There had been a couple of guys since, but I always knew they weren’t the One. It didn’t make me any better at relationships.

I sighed. I was brooding. I didn’t like to fail and since my brain ran across a roadblock, it now turned inward in sheer frustration. The One would be here any minute, if the Pack didn’t kidnap him to save the world or resolve some life-shattering crisis. He would be starving. I needed to make him that steak.

• • •

I had just managed to slide the steak off the pan onto the cutting board when the doorbell rang.

Jim.

I ran to open it.

Jim stood in the doorway. He was wearing black again. Black jeans, black T-shirt, and black boots. The scars on his arms where the hag had sliced him up had healed to narrow light lines. His gaze snagged on me.

I was wearing shorts, a white tank top, and a blue apron with white-yellow flowers. The apron was a bit too long. I realized I was still holding a spatula. There was something in the way Jim looked at me, with a kind of lingering appreciation, that made my heart speed up.

“Come in,” I said, my voice squeaky.

“Thank you.”

I locked the door behind him. Awkward blind tiger girl is awkward. What else is new?

He stalked into my kitchen. I liked the way he moved, like a massive cat, unhurried, almost lazy, unless something interested him and then he would become all blinding speed and overwhelming power. His scent followed him. He had no idea, but he could make me do all kinds of stupid things just with his scent alone.

He sat on the stool at the counter.

“I made you a steak,” I said and poked at it with a spatula. “It’s still hot.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t you want to eat it? I know you’re hungry.”

“Not right now.”

“It will get cold.” Here I went through an obstacle course to make him the thing, and he didn’t even want it, silly man.

“It’s best to let the steak stand a few minutes after cooking.”

“Why?” Was it me, or was there a strange almost purring quality to his voice.

“If you cut it right away, all the juices will run out and you’ll get a dry piece of meat.”

“Ew.” I waved my spatula. “Please keep your carnivore details to yourself . . .”

He caught me by my shoulders and leaned close. Oh my gods, things were happening. His lips touched mine, hot and gentle, forging a connection. Suddenly nothing else mattered. I dropped the spatula on the floor, closed my eyes, opened my mouth and let him in. His scent swirled around me, intoxicating, the pressure of his lips on mine deliberate but careful. I lapped at his tongue, my hands stroking the broad width of his shoulders. The muscles were so taut with tension under my fingertips, as if his whole body vibrated with barely contained power. The hint of it sparked an eager need inside me. I wanted him to let go for me. I wanted the real Jim. If I could do that, I could do anything.

His kiss deepened, growing possessive, rougher, turning from a tender invitation to a commanding seduction. Breath caught in my throat. A slow velvet heat spread through me, tightening my nipples. I kissed him back, stroking his tongue with mine and giving him a taste, then pulling back. He kissed me harder. The taste of him sent shivers down my spine. My muscles turned warm and pliant. A soft ache flared between my legs. My head turned dizzy. I had to take a breath. I was losing what little control I had and I wanted so much for it to be good for him.

His arms gripped me, the hard, powerful muscle sliding against my shoulders as he pulled me closer. I pulled back and he let go. We broke apart. I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me and in the depth of his dark irises I saw raw, overwhelming desire.

Oh my gods, I would do anything if he kept looking at me like that.

He wanted me. Oh he wanted me so badly.

I leaned in and nipped his lower lip.

He tipped my head back, his mouth closing on mine, the thrust of his tongue wild and hot. My apron went flying, and then his hands slid under my tank top. His rough thumb caressed my right nipple, sending tiny electric shocks through me. I leaned against that touch, grinding against him, his lust driving me out of my mind. It was all for me. He was excited for me. He was kissing me. His hands gripped my butt and he hoisted me on his hips. The long, hard shaft of him thrust against the aching wetness between my legs. He was hard for me.

I wanted it to be the best sex he ever had.

He tore himself from my mouth. “So beautiful.”

Please, Jim, please. Touch me, kiss me, love me . . .

He kissed my neck, nipping the sensitive skin, each pinch of his teeth adding fuel to my fire. I moaned, caught in the whirlwind of sensations, and rode him. I wanted him inside me. I needed to be full of him.

He jumped off the chair, his hands on my butt, caressing me, and I kissed him all the way upstairs. He dropped me on the bed and pulled off his shirt. Muscle corded his frame like steel cables. Excitement dashed through me. His boots and pants came off. He was huge. Oh wow.

He leaned over me and then I had no clothes on. I reached for his neck and pulled him down on top of me. He dipped his head and his mouth closed on one nipple, while his hand stroked the other. The wave of pleasure rolled through me and I arched myself, my hands in his hair. His mouth moved to the other breast. My whole body was keyed up, ready for him, as if I was perched on the edge of a scalding bath and I needed to take a plunge.

He reared above me and I reached for him. My fingers found his hard length and I stroked it. Jim growled. I laughed and wrapped my legs around him. He lowered himself on me, his weight on his arms, his expression wicked and hot, so hot.