This Weakness For You (Entangled Select Otherworld) (Taming the Pack) (4 page)

Jordan—this giant of a man—actually took a step back. “You should go.”

“I have nowhere to go.” She felt strong enough to stand up…if she leaned on the arm of the couch.

He took another step back. “Why?”

“The place I was boarding Lucifer refused to keep him, and I can’t take him to my brother’s house because Vanessa is practically allergic to oxygen.” Not to mention Vanessa seemed to have sent her here…but she wasn’t going to bring that up. Dane was really opposed to her meeting Jordan. Actually, Jordan was opposed to her meeting Jordan, but he was out of luck.

“I’ll take care of your cat.” He crossed his arms. “It’s fine. We have an understanding.”

She crossed her arms, still leaning against the arm of the couch. “But I’m covered in cat hair. I can’t go back to their house like this.” What was she doing? She’d fallen at this guy’s feet. And she barely knew him. But for some reason, it seemed imperative that she stay here—that she surrender no ground.

Mmm. Jordan probably weighed twice as much as her. And he was dark as sin—the good kind of sin. She should be running from him, not wanting to curl up just like her cat.

“You can take a shower.” It was empowering to hear him so desperate, even if she didn’t know why he was. Jordan wasn’t a weak man, but he certainly had some sort of weakness for her.

“No clothes.” She gestured down. “I didn’t expect the roads to be this bad or to be bringing Lucifer back with me.”

“I can get you some clothes.”

That stopped her dead. She swallowed. If he had women’s clothes here, either he’d been in a relationship recently or he might even be in one right now. He might be married. Maybe that was why her brother had told her to stay away from him. She looked down. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. That made a lot more sense than any of the wilder explanations she’d contrived, and she’d thought of some really weird explanations—especially since her brother had mentioned a wolf.

Jordan was married, and he probably took up with all the women who visited town…meanwhile, he kept his wife locked in the cellar. He probably threw moldy bread down to her while he cavorted with strange women above her.

“What?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Does this place have a cellar?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, drawing it out. “Why?”

Because his wife was in it. It was occupied.

“Nothing. I should go. I’ll go find somewhere to stay and then buy new clothes in the morning.” Why had she thought he was interested in her? She was scrawny. Weak. And she had a furry dependent that apparently no one wanted. There was nothing about her that’d appeal to this guy, who could be on a billboard modeling those jeans he was wearing.

“I told you I could get you some clothes.” His voice sounded determined. It was probably the same voice he used on his wife when she asked for an extra crust of bread.

“I don’t want any women’s clothes you have around here—that’s…weird.” Creepy. Disgusting. And it made this intense feeling of attraction she had for Jordan dirty. She was attracted to someone unavailable. Oh, hell, she was
that
woman—that woman she’d always shaken her head at and said, “Get your own man.” Also, this wife she’d conjured up in the cellar might need those clothes if she ever escaped and ran for the police.

“I don’t have women’s clothing here. Do I look like a cross-dresser?”

The appalled horror in his voice made her smile and look up at him through her lashes. “A little.” It also helped smother her worries pretty effectively. If he didn’t have women’s clothing here, he probably wasn’t in a serious relationship…or he kept his cellar wife in very poor circumstances.

Maybe she should have kept some of her suspension of disbelief. She really couldn’t imagine a man less likely to be a cross-dresser, though.

Clearly he agreed because his mouth dropped open, and he shook his head. “No, I’m not…but I can find you something that would work until you get home. Though if Dane sees you wearing my clothes, he’ll be here with his shotgun in a heartbeat.”

“What does he have against you?”

He grimaced. “Nothing. But it’s justified.”

Nothing, but it’s justified? What did that even mean? She took a step toward him, forgetting she wasn’t in any shape to be strolling about the room, and he grabbed her around the waist on her way down for the second time as she reached for his arms.

“You might be even more stubborn than your brother. Hell, woman, stay put.”

She stood in front of him, his hands at her waist and her hands on his arms. They were a breath apart. “You were just telling me to leave.” Her voice was soft, but watching him swallow as his gaze devoured her bolstered her self-esteem.

