Page 43 of Fangs for the Memories
As she does, I see Ferenc. He’s not looking at his phone, bored. Instead he’s in the same position I left him, his wolfish eyes entirely concentrated on me.
A shiver runs up my spine. What have I got myself into? And what does it matter anymore?
I thank Katya in Hungarian and take the proffered selection without looking at it, tearing my eyes away from Ferenc.
If I give in to what my lady parts want, I’m only going to regret it. My heart is too fragile. As much as I know now I didn’t love Mark, he was a huge part of my life for the last year even if all he was doing was using me and banging his baby mama on the side, and I can’t turn off that side of me like a lamp.
I can’t undo everything he did to me, in particular clean my soul of every last vestige of trust in another person not to do the same again.
But Ferenc’s eyes, those dark pools—it’s as if they’re daring me to do something wild.
Like wear designer clothes I couldn’t ever afford new, in a store I would never voluntarily visit, while a mafia werewolf boss waits for me to try on underwear.
I look at the handful of items Katya has handed me.
They’re all pure silk, black, of course, and in my correct size. They are as far from being practical as possible, but also, they aren’t skimpy lacy things which will disappear up my backside half a second after putting them on.
I wonder who might have picked these out as I try them on. The bra is possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn, and the soft panties are like butter against my skin.
“Are these simple enough for you?” Ferenc’s voice growls behind me.
I jump in the air because I’ve clearly not had enough jump scares recently and need another one.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I grumble, grabbing hold of a jumper and holding it over my chest.
Even though we’ve shared a bed, a bath, and he’s seen me in my own underwear, for some reason, I still want to cover myself. Keep some of the mystery.
“I’m sampling the merchandise.” Ferenc rubs the silk of my knickers between his finger and thumb, and a soft smile plays over his face.
“Because you’re the one paying?”
“I’m not paying for anything which doesn’t pass the test,” he rumbles.
“And what’s the test?”
Ferenc leans closer.
“That you like it,” he rasps in my ear. “And you look good in it. Really damn good.”
Grace
Here I am, in front of my werewolf mafia boss, in my underwear…again.
I should say something, like this is a rebound thing, like I’m too badly damaged right now to contemplate what my body wants me to do.
It very much wants Ferenc. Testosterone rolls from him like water, the delicious citrus scent of his cologne filling my nostrils, his handsome face all I can see. Those lips, those fangs, his hard, muscular body achingly close to my half-dressed one.
“I can’t do this…” I pull back from him.
“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, kedves.” Ferenc drops his hands by his sides. “I understand how complicated this is.”
“I didn’t mean…” I sigh. “It’s not about”—I wave my hand in the air—“werewolves, vampires, demons, and gargoyles.”
“Then what is it about?”
I shove my hand in the coat pocket hanging next to me, pull out my phone, and activate the screen before handing it to him.
Ferenc’s brow knits as he reads the text from Lucy. I can’t help but think how utterly cute he looks when he’s concentrating, like he was when reading the paper this morning.
