Sharon’s Wolves(13)

And that had only been a few weeks ago. Until then, she’d moved back in with her parents at the edge of the resort to give Logan, Amanda, and Sawyer their space.

Not that she would have wanted to live in the same condo as the three of them, anyway. The thought of hearing them mate through the thin walls gave her the chills. “I’ve actually only been here a few weeks.”

“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else. Instead he headed for the open kitchen plan and set the bottle of wine on the counter. “Smells delicious.”

“Thanks. I guess I should have asked you if you liked lasagna first.” That same nervous laughter squeaked out. “Please tell me you eat red meat and like Italian.”

He smiled as he stepped closer to her. “Would you have told me if you hated Merlot?”

She scrunched up her face. “Touché.”

He kept approaching, slowly, stalking toward her until her heart raced from the proximity. His scent was intoxicating. If he were a wolf, instead of just named Wolf, they wouldn’t be standing there posturing. Instead they would already have their clothes off, and he would be buried inside her until she saw stars. The irony of his name wasn’t lost on her.

Actually, she realized, that wasn’t exactly accurate. If he were a shifter, they would have mated Tuesday night after she’d shifted just long enough to keep her leg from splitting open again with the effort.

Or last Friday.

Or fuck. Who was she kidding? She would have nailed him to the wall in the locker room at the lodge one of the many times he’d come there to ski over the winter.

She hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but she’d seen him there. He’d watched her from a distance while she taught classes or sold tickets or snapped tiny skis onto small children.

At first she’d thought he was some random human who found her attractive. Over time she’d wondered if she was wrong about him. In order to avoid finding out the truth, she’d kept her distance.

Cooper was hers. She’d known that for so long it had become her own personal truth. Not this Native American, human man who lived forty minutes away in Sojourn on the reservation.

So she’d stayed far enough away from Jackson Wolf to avoid fully scenting him and rocking her foundation. She told herself it was a simple crush. An attraction. There was nothing wrong with finding some guy sexy from afar. Especially not a guy like Jackson. He was tall, hovering over her own five eight. He was built, even though she now knew he was an accountant most days, when he wasn’t tracking down illegal loggers.

His hair was thick and dark. He kept it cropped short, but she wanted to run her fingers through it. She could have approached him any number of times and even dated him. But something had held her back. Obviously Fate had Her timing. And She meant for Sharon to realize who Jackson was to her last Friday, not a moment before.

Jackson had inched closer while she pondered her weird existence. He stood so close that he reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. His touch sent a rush of adrenaline through her body.

She inhaled his scent long and slow. He smelled of the outdoors under fresh clean soap from a recent shower.

In a deep, gentle voice he spoke again. “So, I’m going to eat lasagna and you’re going to drink Merlot for the rest of our lives without ever admitting the truth?”

Before she could react to his statement, he dropped his hand, his face registering shock. “Shit, that sounded a bit presumptuous. I didn’t mean…” His voice trailed off, a deeper tone than his usual.

All Sharon could think about was the loss of his touch. The sound of his soothing voice. The words hadn’t mattered. What mattered was the way her pussy clenched when he spoke them. In the end, a flush raced up her chest to settle on her cheeks. She would orgasm to that voice a million times in her life.

Too bad one of those times wouldn’t be tonight.

She needed to get her head on straight. The guy was human. Easing him into her life was the plan. Not pouncing on Jackson Wolf like she was some sort of…wolf.

He turned his face, and she dropped one crutch to grab his arm. It clattered to the floor. Instead of addressing his embarrassment, she backed up to his previous comment. “I’ll never tell. From here on out, my new favorite beverage is red wine.” She smiled to ease his tension.

His eyes sparkled as he grinned. “Italian is my new favorite food.”

“Then it’s settled.” She almost forgot everything that mattered and set her foot on the ground to lean into him. Luckily, she found one functioning brain cell and stopped herself.

It was going to be a long night.

»»•««

Jackson swallowed the last bite of lasagna on his plate and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his legs at the ankles and sipped the Merlot. It was good. He wouldn’t know if she agreed or not—perhaps ever—but he liked it. “That was the best meal I’ve had in months. Thank you.”