A long pause as he stared at her, and his hands tightened at her waist for a heartbeat before he blinked and shook his head. “Well, now I’m telling you to stay.”

She edged closer to him. This must be how Lucifer felt—why he was obeying Jordan. It was like an innate desire to do what Jordan said just to stay in his favor. She’d never felt anything like this. Her parents swore she was more obstinate than Dane had ever dreamed of being. “I can stay.”

He swallowed, but then nodded. “For tonight.”

She shrugged.

His eyes narrowed. “I’ll keep your cat as long as you need, but I’m only keeping you for tonight.”

Her heart sped up, and she grinned. “You’re keeping me?”

“Aw, hell.”

…

She weighed nothing—he’d carried bags of packing peanuts that weighed more than Christa. She was a little taller than he’d given her credit for, but her thin frame deceptively made her seem fairy-sized.

“You should eat more,” he said as he carried her to his guest room. She’d managed to get a cell signal long enough to text a message to Vanessa that she was staying with someone because she was too tired to drive. So hopefully, Dane wouldn’t show up with a shotgun before morning.

Hopefully.

At least Vanessa was still too occupied with her son to do patrols, because Christa’s car was in front of his house, and any Lycan within a mile would know there was a female in his house—in the monk Alpha’s lair.

She yawned and tipped her head into his chest. “Nah, it’s just more weight to worry about when I’m having an off day.”

“And you’re having an off day?”

She nodded in slow dips of her chin as her eyes closed in long blinks. She looked like a kid who’d stayed up past bedtime. Speaking of which…

“How old are you?”

She closed her eyes, but scowled. “Twenty-four.”

“I’m almost a decade older than you.” Still, she was much older than he’d given her credit for—it was a relief. Not that he was going to do anything about it, but it’d make being attracted to her less disturbing.

“So. I’ll probably die a decade early—so it’s like we’re the same age.”

He stopped in the middle of the hall. “You will?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I have multiple sclerosis. There’s new research and treatments out all the time, so maybe not.”

“Are they expensive?” If it was about money, he
had
money. His contracting business was well in the black year after year. Even if it was the off-season, they’d made enough during the summer for everyone to take some of the winter off—he
had
money.

Without his Lycan hearing, he wouldn’t have heard her mumble, “They’re mostly experimental or don’t always work.”

Nudging open the door with his foot, he didn’t bother with the lights. He didn’t need lights. He set her gingerly down on the bed in the light spilling in from the hall. She was too fragile. He’d break her if he wasn’t careful.

When he pulled away, his sleeve stayed gripped in her fist. Her hand was warm under his as he tried to unwind her fingers from the fabric. Her soft skin sent electric shocks of awareness up along his nerves. He’d never wanted anyone half as much as he wanted her. The lust felt richer and deeper—and as heart-pounding and right as a sprint in the forest on a moon-drenched night. All of his Lycan nature growled “mine” whenever she was near. The strength of the scent-match’s power in contrast to the fine bones of her small hand was a reminder that this couldn’t work. Fierce versus fragile—this had mistake written all over it. Feeling her gaze on him, he looked up.

Her drowsy green eyes were focused on him. “Stay,” she mouthed.

“I can’t.” She couldn’t ask that of him. He’d told Vanessa he wasn’t ever going to see her again a few days ago, and then she’d shown up tonight like an unasked-for, but very much wanted, gift. His blood had been on a low boil since she’d arrived, and his brain had bypassed his will. Damn, he’d told her he wanted to keep her, and that wasn’t even the half of it. He wanted to possess her. He wanted this tiny, fragile female under him, moaning his name. This was madness. He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. He was losing his mind. He couldn’t stay in this room with her.

“Stay,” she said again—this time louder.

He was an Alpha. Leader of the pack. He was the one everyone submitted to—and he couldn’t say no to a female who weighed a hundred pounds when she was wet. He tried to be more firm as he said “I can’t” but if it worked, the difference was negligible at best.

“Why? What are you hiding?”

