Chapter Fifteen

Sam couldn’t wait anymore. It was five o’clock. Long past time for Glenna to have recuperated from her very early morning excursion. He knew she was hiding down in the basement, hoping to avoid him, but she couldn’t hide any longer. He knew about putting off confrontation—nothing good ever happened from it. He put the last finishing touches on the simple meal he’d prepared and called down into the dark stairway.

“Glenna, I’m eating dinner. If you don’t get up here and put some meat on those skinny bones, I will be coming down to help you do it.”

He would like nothing better than to feed her again, watch her sultry lips open up for his food like she was receiving nirvana. He clamped down hard on the arousal shooting through his body and hardening his cock. She’d made it plain yesterday afternoon, she wasn’t interested. And he wouldn’t chase her. He was never doing that again. He’d already been down the road of rejection before and had barely clawed his way back to sanity.

He placed his foot on the first step. “I’m on my way.”

She came up slowly, avoiding his eyes, but looking at the food sideways, her nostrils flaring like it was a trapped rabbit and she a starving coyote. He remembered the gnawing, constant hunger of the change. Even though he’d also had male adolescent hunger on top of it, he was sure that after the two weeks she’d spent sedated, her body was more than capable of clearing out a refrigerator like a starved adolescent.

“Finally. I thought you’d sulk down there for the entire rest of the day.”

“I wasn’t sulking.” Her chin rose. “I was sleeping. My walk this morning made me tired.”

She looked tired. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her face looked even more drawn and pale than before.

He frowned. “Your walk?” Her escape attempt, more likely. He let it go. For now. “Dinner is out on the deck.” He didn’t want to be inside where her raging pheromones would fill the small space of the kitchen and drive his wolf wild. He held the door wide open, making sure she had plenty of room and wouldn’t have to touch him to get past.

“Thank you.” She moved out onto the porch, her body movements stiff, avoiding both his body and his eyes, and despite his resolutions to keep away from her he was disappointed.

Her rejection of him shouldn’t feel as bad as it did. She wasn’t in any shape or form to choose a mate now. She was still reeling from the shock of their world and her introduction to it, and the change was wreaking havoc on her body. She should wait until the change had calmed down and her natural choice of mate ramped her hormones back up again for the mating. He shouldn’t feel it personally. But he did.

He put their food on the table and took the seat directly opposite so she would have to look at him. He shouldn’t needle her, knew it was playing with fire. But he did it anyway because what he really wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. Since he shouldn’t do that, pushing her buttons was the next best thing.

Her stomach rumbled.

“Maybe you should have come up earlier.”

She shot him a dirty look, picked up her napkin and unfolded it, and placed it on her lap. “Maybe I would have if you’d cooked earlier.”

He snorted.

She sat, hands folded neatly in her lap. Not eating. He could see the hunger etched in her face, but she was resisting the warm grilled sandwich and salad. Acting as if she wasn’t near drooling with hunger.

“If you aren’t going to eat, we can talk,” he said, making every effort to keep his voice normal, controlled, not revealing the intense anticipation racing through him at seeing her near food. The sensory experience of her eating lasagna still seared fresh in his memory, every bite, lick, and moan.

“It’s polite to wait until your host picks up his food first.” Her voice was stiff but her eyes were clamped on her dinner.

“Well, la-di-da.” He picked up his sandwich and opened his mouth to take a bite. And watched her do the same.

Her even, white teeth sank into the bread and her eyes slammed shut. Pleasure washed up her face and she made a sound in the back of her throat.

He hadn’t even bit into his food and he could almost taste the crusty French bread layered with the pungent flavors of homemade pesto, feta cheese, and slivers of smoked pastured ham and chicken. She swallowed and opened her lips for the next bite.

It shot straight to his groin.

He put his sandwich down so he could focus on Glenna. Her slow, savoring sounds and movements. The flush high on her pale skin. His palms grew damp and his muscles tensed as he waited for her next taste of his food.

She chewed in slow reverence, denying what he knew to be her body’s urge to devour.

He shouldn’t be doing this. She wasn’t his. She would never be his. His wolf had had its chance with Serena—and he was never giving it another shot at fucking up that badly ever again.

Every instinct of self-preservation told him he should be putting some space between himself and Glenna’s sensual enjoyment of the food he’d carefully put together just for this reaction. But he didn’t move. Wasn’t sure he could move.

