Shame he was an ass.

Even bigger shame he was a wolf.

“Next time,” he said, stepping close enough to whisper into my ear, “stick to the road.”

I let my eyes flutter closed, preferring the darkness to the overwhelming maleness of him. He chuckled, the soundlingering behind him as leaves rustled and his scent faded. When I opened my eyes again, he was gone.

In the end, I was only five minutes late, although considerably more ruffled than I’d intended, both by the crash and the wind through my hair.

The maître d' greeted me with a polite smile.

"Reservation for Jane," I said, forcing a smile, discreetly running my hands through my hair.

"Ah, yes. Your party is already seated. Right this way, please."

I followed, my eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. It practically oozed romance. A little heavy-handed if you asked me.

Only one of the tables in the back had an occupant, sitting with his back to us. Something about his posture made it seem like he owned the place. At the sound of our approach, he rose. An odd cocktail of nerves, exhilaration and disappointment coursed through me at the thought of meeting this stranger—and being almost certain I wouldn’t be as interested in him, as I had been in the man from the woods.

The man turned and my steps faltered as our eyes met, recognition and surprise mirrored in his gaze.

"You've got to be kidding me," I breathed, heat rising to my cheeks as I approached the table.

The stranger – my blind date – looked at me, a mix of amusement and curiosity playing across his features. "Well, well. If it isn't Little Miss Tourist with a penchant for trouble."

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