Page 28 of Enspelled

Keane cooked me steak, and even though he made it seem like he didn’t know what he was doing, he must because the steak was cooked to perfection. He even cut mine into bite-size pieces so it would be easier for me to eat as a wolf. A surprisingly nice gesture from a guy I’m more used to snarling or growling at me.

And then he turned the TV on the lounge, and I hopped up on the couch beside him.

We must have fallen asleep if we’re still on it now.

I frown. But if we fell asleep, why isn’t the TV still on?

Keane makes another low sound, one that sounds like my name and a groan rolled into one. When he presses me even harder against the back of the couch, I hold still.

Until I realize what’s poking me in my lower belly.

“Keane?” I whisper, because if he realized what he was doing in his sleep, he would be horrified.

Maybe he’s dreaming about an old girlfriend.

But that doesn’t explain why he just groaned your name, does it?

No, but he’s dreaming. Dreams don’t always mean anything.

“Briar,” he groans again. He makes a hungry sound that makes arousal explode in my head.

When he strokes his hand over my hip to my ass—mybareass—I realize I have to do something.

So I shove him. Hard.

He crashes to the ground with a bone-jarring thump and a furious growl.

I lie still, wincing as I wait for the uproar.

I don’t have long to wait.

His head pops up from the space between the couch and the coffee table. “What the fuck was that?” he snarls.

Before I can respond, his gaze dips, and his face freezes.

I cover my breasts with an arm. “I shifted.”

He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t lift his intense stare from my body.

“Keane!” I snap as a blush sears my cheeks.

Why isn’t there even a cushion to cover myself?

His head jerks up, and the second his gaze hits mine, he’s up and turning his back.

The moment he’s done it, I’m sitting up, on the hunt for a cushion, a blanket,anythingI can use to cover myself.

But when material hits me in the chest, I know what it is at once: Keane’s t-shirt.

I snap my head up, just in time to watch his muscled back disappear through the front door. “I need to get some stuff out of my truck.”

“You better not drive away again!” I call after him as I stuff the shirt over my head. “Because I have no desire to have breakfast with Georgia Calla.”

Halting, he swings back around. “Georgia who?”

My gaze settles on a bare chest rippling with muscle, and the arousal that swept through me moments before returns with a vengeance. There’s something about his muscled chest that makes me want to explore him with more than just my fingers, and those thoughts are dangerous to be having about a wolf.

I rip my eyes away and get to my feet, so I can go find somewhere to hide until I’ve gotten control of my hormones. Or that’s what I intend, until I remember Keane asked me a question. I lift my head and find his eyes focused on my bare legs with an intensity that makes me desperate to know what he’s thinking.

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