If she experienced a sandwich like this, God only knew what she’d look like for dessert. And he’d worked hard on dessert.

He shook off his desire and picked up his sandwich. He had to get his brain off sex or he’d be lost. “Glenna, we need to talk.”

She swallowed, delaying her next bite and his question by asking, “What kind of sandwich is this?”

“Chicken and pesto.”

Her eyelids had dropped low, and her sensual gaze was now locked with his. He’d wanted her to look at him, but now, he could tell it was a mistake.

“Oh, wow,” she said and took another mouthful. After she chewed and swallowed she waved the sandwich at him. “You could sell these.”

“I do.” He smiled and finally took a bite of his own sandwich, letting the flavors roll over his tongue.

“What?” She put the sandwich down. “But I thought you were—” her eyes flickered away from his “—a security guard.”

“Don’t stop. I’m enjoying your pleasure. It’s not often I get to see someone who truly enjoys their food.” He shouldn’t watch her eat anymore. It was a sensual torture of the worst kind, but he didn’t want her to stop. “Try the salad.”

She took a forkful. “Oh, that’s so good! What is that?” She took another bite, and another.

“It’s just something I threw together. Lettuce. A little vinegar and oil. Parmesan. Some olives.”

“That’s it? Is that all that’s in there?”

“Maybe a few other things,” Her enjoyment in his food had him grinning like a fool. And he almost didn’t care. “You like it, that’s what’s important.”

“I more than like it, I could live off it forever.” She reflected back his grin-like-a-fool expression. “Tell me how a security guard sells food like this?”

“I’m not a security guard, I’m a pack enforcer.” He blew past the tiny wrinkle in her forehead to the term. “We’re a mostly volunteer force. I actually have...had—” he corrected himself, his grin fading “—I had a restaurant with my brother—a small family deli that my dad started.”

“Had?”

“He got married. I moved away.” He didn’t want to talk about it. Couldn’t talk about it with the lump that rose in his throat at the thought of everything he’d lost. Gabe would have worked with him. Gabe and Serena. He put his sandwich down suddenly not hungry. “Anyway, that’s when I went full time as a pack enforcer.”

Her face had gone stiff and polite at his obvious emotion. “Pack enforcer. I’ve never met a policeman before.”

He’d made her uncomfortable. He forced a smile and continued talking. “It’s stretching it to call it police. We’re the pack council’s muscle.”

She pushed her plate away with only half of the sandwich and three quarters of the salad eaten. He could almost feel her hunger, like a whisper on his skin.

“You aren’t full.”

“That’s enough for now.” Her eyes dropped away.

“That’s not what I said.” He pushed the plate back towards her. “Are you full? Satisfied?”

“I should stop.”

“Are you anorexic?” Maybe that explained the extreme state of thinness that was more than the last two weeks.

She shook her head hard. “I just shouldn’t, that’s all.”

He picked up his sandwich and bit into it, considering her while he chewed. “Someone’s done a number on you.”

Heat washed over her pale cheeks. “It’s none of your business.”

“Yeah, it kinda is. First of all, it’s my food. By not eating, you’re insulting the chef.” He put his sandwich down and stood up. “Second, you’re my responsibility until Lana gets back. And I take my responsibilities seriously.”

He moved to stand next to her. Her breathing sped up and her pupils darkened. Her reaction to him tingled along his skin.

Fuck what he should do. Fuck his good intentions.

He wanted her—wanted her to react to him the way she reacted to his food. Wanted her shaking and quivering and flushed beneath him. Wanted her making those sounds she’d made earlier for him, as he sank inside her warm, wet center.

He should leave her alone. He had all the reasons in the world to leave her alone—but he couldn’t resist.

“And third of all, sugar, you’re disappointing me.” He dropped down until his face was level with her flushed one, close enough now that he could feel each panicky breath like a lover’s touch raising all the hairs on his bare arms. “I like watching you eat.” His eyes flicked down to her lips and back up. “Every bite you put in your mouth goes straight to my cock.”

He placed his arms on either side of her, grabbing the arms of her chair and turning her to face him. Then he moved in closer. She clamped her knees together, but she didn’t tell him to stop. He knelt down and brushed her hair back behind her ear. Lowered his face to her exposed neck and skimmed his hot, damp breath along her skin.

“Glenna,” he whispered at the corner of her mouth.