Melinda’s Wolves(55)

What he really needed—and Mitch knew all too well—was a quiet place to shift and let his hand heal on its own. It would be so much faster than modern human medicine. But days like this happened occasionally, and the only way Keegan could keep his cover as a lupine under wraps would be to accept a variety of human intervention and pretend whatever issues he had weren’t severe enough to need attention.

It was always difficult to rationalize to other people the next day why a gash that bled like this current one was nearly gone in the morning.

Mitch followed him back to his office, the two of them picking up the pace as they went. Mitch chuckled. “You need more sleep, man. And you need to get laid. You’re distracted. That mate of yours is making your brain foggy.”

Keegan rolled his eyes as he turned to face Mitch when they reached the door to the trailer. “Thanks for the advice, but I don’t think my lack of sleep caused a crane to mistakenly drop a board almost on our heads.”

“Of course, but what about mysterious elevated objects that randomly pop up to trip you?” Mitch jumped back as he finished the sentence, still smiling broadly.

Under normal circumstances, Keegan would have read Mitch the riot act for his unnecessary goading. But when Mitch lifted both hands in surrender and backed up farther, Keegan decided to let it go for now. After all, his hand hurt like a motherfucker. And in addition, his mate was currently waiting inside the construction office.

The last thing he needed was to continue the banter with Mitch while dealing with God-knew-what sort of reaction Melinda would have to his injury.

“I’m out of here,” Mitch declared. “I’ll be back tomorrow. We’ve got our work cut out for us at this site.”

That was the truth.





Chapter Seventeen


Melinda jumped from her uncomfortable seat in Keegan’s office as the door opened. The first thing she smelled was blood. The second thing was her mate, distress wafting off him in waves. “What happened to your hand?” she asked as he shut the door.

“It’s nothing. I just need a Band-Aid.”

Melinda watched him as he stepped behind the desk and released his palm to reach under the desk for something. A second later, he set a first-aid kit on the metal surface and worked it open with one hand.

“A Band-Aid?” she questioned, hoping he was kidding. The cut on his palm would require significantly more attention than that. “Uh, Keegan?” Was he serious?

He was grinning when she lifted her gaze to his, the first time she’d seen him less than stiff and aggravated since they’d arrived. “Yeah, it might be worse than that, but it’ll do for now.”

The unspoken words “until I can shift” hung in the air.

“Well, are you done here? Can you leave for the day?”

“Yep.”

She watched as Keegan cleaned the cut and indeed grabbed a Band-Aid from the first-aid kit. The amount of blood had been deceiving. The cut wasn’t long—it was deep. In actuality, now that he’d washed it off with wipes, it was less noticeable.

“There. I don’t think it will even require a shift.” He put the kit back under his desk. “Shall we go?”

Melinda followed Keegan to his truck and blew out a breath as she settled into the seat. The infuriating man had rattled her the entire day. The stress of meeting his co-workers, being anywhere near this dreaded casino construction, and facing the daunting vibes coming from the entire surroundings was enough.

When she added Keegan’s intensity, his ability to make her panties wet and keep them that way—not to mention bring her close to orgasm and leave her needy—it was amazing she could still think.

Of course, it didn’t take much effort for him to get her horny. She was beyond aroused all the time even without his attention. Just his presence, or hell the thought of him, made her pussy spasm.

“You okay, baby?” Trace communicated as they drove back to Keegan’s house.

“Hmm. Define ‘okay.’”

Trace chuckled into her head.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Keegan’s. How far away are you?”

Keegan answered this, having been included in the last question. “Ten minutes.”

“I have dinner.”

“Bless you,” Keegan said.

“You cook?” Melinda asked.

Trace laughed into her head again. “Occasionally, but not this time. I brought Chinese. A variety. I assumed there would be something you like.”

“Love it.” She kept her gaze focused outside the window, her body as close to the door as possible. If she got anywhere near Keegan, she would be challenged to force him to pull over. If he didn’t comply with her needs, she would be mortified.