Her only contact with the outside world had been the monthly check-in by the Council for Shifter Affairs representative. Ameera Radwell, a fussy little bureaucrat of a woman. And thank God for that check-in, because without it, she had a feeling they wouldn’t even have bothered with hiding her out on that farm for all those years. She’d just have been shipped off to some facility somewhere until…
She shuddered and quickly pushed those thoughts out of her head. “Would I be able to work at the Lion’s Den, maybe cleaning up?” she asked him. “I have no money left at all, and I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You wouldn’t be a burden, but I understand if you want to work. I’ll talk to Blair – she’s one of the managers. You can start tomorrow.”
“Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you so much. What? Why are you smiling?”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Your manners. There aren’t that many people here like you. Most of us are…hard, I guess. We keep up barriers.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“I’m not making fun of you,” he protested. “It’s actually really nice.”
Was that genuine warmth in his gaze?
She felt herself blushing, and looked away. Then a thought occurred to her. “So, if you have TV, you must get internet service?”
Maybe she could get some intel on the people who were chasing her. The ones who had hired Loren to deceive her. The ones who wanted to use her as a lab rat.
Finn shook his head. “Unfortunately, not anywhere in our territory. The only cell tower that connects to the internet is in bear territory, and ever since Ruben took over, we’re cut off.”
“Oh. Okay.” She found herself bobbing her head for no reason, and stopped. Then she stood there, not knowing what to say next. She didn’t have a lot of practice in making conversation with men. And although Finn struck her as the kind of guy who would normally be as smooth as silk when it came to women, he didn’t seem to know what to say to her.
There was a long, awkward silence that seemed to stretch on for several years. What was he thinking?
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed. I’d sleep in the bed with you, but then I wouldn’t actually get any sleep. You have that effect on me.”
She felt her cheeks heating up, and warmth rippled through her body. “Uh…thank you?”
He managed a rueful smile. The fire that had been in his eyes earlier when he’d looked at her…it had been extinguished. Something had happened to him after he’d spanked her, something that had upset him. “It’s meant as a compliment, I assure you.”
“The couch is too small for you,” she protested. “I’ll sleep there.”
“Nope. Bed’s more comfortable, so you sleep there.”
“I will take the couch,” she insisted.
He walked over, flopped down on the couch, and lay down on it lengthwise. “No room,” he said.
“Fine, you win. Tonight, anyway.”
He raised an eyebrow as he rested his feet on the arm of the couch. “You’re welcome to arm-wrestle me for it, but I fight dirty,” he assured her.
“Well, then, the couch is all yours,” she said, heading to his bedroom and trying not to think about how very tempting that dirty wrestling match sounded.
Chapter Eight
Flora woke with a start. She’d tossed and turned most of the night and finally fallen into a fitful sleep as the sky lightened outside the small, cracked bedroom window.
She glanced at the clock on the wall and then sat bolt upright.
She’d slept late; it was 11:30 a.m. She needed to be downstairs at noon, to meet up with Blair.
She hurried into the living room. Finn was gone. There was a necklace with an “H” on the table, next to a hand-written note, and several dresses draped across a chair. “Good morning, gorgeous. Wear your mark. The dresses are for you – I had a friend drop them off for me. Help yourself to breakfast. Don’t leave the territory. I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
She showered quickly, dressed, and gulped down cereal and fruit. The dress fit her perfectly; it was black with pink flowers, made of some clingy rayon material. It was somewhat modest in that the hem skimmed her calves, and the scooped neckline barely revealed any cleavage, but it hugged her curves in a most revealing fashion. The Wilkinsons had urged Flora to dress in billows of fabric that hid her body like a giant potato sack.
Flora walked downstairs, absentmindedly running her hands over the soft fabric. The appreciative glances that she received from the few people on the club’s floor surprised her.