Page 10 of Stalked By the Wolf

“Or wolves, apparently,” says Sebastian dryly, turning over his shoulder and tossing me a crooked smile that makes my stomach flip-flop. “I won’t take it personally.”

Sebastian leads me out of the garage, and my shoes scuff on polished concrete floors. Lights wink on automatically, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust.

I’m standing in a kitchen with an enormous island that looks as though it was carved from one gigantic block of marble. Chic dark cabinets frame the space, and the open floor plan leads into a gorgeous great room dominated by a stone hearth that stretches all the way to the vaulted ceiling. There’s a comfortable-looking leather couch, a sleek coffee table, and little else.

Other than the section of the room with the fireplace, the entire first floor is wall-to-wall glass. He must have incredible views.

“Wow,” I breathe. “Your place is amazing.”

Sebastian lifts one shoulder in a blasé shrug. “I have a very sought-after decorator.”

I shake my head in disbelief. This is easily the nicest house I’ve ever set foot in.

“The toilet’s just through there . . . dining room’s around the corner. Study through there.” His tone is casual as he orients me, but there’s tension in his glorious body I didn’t notice before.

He seems . . . self-conscious. Nervous, even — as though it really matters to him what I think of his house.

“What should I do with Shadow?”

Sebastian’s mouth twitches in a grimace, which he quickly hides. “He can . . . make himself at home. I’ll bring in his shit box in a moment.”

I press my lips together to hold back a laugh. It’s obvious that my big, bad wolf is not a cat person, and yet he’s opened his home to me and Shadow. There’s a tiny, hopeful part of me that wants to read into that, but I know better than to think this gorgeous man wants anything to do with a sad, lost girl who’s knocked up with Dane’s baby.

“He’d probably do better in a smaller space like a bathroom. That’ll give him a chance to get acclimated to the sounds and smells here.”

A look of relief flashes across Sebastian’s face, and he obligingly takes Shadow into the bathroom and sets his carrier on the tile. He steps out of the room to let me by, and Shadow hisses as I open the door to his crate.

“You’re safe here,” I say softly, more to myself than the cat.

Shadow stops hissing but remains curled in the back of his crate.

Coming out of the bathroom, I feel a prickle of awkwardness dance over my skin. Sebastian is a complete stranger, and yet he invited me into his home. If he’s not a serial killer, it’s incredibly generous of him. And if he is, well, I never thought my murderer would be so . . .beautiful.

His face is all sculpted angles, further accentuated by choppy black locks that are just long enough to fall into his eyes. His sharp jawline is shadowed by stubble, and he’s got a pair of full, lush lips that lookwaytoo kissable.

Those deep-blue eyes flare when they see me, and Sebastian clears his throat. “That’s all for the main floor. I’ll show you upstairs to your room.”

My room. For some reason, I get a little burst of disappointment that I won’t be sharing his bed. It’s crazy considering I waited over a month to sleep with Dane, and even that felt like a big decision.

It’s got to be the pregnancy hormones making me want to climb this man like a tree.

Following Sebastian up the metal staircase, I can’t help gaping at the gorgeous artwork that adorns the walls. I don’t know anything about fine art — only that these pieces look like originals.

My gaze snags on the portrait of a man whose face is scrunched in misery. Velvety shadows engulf his features in broad paint strokes, as if he’s drowning in the darkness.

Sebastian leads me to the room at the very end of the hallway, and my jaw drops when I walk inside. Like the main level, the far wall is floor-to-ceiling glass. A king bed with a minimalist canopy frame is situated opposite a huge stone fireplace that’s a smaller version of the one in the great room.

Sebastian touches a button on the wall, and a fire crackles to life.

I shake my head in disbelief and wander into the en suite bathroom, where a cream-colored stone soaking tub is positioned in front of another giant window.

I groan aloud at the sight of the tub. Already this pregnancy is giving me weird aches and pains, and my crappy apartment only has a shower. A warm bath sounds like heaven.

“This is . . .” I grope for the right words but can’t manage to find them. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Make yourself at home.”

“Oh.” I slap a hand to my forehead as the realization hits me. “I forgot to pack a bag.”

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