He tried to tug his sleeve from her hand. “Nothing.” She had a firm grip for someone half asleep.

“Coward.”

He glanced up at this and the wolf roared up within him. He could take a lot, but direct challenges tripped his instinct, and he’d been keeping his wolf caged for days because it wanted her—it wanted its mate.

Her eyes widened.

The pounding of the primal side of him—a drumbeat of adrenaline and his heart rate—increased as he felt a surge of awareness from her. He inhaled, trying to tame the beast, but it only brought her scent into him—that scent, already heavenly on its own, was tinged with a new flavor. Brown sugar, vanilla…and then the scent of an excited Christa.

Mine.

Mate.

They both closed the distance between their mouths. She pressed her hands on either side of his face as their lips touched. He’d intended to keep his eyes open—to see this, because it would be the only time, but he couldn’t keep them open. Some things were meant to be savored…and Christa was a dessert he shouldn’t be tasting, but couldn’t resist. Her bowed lips were so sweetly feminine as they pressed and pulled. Then her tongue swept along his lower lip, and with a groan, he opened his mouth. She was
that
dessert
—she tasted as good as he expected, and she leaned in eagerly as their tongues touched.

No. He had more control than this.

He had more respect than this—for her, for himself. He was not a slave to his instincts. He was Alpha, dammit.

Jordan pulled back, and she slipped forward before she grabbed the side of the bed. When she went to catch his sleeve, he’d already stood up. It wasn’t a retreat. He’d tasted what she had to offer, and now he was done. That was it. And that couldn’t happen again. Ever. “That shouldn’t have happened. It won’t. Again.”

Her eyes searched his for a moment before she looked down. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone not
want
to want me as much as you do.” Her eyes looked suspiciously bright, and she blinked rapidly.

Being gutted alive by a poacher couldn’t be this painful. It was for the best. One of them had to be logical. She had no idea what she’d be getting into. “Christa, you don’t understand.”

She shook her head and then dropped it on the pillow while closing her eyes. “Just…never mind. I’ll leave in the morning. I’ll take my cat. I’ll figure something out.”

“It’s complicated.”

She scowled without opening her eyes. “It’s really not complicated at all. Not everyone looks forward to adding a potential burden to their lives.”

“It’s not you…”

She moved fast. Opening her eyes, she jerked up onto her elbows and snarled, “Don’t you dare, Jordan. Don’t you dare say ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’” Her eyes sparked fire, and he understood the appeal Dane and Vanessa found in arguing. She looked beautiful, passionate, and alive—and he’d already been mesmerized by her looks. “I can take that from a lot of guys, but from you, it’s just an insult to my intelligence because we don’t even know each other well enough for you to think that—or for you to think you’re hiding something nearly as disabling to a relationship as I am. So saying
that
is a damn lie.”

Vanessa had mentioned that Dane hadn’t told his family yet. It was a lot to spring on a human family. They’d find out eventually, slowly, and always shockingly—but he couldn’t let Christa think her MS was making him back off.

“First of all,” he said, “I’ve tried to kill your brother, twice. That’s why he doesn’t want us having anything to do with each other.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying—he wouldn’t let you around Vanessa if that were true.”

Jordan shrugged. “Extenuating circumstances. Secondly, I’ve had some spectacular failures in relationships that your brother has seen, and they’ve led me to decide I should just not…try them.”

She swallowed. “But you’re not in a relationship now, are you?”

“No.” It suddenly hit him. Those questions about the clothes. Hell, he was so dense…and not getting enough sleep. Of course she wouldn’t want to wear cast-offs from other women. Also, it was a relief she didn’t think he was a cross-dresser. “No, I haven’t been in a relationship for almost two years.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “But…still…that’s not anything that even compares to…”

The Hansens were stubborn. He should have known it’d come down to his trump card. Well, hell, she’d find out eventually anyway. At least this way, she’d know it wasn’t her MS.

“And then there’s this…” He took a step back and shifted. One minute, he was a man—the next, a large black wolf beside a pile of clothes.