Wait a minute. “Are you telling me...?” She simply could not bring herself to say it.
“You’re my mate, sweetheart. You’re my other half.”
She closed her eyes, head shaking in firm denial. “No.”
“Yes.” He growled the single word, causing her eyes to pop open. When he reached for her again she growled herself. “Don’t touch me.”
“Dammit, Will.” He jammed his fingers in his hair, agitation plastered all over his features.
“Dammit nothing, Ben. You can’t expect me to accept all of this and jump back into bed with you.”
“Why not?” His face scrunched like a petulant child, wanting something he couldn’t have.
As for Willow, her jaw dropped at his sullenness. “Because it’s too much. Because I need to think. Because you’re a damn wolf, Ben. A wolf.”
He stood, his anger rising to the surface, a muscle in his jaw working as he struggled to cap his fury. Every inch of his long, lean body rippled with barely held power and she suddenly realized he could probably, literally, snap her in two. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
“What? And now you fear me? Christ, Willow! I’d sooner cut off my head than hurt a hair on yours.” He let out a string of curses, towering over her, hands fisting until his knuckles turned white.
He turned in a circle, hands lacing behind his head. “I’m still me, Will. Still Ben. I’m the same person who took you to dinner, who taught you to ski. Who held you when you had a nightmare, for God’s sake! I’m still the same man you made love with. The man you gave your virginity to.”
Yeah. And now she knew why. The mating heat. Ben didn’t want her for her, he wanted her because she could give him four-legged offspring.
She refused to meet his gaze. “I need some time alone.” It was a mere whisper. “Please, Ben. Leave. If you care about me at all, leave me alone so I can think.”
For several long minutes he stood there. Stood there watching her still form, her head down as she gazed blindly at the tabletop. Finally, after an eternity, she heard him go back into the bedroom, grab up his things and make his way to the front door. “I don’t know how long I can stay away, Willow. You’re my mate and I...need you. Your touch is a balm to my soul.”
She kept her back to him, her spine rigid. “That’s just pheromones, Ben.”
“All attraction starts off as pheromones, Will. Until it turns into something more meaningful. Something lasting.” He paused and she so wanted to look at him, to read his expression. She didn’t.
“I’ll stay the rest of the night next door, then I have work in the morning. The guys will be back to”—he paused—“normal by then.”
A minute ticked by in silence, then, “Don’t shut me out, baby.” An almost mournful sigh. “Just don’t shut me out.” With that, he slipped out the front door.
Too shocked to feel anything, Willow remained on the kitchen chair until the sun’s light brightened the room. Three things stood out in the chaos of her mind. One, she really wanted her father. Two, she never did ask about Rome. and three, she was in love with a damn werewolf.
Chapter Twenty-One
Willow called Rome, leaving a curt message on his phone when he had the nerve not to answer. “Did you know? Of course you knew. Why, Rome? And just what the hell are you?”
She refused to answer her bodyguard’s calls or their knocks on the door, which occurred about every half hour. Finally she went to the door and yelled, “I’m not talking to you, so go away.” Childish, she knew, but she felt like she had the right to sulk for a few hours.
Too much. It was all too much. She launched herself onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Then she listened to Ben’s messages, the one from Wednesday morning and the two from today. Over and over. The silky smooth sensuality, an animalistic purr that made her want to strip naked and rub against something hard, hot and male.
In an attempt to distract herself from the images infiltrating her brain and arousing her body to near fever-pitch levels, she turned to the Internet for information about wolves, both real and mythical.
When Rome finally got back in touch with her it was via text message, the coward, telling her “not over the phone.” He said he’d be back tomorrow, that she was safer where she was than in Fort Knox, and to “fkg relax.”
It took a minute for Willow to figure out what fkg meant, at least in Rome’s shorthand, and she briefly thought of replying what exactly he could do with his suggestion. But some calmer part of her brain interjected, reminding her that the man had saved her life. So, fine. Until she saw him again, she’d fkg relax. Or try to, anyway.