Last Wolf Standing (2 page)

He tripped her.

One moment she was walking past, minding her own business, and in the next his strategically placed scuffed brown hiking boot had her sprawled over the stylish Italian tiled floor, sputtering and cursing quietly under her breath as she came to her knees and struggled to wipe tomato soup off her lenses.

“Are you okay?” he asked, crouching down beside her, wincing at the gruffness of his tone as she turned to him, the biggest pair of dark green eyes he’d ever seen blinking at him in owlish surprise.

“Um, yeah, I think so,” she said slowly, then a spark of mischief began to burn in the deep green of her gaze and she laughed a low, throaty sound that slipped down his spine like a woman’s mouth, damn near making his eyes cross. “I’ve never heard of anyone drowning in soup before, so I think I’m safe,” she drawled, still laughing, and he felt himself grinning in return, until something seemed to burst into awareness between them and their gazes locked in a powerfully raw, smoldering stare, both of them caught in its hold.

The connection burned like pure energy, crackling and sharp, as if the air between their bodies had been electrically charged, and he all but expected to see sparks skittering on the strange current. As he gazed upon her fey face, unique details began imprinting themselves upon his memory like the timeless grooves worn into stone by the rushing currents of the sea, washing away the women of his past until there was nothing but her. Nothing but the delicate curve of her jaw. The tiny beauty mark perched impishly on the arc of her right cheekbone; the darker green that rimmed the softer shade of her gaze. And then there was that mouth, with sensual lips that looked velvety soft and sweetly shy, their color a natural, blushing rose that no cosmetic could duplicate. The carnal things he wanted to do to that kissable little mouth should have been illegal—hell, in some states they probably were. And on top of everything, all the erotic little details that made his head feel thick and his groin feel thicker, there was that provocative scent, earthy and addictive, drugging him with lust and oddly enough…tenderness.

Her breath quivered, twin spots of color cresting across her beautiful cheekbones, and then she shivered, wrenching herself free of the potent visual hold. She cast a quick glance down at the soup-splattered mess she had made of the floor as her soft pink mouth twisted into a wry smile. “And lucky for me, being a klutz isn’t a crime in Maryland, so I don’t think they’ll kick me outta here.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “If they tried, I’d knock their heads together and you could kick them in the ba—shins.”

Joining his laughter, she reached for her overturned tray at the same time he made a grab for it, and their heads nearly collided. They both pulled back, chuckling softly, the growing sensual connection between them all but sizzling on the air, enveloping them in their own little world. It was something hazy and soft, wrapping them in an oddly comforting warmth—cloudlike and weightless—while the desire twisting through them took on a sharp, dangerous edge, like an animal hunger demanding to be fed. She licked her lower lip in what he strongly suspected was a nervous gesture, though it hit him like a practiced seduction, it was so impossibly sexy. Mason swallowed hard as he tried not to choke on the growl he was fighting down, and then Jeremy, his deep voice rough with surprise, suddenly blurted out, “You tripped her!”

Mason closed his eyes and counted to ten, reminding himself the entire time that he couldn’t dismember one of his closest friends, not to mention his Bloodrunning partner, at least not in the middle of a restaurant. The urge to do so was so powerful, however, that he actually felt the tips of his fingers burning as razor-sharp claws pricked impatiently beneath the surface of his skin.

Trying not to snarl, he cut a dark look up at Jeremy, all the while wondering if lightning would strike when he delivered the outright lie. “I think you know me well enough, Burns, to agree that it’d be a cold day in hell before I ever did anything like that.” Ten minutes ago that would have been the honest truth, but Mason figured he was smart enough to realize things were rapidly changing on him, and the reason was deliciously wrapped up in white cotton and denim at his side.

“Then hell just froze over,” Jeremy snorted, grinning as if he thought it was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen, “because you just did.”

“Cut the crap, Jeremy.” He gritted through his teeth, not wanting to look at her, wondering with an awful pressure in his chest if she would believe him when he denied it. No way was he actually admitting what he’d done!

