The Keeping(42)
“I...I think the interview would be beneficial to your career.”
“You’ll need to convince me of that.”
“Well—”
He interrupted, reaching around her to grab his coat, which was on a hook beside her. Mel jumped back as his arm brushed against her breast and electrical waves went through her. Ryne didn’t seem to notice and talked as if there’d been no contact between them. “I’m done here; I only work until noon on Mondays. Meet me for supper at The Broken Antler at six-thirty. You can convince me then.”
His sudden change of topic once again had Mel floundering. She hurried after him as he walked out of the building. “The Broken Antler?”
“Uh-huh. It’s the bar next door. They have great burgers, hotdogs, chilli, chicken fingers—that sort of stuff.”
Not sure what else to do but agree, Mel nodded. “All right. Six thirty.”
Ryne didn’t respond. He simply walked away, got in a black pickup truck, and drove away.
Chapter 12
Ryne headed for home, mulling about his encounter with Melody Greene. He hadn’t meant to approach her—to interact as he had—but seeing her standing just yards away, he suddenly found himself walking towards her and starting a conversation. Damn his inner wolf!
She was a funny little thing, and not about to back down from him either. Chuckling, he thought of how easy it was to tease her. Mind you, she’d held her own, dishing out some good comebacks. Sparring with her was fun, invigorating even. He liked a woman who kept him on his toes and she certainly did that. There was a fire within her, as well. A grin spread across his face as he recalled how her cheeks turned pink and her brown eyes flashed with temper.
On some level, she appealed to him physically as well. He’d sensed his wolf humming in approval when he’d carried her from his house the other day and then today, when she’d kissed him... Ryne recalled the feel of her lush breasts pressed against him, her hot mouth moving under his, her soft sighs tickling his ears—thank heavens he’d had enough sense to break it off when he had. For a moment during the kiss, the memories of pleasuring her while she slept had taken over and he’d been tempted to continue where he’d left off. It was a good thing he’d pushed her away before she noticed his arousal. Ryne shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the path his mind was following still having an effect on him. Seeking to quell his growing erection, he turned his thoughts to less pleasant matters.
The girl claimed she wanted to interview him because she’d liked his work as a photographer, but he’d sensed some deception on her part. Between werewolves, lies were hard to detect, but humans were less adept at hiding their true selves. The dilation of her pupils, the tilt of her head, a certain quality of voice and breathing patterns, all led him to believe that Ms. Greene had told him a part truth, but not the whole truth. How had she tracked him down? What was she hiding? What was her real agenda?
He stopped the truck as he reached the gated edge of his territory. Climbing out, he dealt with the lock, drove the truck through, and then secured the gate again, pausing for a moment to enjoy the scenery. Tall pines rose up on either side of the driveway, acting like sentinels that guarded the privacy of his home. Unlike much of the surrounding area, this forest was untouched and unharvested. Decaying logs, the remains of ancient trees, were scattered on the ground in amongst young saplings and strong maturing conifers. Patches of snow were still visible but Ryne knew in another month ferns, wild flowers and other forms of natural vegetation would carpet the forest floor. Already, signs of animal life were increasing as the temperatures warmed. Tracks from a myriad of creatures tattooed the muddy ground while birds chirped and twittered overhead in the trees. This would be his first spring on his own land and he was anxious to explore his domain without a concealing blanket of snow. A wolf needed to become one with his territory, knowing every wrinkle in the land, the placement of each plant. Like a lover, he would watch it breathe and grow, sensing its moods, caring for it, guarding it against those who dared to trespass. He inhaled deeply, taking in the earthy, woodsy scents. Mine, both he and his wolf declared.
Ryne knew some of the locals wondered about his obsessive need for privacy, the large gate, the plethora of warning signs, but no one was pressing for answers. That was one nice thing about Stump River. The people were friendly, but not too nosey, seeming to be content to leave each other alone. Maybe it was all part of their Canadian heritage. When researching the country, he’d read about their concept of being a ‘cultural mosaic’ where individuality was encouraged rather than a ‘melting pot’ that expected everyone to blend in and conform. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen to move here. With any luck, people would leave him alone and his ‘culture’ would be allowed to flourish alongside that of the other citizens. Provided someone didn’t mess it up.