Page 64 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
My eyes widen. She can’t be serious.
“So talking is the last thing I want to do.”
Fuck. Not now, when I’m trying to explain something this important.
“Zara, you need to know something…” I begin, but she shakes her head, pressing forward and walking her fingers up the buttons of my plaid shirt. The hint of dark chest hair she’s revealing makes her pause, her breath catching.
Without meaning to, my hands find her ass, and I drag her to me with a possessive growl, giving it a hard squeeze before I come to my senses.
“No. NO.”
Her chest presses against me, soft and perfect, filling all my empty spaces.
“Zara, this is important.”
“So is this. Very important.” Her hands smooth up over my chest, and she leans closer, breathing me in, her nails scratching the back of my neck.
Capturing both her hands in mine before she breaks my control, I hold them still. It takes every ounce of willpower not to give in to what she’s offering.
She studies my face, then deflates, finally accepting I’m serious about this.
“Okay, big guy. You can tell me.” She walks backward, giving us both breathing room, then sinks into the worn sofa and curls her legs underneath her. “First.”
I pace, stop in front of her, then pace away again.
“He’s here.”
She looks through the window and out at the quiet forest. “Who’s here? The wolf?”
“Him. Your stalker.”
She blinks at me, the colour draining from her face. Her heart rate picks up visibly, pulse fluttering at her throat. “How do you know?”
I continue to pace, trying to find the right way to explain this. Stopping abruptly in front of her, I drag a hand back through my hair and blow out a deep breath.
“Jerry is a dog.”
She waits for more, but when nothing comes and I continue to look at her, she frowns. Looking from me to the giant husky, who’s lying at her feet, and then back to me, she nods slowly.
“Yes, Jerry is, indeed, a dog.”
“And that, tonight, was a wolf.” My expression is serious. This is the most important thing she needs to understand.
“Yes, Ben, I noticed that when it was flinging itself at the door. I know the difference between a dog and a wolf.”
Exasperated, she raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
“But it wasn’t a normal wolf,” I say.
I can see her patience wearing thin. “Listen, I get it. Not a normal wolf. Don’t open the door. Can we get back to my stalker now?”
She’s focused on the wrong thing.
“It’s the same thing. Because he is the wolf.” I blurt out, unable to find a better way to put it.
She blinks at me, replaying my words in her mind, making sure she hasn’t misheard me. There’s no mistake in what I said. The wolf outside was the man who’s been making her life a living hell.
“Ben…” Her voice is careful, like she’s talking to someone unstable. “Wolves can’t write. Or pick locks. Or make phone calls.” She’s being a smartass, but I can hear the edge of fear under the sarcasm.