“I mean, you normally have women falling all over themselves trying to catch your attention, but I never thought I’d see the day that you actually tripped one to get her on her knees in front of you.”

Daring a quick look in her direction, Mason watched as that sparkling laughter faded from her eyes, replaced by a guarded, questioning look. “It was an accident,” he muttered, knowing she didn’t believe him as she reluctantly let him help her to her feet.

“Yeah, sure,” she murmured, looking at the floor, then bending back down for her book.

He wondered if she noticed that he’d copped a feel of one firm, deliciously round breast, letting his hand slide up her side while helping her up the second time, then decided she had when she glared up at him, looking like a pissed-off little librarian with those damn glasses and that braid. That affronted image was all wrong for the molten, fiery passion he could feel bubbling just beneath her smooth surface.

“I swear you smell good enough to eat,” he blurted out in a raw, gritty voice, the harsh words all but ripped out of his throat.

He silently cursed, feeling his face go conspicuously hot while she just stared at him in shock. Where the hell did that come from?

Jeremy gave him a sharp look, then threw back his head and burst out laughing. “Oh, damn, this is priceless.” He wheezed, all but bent over as he struggled to hold in the laughter. “God, Mase, you should see the look on your face.”

“Shut. Up. Burns.”

“In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you make such an ass of yourself over a broad.”

“She isn’t a broad,” he rasped, his voice sounding husky and thick even to his own ears.

As if a light switch had suddenly been flipped in his head, the humor vanished from Jeremy’s face. He cursed roughly under his breath, then cut his sharp hazel gaze from her to him, and back to her again, letting his eyes travel over her in a slow, thorough search from the top of her head down to her cute little sneaker-covered feet. His stunned gaze swung back to Mason, hot with accusation. “I don’t friggin’ believe it. You can’t be serious.”

“Leave it alone,” he warned, not wanting to have this conversation here, in front of her. God only knew what Jeremy would say.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Jeremy argued in a low voice, stepping closer. “Not the kind of crap you’ll bring down on her head, and all because you wanna get laid.”

Wishing he could gag the son of a bitch before he said anything more, Mason growled, “Last warning, Jeremy. Shut up.”

Jeremy stepped closer, unwilling to back down. “Don’t mess with her, Mason.”

“Her does have a name,” she suddenly cut in, her slightly husky voice coming through sharp and clear with mounting irritation. Then, as if dismissing them, she turned back to the mess on the floor, crouched down, and began throwing her ruined lunch back onto the tray. She grumbled under her breath about the lack of help from the café’s staff, while the growing throng of customers sidestepped the unsightly mess, obviously too rushed or rude to offer any help. Then again, he knew they were probably being given a wide berth on purpose. He’d been told, on more than one occasion, that he and Jeremy were an intimidating pair.

Watching as she finished picking up, Mason felt like an ass when he realized he should have been helping her. She stood up with the trash-laden tray, and looked down at her splattered clothing, shaking her head in disgust, talking to herself as she muttered, “Great, I’m wearing tomato soup. How lovely. Now everyone at work will think I’ve been ravaged by a bloodsucking vampire.”

“You believe in vampires?” Jeremy asked, eyeing her with a skeptical look of suspicion.

“Hardly,” she snapped, “but then I’m not the norm around Mic’s.”

“Who the hell is Mic?” Mason grunted, not liking the questions firing through his brain in rapid succession. Mic, the boyfriend? Mic, the next-door neighbor who tore up her sheets with her on Friday night? Mic, the macho mechanic who made her melt when he smiled at her? Whoever the hell he was, Mason hated him.

“Who’s Mic?” she repeated, the corners of her mouth turning down in a tight, irritated frown. “Michaela is my best friend and my boss,” she started to explain, before pressing her lips together and shaking her head. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added.

“I’m making you my business,” he growled softly, stepping closer, crowding into her space.

