Seduced by a Shifter(58)

With a groan Ben pulled away, looking at her with a mix of irritation and desire. “I may have to kill them yet.”

Her hands grasped the front of his shirt. “Then you wouldn’t be able to teach me to ski.”

“Nah.” He pressed a kiss to her nose. “Wouldn’t take long.” Mischief danced in his eyes. “I know a cliff I can drop them off.”

“Play nice.” She pinched his chest to emphasis her comment, or tried to. He was all sinewy muscle under her hands, a thrilling enticement to stroke and pet. Which she did.

“I’m not feeling nice,” he grumbled near her ear.

No, indeed. By the thick hardness pressing against her belly, she already guessed at what other emotion he felt, and totally understood. Her own arousal was kicking into high gear. Still, she pulled free.

“Maybe after breakfast. I’m hungry.”

His smile went wolfish. “So am I, sweetheart. So am I.”

Now that was a definite double entendre. Luckily nothing disastrous happened during breakfast and after a quick shower and change of clothes, specifically a turtleneck to hide the hickey on her neck—she would not blush!—Willow went with Ben to his apartment to pick up his equipment. Her bodyguards were not far behind.

Intrigued by anything of Ben’s, she walked around his place. Large, comfy furniture in male colors of dark brown and cream dominated the space seemingly too clean for a bachelor. “Doesn’t look at if you spend much time here.”

“Not really,” his voice came from a second bedroom. “I’m out a lot. Work and stuff.”

She knew what the stuff was by the way so many people thanked him for his help. “But you don’t have to work today?”

Water ran in the bathroom and, thinking he may not have heard her, she ambled over to a wall to check out the only picture in the room. It was of a wolf.

She stared at it in surprise. It was a summer shot, the surrounding trees heavy with green leaves. Though the animal’s fur lacked the thickness of a winter coat, there was no mistaking its color matched the wolf she’d seen outside the cabin door.

“No. That’s mainly just weekends.”

Engrossed in the same amber eyes, the same proud tilt of her wolf’s head, she jumped at Ben’s voice. Then she rewound to consider his words.

Just weekends? How could he afford to live on a part-time job? “And what do you do in the summer?”

“A little of this, a little of that.” His voice became louder as he entered the living room. “Don’t worry, Will. I’m not destitute.”

She turned to face him, noticing right away that he’d shaved. A large black duffel bag lay at his feet. Another bag, bright green, thin, and nearly as tall as he was, propped against the wall. His ski equipment, most likely. “No?”

He looked as if he were struggling with something. “My real job is helping Dean.”

Her brows flew up. “The mayor?”

His expression took on a sheepish appearance. “Yeah. You could say I’m his eyes and ears in the community.”

“Really?” Her eyes tightened. “And what does that mean?”

“Well.” He scratched his chin, a delaying tactic. “You might have noticed that Dean’s not the easy, approachable type.”

Willow only nodded, agreeing with Ben’s assessment of the town’s mayor.

“But he’s got a heart of gold and loves this town, his pa...people.” He cleared his throat. “I basically interact with those people. Listen to their concerns, questions. Get a handle on the town’s morale, their needs. Same for tourists.”

“And keep Dean informed?”

“Precisely.”

Huh. “And that includes the kids,” she said, thinking of his Tuesday afternoon skating lessons to a bunch of kindergarteners.

A lift of one shoulder. “Kids are people too.”

Riiiight. Rather than dig for more as curiosity demanded, she let it go, giving Ben the same courtesy he bestowed by not pressing for answers regarding her nightmare.

Less than an hour later she found herself on the bunny slope at the ski lodge, quickly coming to the conclusion that skiing was not for her. She simply could not keep her feet on the ground and push out. Her skis continued to cross in front of her, the poles a miserable excuse for propulsion. By the fifth time she landed on her rump—Ben laughing so hard she could see the tears in his eyes, the jerk—ashe’d had it. Even the little two-year-old boy, also learning to ski, flew down the gradual incline with joyful shouts of glee.

She should have stayed on the ski lodge deck with Scott and Joe; then she wouldn’t be cold and wet. Bemused by her lack of coordination, she conceded defeat, but she wasn’t unhappy by any means. Not when Ben kissed her—albeit with amusement swimming in his eyes, the beast—every time she went down. If she’d known he would do that, she might have taken the tumbles accidentally on purpose. She’d have to remember that for next time.