“Well ...” She lowered the cup. “I’ve always loved to paint, so I went to art school. I graduated from the Rhode Island School of Design two years ago and got my bachelor’s in Art, then stayed there for another year, then came back last summer. I’ve been painting here and there, sold a couple of pieces, though that was mostly to my dad’s friends.” She sat up straighter. “But I had an agent come to my loft a couple of weeks ago, and she thinks she can help me sell my stuff and maybe even have a show of my own.”
“Are you any good?”
Her brows snapped together, but a second later, her eyes lit up, and a smile spread on her lips. “You’re teasing me.”
“I was,” he said. “I’m sure you’re very good.”
A blonde brow lifted. “Are you just saying that because you feel sorry that you knocked me over?”
Now he felt bad for questioning her talents. “I didn’t mean—” He stopped short when he realized she was biting her lips to keep from smiling. “Now you’re teasing me.”
“I couldn’t help it.” Her laugh reminded him of tinkling bells. “But, why don’t you find out for yourself? I’m headed to Central Park to paint. You can watch me.”
“You’re inviting me to watch you paint?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her silvery hair caught shafts of sunlight as she nodded.
“Are you sure? I could be an axe murderer.”
“So could I.”
“Right.” He wagged a finger at her. “I guess I shouldn’t trust you.”
She rolled her eyes at him, grabbed her bag, and opened it. “See for yourself, no axes in here. Just paint and brushes.”
He peered into the canvas bag, which was filled with multi-colored tubes, brushes, palette knives, and other painting paraphernalia. “True, but I haven’t seen the bottom of the bag yet.” It was so easy to tease her, and he loved watching the play of emotion on her face.
“All right … we could have a truce then. No chopping up each other’s bodies for today.”
“It’s a deal.”
Sabrina’s face had turned pale, so Cross stopped his story. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t … I can’t believe …” She blew out a breath. “I don’t remember any of that. But how do you know all those things about me? Where I went to school and what Barbara said.”
“Because we know each other.”
“And I invited you to watch me paint?”
He nodded.
“Cross.” The color came back to her cheeks. “That’s your name.”
“Yes.” He swallowed hard as his stomach tightened into a knot. For the last three years, he’d been imagining her saying his name again, never knowing that this would be the moment he’d hear it from her lips.
“Cross … were we friends?”
“You could say that.”
“More than friends?” Hopeful violet eyes looked at a him.
“I …” He stood up. “You’re probably tired. Why don’t you get some sleep? The cabin has everything you need.” While he was telling her the story, he’d already conjured a few basics for her, like pajamas, some snacks in the fridge, and a few bathroom essentials. “I’ll be back with a hot breakfast tomorrow.”
Her lips parted but they quickly shut. She didn’t say anything as he pivoted toward the door. His wolf growled angrily, not wanting to leave her behind, but he ignored it and reached for the door.
Leaving her was difficult, but he put one foot in front of the other, walking farther and farther away. How far would he have to be so he wouldn’t be tempted to go back in there and take her in his arms and tell her the entire truth? Well, maybe Mars would be far enough.
He took deep, calming breaths, inhaling as much of the cool mountain air as he could. It managed to calm him and clear his senses of her intoxicating scent so he could think. Looking ahead, he saw the main cabin at the top of the hill. Now there was another conversation he wasn’t looking forward to, but he knew it had to be done. He jogged over to the front of the cabin and knocked on the front door. “It’s me,” he called.
A few seconds later, the door opened. “You’re back,” Ransom said. There was a weariness in his gold-green eyes that Cross hadn’t seen before.
“Can I come in? You busy? Or have company?” Ransom was only wearing his jeans, and his hair was mussed up. Though he had numerous tattoos all over his arms and chest, it was the wolf tattoo over his hip that stood out—the one that marked him as a Lone Wolf, a Lycan who didn’t have a clan of his own.
“Ha.” He took a step back and motioned for him to come in. “Drink?” A bottle of rum and a single glass sat on top of the coffee table.
Cross shook his head. “I need to talk to you.”
Ransom grabbed a leather vest from the back of an armchair and slipped it on. Stitched on the back of the vest was the head of a wolf with its jaw opened and above the image read “Savage Wolves MC.”
When he turned around, Cross noticed a new patch on the front: President. “You got a promotion.”
“Pop died, so, yeah.”
“I’m sorry.” He’d only met the older Lycan once, but he seemed like a good man and father to Ransom and his sister. “What happened?”
The other man said nothing as he plopped back down on the leather couch, grabbed the bottle and glass, then put his booted feet on top of the table. “What do you want?”
Cross wasn’t sure how to say it, so he began with, “About that cabin … I’m gonna need it for a few days.”
Ransom poured some rum into the glass and knocked back the entire thing. “I figured. Did you want my bike too? And my truck? Hell, just fucking move in here and take everything.”
“Yeah about that. I’ll need to crash in here, too.”
“The fuck?” Ransom roared as his booted feet pushed the coffee table