She took a short step back and stopped, pinning him with a hard glare. “One more move and I’m screaming.”

God, what was his problem? He was screwing this damn thing up before it even got started. Hell, no one had told him that discovering his life mate would turn him into a blundering, chest-pounding idiot. He was as bad as a gangly teenager high on raging hormones, unable to think past the red-hazed lust and possessiveness clouding his mind.

And to make matters worse, he actually wanted to…get to know this woman. Learn things about her. Her favorite food. Favorite color. Books, movies, pet peeves and things she did for fun. All of which sounded suspiciously like getting to know her on a level that went far beyond physical intimacy, to something deeper and more meaningful.

That was bad, because Mason didn’t have a clue how to handle it. He was a Bloodrunner for God’s sake—he didn’t have time for conversation and “getting to know” people. Not that he had any choice here. The importance of making a good impression on the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with wasn’t lost on him, and here he was screwing it up with every damn word that came out of his mouth. At least if he’d had Hennessey on hand, he could have asked for some advice from the womanizing Irishman. Then again, maybe having that pretty face around his woman wasn’t such a good idea. Burns was available, and he knew Jeremy never had any trouble when it came to women. But his social skills were as pathetic as his own, so there’d be no help coming from that quarter.

Looked like he was on his own. Damn.

Taking a deep breath, Mason strove for a calm, nonthreatening, I’m-just-a-nice-guy kind of tone. “Look, I’m sorry. This has been a hell of a day already. How about you take a seat and I’ll get you some more food, okay? That way we can sit and talk.” There, that was good, he thought with a brief measure of relief. He’d managed to form four sentences without sounding like a jealous ass or mentioning how badly he wanted her.

But the look on her face told him she wasn’t buying it.

Christ. This wasn’t going to work. He was going to go up in flames, he realized with no small amount of frustration, dragging the back of his wrist over his damp forehead, wondering if the expression in his eyes mirrored the intensity of his need…or if she simply thought he was nuts.

“Is this,” she said after a moment, studying him from beneath the thick fringe of long russet lashes, “some kind of setup?”

Another deep breath, slow and easy, while he struggled to stay in control. “Setup? For what?”

“God only knows. Some radio show? Are you DJs?” she asked suspiciously.

Mason folded his arms across his chest and scowled at her, insulted down to his boots. “Do I look like a damn DJ?”

She shrugged the delicate line of her shoulders, blowing a wayward wisp of curling auburn hair out of her eyes. “I have no idea. Really, I think I should just be on my way now.”

He opened his mouth to try and convince her to stay, even though he didn’t have a clue what he could say at this point. Unfortunately, Jeremy chose that moment to put in another two cents’ worth. “I’m telling you, man, she doesn’t deserve this. Leave her the hell alone.”

Mason didn’t even take his eyes off her as he softly replied, “I don’t have a choice.”

From the corner of his vision, he watched Jeremy’s hazel gaze narrow as the meaning and repercussions of what he was saying—and what he wasn’t saying—began to seep in. “Christ, Mase. If that means what I think it means, then you know you should walk away. You can’t risk it with Simmons more than likely watching us now that we’re closing in on him.”

“And you should know that walking away isn’t an option for me,” he shot back, careful to keep his voice low so they didn’t draw unwanted attention.

“As fascinating as this is, I’m just going to slink away now myself,” she said carefully, obviously freaked out by their conversation and his behavior. Handing her tray to a dour-faced busboy who finally scuffed by, she took several steps away from them. “I’d say thanks for helping me up, but then, you were the one who dumped me on my ass in the first place. Still, thanks.”

“Just give me a chance to explain. Please. That’s all I’m asking. We’ll stay right here, at one of the tables,” Mason said in a low, urgent rumble, grabbing hold of her arm as she turned, careful not to squeeze too hard. Her bones felt infinitely fragile beneath the inhuman strength of his hand, sending a fierce surge of protectiveness through his blood.