I’m trying to convince myself the affection is from one pal to another, that she’d pet a puppy she encountered on the street the same way.
Except, friends don’t look at friends the way Emme is looking at me. And I’m no innocent little pup.
She leans forward and reaches for the glass of water, passing it to me with yet another one of her “Emme” smiles. “You looked thirsty,” she says.
“I’m all right.” It’s what I say, but then I chug it.
The chill cuts it’s way to my stomach, cooling me off but sure as hell not enough.
I should have poured the water into my goddamn shorts.
“Bren,” she says. “Your thigh looks awful.”
“What?” Between trying to live and then trying to get here, I forgot just how bad Octobitch messed me up. “It’s fine, Emme. In another hour, I’ll be all healed up.”
“It’s not fine,” she insists. “I was too busy healing myself and never noticed how bad you were hurt. Here, let me help you.”
“Emme, you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do,” she says.
Her soft hands slip onto my knee and gradually maneuver upward. My breath hitches. “Emme, don’t,” I rasp.
“I want to,” she whispers. “There’s a lot I want to do for you.”
She feels her way along the banged-up muscle and bone. It feels good. Amazing. And hell, if I ain’t in trouble.
I try to envision things that aren’t sexual, like kite flying. It works on Little Bren as well as you might guess. Don’t get me wrong. I see the kite. Except Emme is flying it naked.
I swipe my face and think of horses. Wild horses, galloping through a field of wheat. Except those damn horses only want to make me ride Emme.
Yeah, that mind over matter thing is just a bunch of bullshit. I give up on trying to relax, failing miserably.
Emme’s healing yellow light surrounds me in a soft embrace. It should soothe me, like it normally does, instead it arouses me. Everything about Emme is turning me on, her hair, her face, and damn, that swell of her breast peeking through the front of the flannel.
I grip the couch, trying to keep from shaking.
“There,” she says. She examines my leg. At least, I hope that’s what she’s looking at. “Much better.”
There’s not so much as a hair out of place on my thigh. It doesn’t surprise me. Emme is good at this, and everything else.
What does surprise me is her hands sliding up my chest.
“I uh, healed my ribs and such,” I tell her.
“I know, Bren,” she replies.
She tilts her chin, closes her eyes, and leans in for a kiss.
I shift away from her. “Emme, what are you doing?” I ask, like I already don’t know.
“I’m trying to return that kiss you gave me at the Watering Hole.” She pauses. “Will you let me?”
She places one knee between my legs. I groan from the pressure and the way my body responds.
It’s not me. It’s my wolf, and maybe Little Bren, too. I swear I have nothing to do with what we do next.
I grab Emme’s hips and pull her into a straddle, crashing my lips against hers.
My tongue meets her savagely.
Like the rest of her, her taste is incredible. I can’t get enough. I caress her thighs and her backside and—oh yeah—definitely not wearing panties.
Emme’s skin is warmth and silky beneath my touch. A deep moan breaks from her lips as my fingers dance along her spine. It scares the shit out of me.
I scramble up and away from her so fast; she falls back on the couch.
My shirt just barely keeps her intimate parts covered. I loom over her, shaking with need.
“What’s wrong?” she gasps.
I swallow hard. “Did I hurt you? Am I hurting you?”
She rights herself, blushing. “No, no. I really like what you’re doing,” she says.
I start to pace, stop, and work on catching my breath. “And what exactly are we doing here?”
“We’re about to make love.”
“McLove?”
She covers her mouth, her hair falling around her as she laughs. As her hands drop away, she rises, approaching me slowly.
“Bren. I want to make love to you.” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “And if I’m right, I think you want to make love to me, too.”
“Make love? Did you just say make love? Do people even do that anymore?”
“Yes,” she answers, smiling.
I shake my head, this time I do pace. “Em, I’ve had a lot of women ask me to do some freaky shit, but this is definitely the topper.”
“Why?” she asks.
I pause. “I just don’t think I have it in me.”
“I have total faith in you,” she purrs. She unfastens all the buttons of the shirt and lets it slide off of her arms.
My heart slams into my chest like a screen door during a tornado. I’m either having some sort of panic attack or going into cardiac arrest. She eases slowly forward, similar to a cop trying to coax a jumper down from a ledge.
“Bren,” she says. “Are you all right?”
No. I’m not all right. You’re standing there with your perfect body, with your perfect hair draped around your perfect shoulders. Your small pink nipples are begging to be in my mouth and your thighs are screaming to wrap around my—
I punch myself in the face, hard enough to see stars and completely freak out Emme.
Her hands clasp her chest and her eyes bulge. “Bren, what are you doing?”
“It’s what I’m trying not to do, Emme. Do you realize your sisters are going to kill me? Taran will burn me to embers. Celia will claw me apart. Whatever’s left over, Shayna will slice to bits!”
Emme’s cheeks redden and she offers me a shy smile. “Bren, my sisters aren’t here.”
Her fingers thread through mine. She walks backward, leading me into the bedroom. With a press of her hands against my chest, she lays me down on my bed and climbs on top of me. I can’t stop my eyes from wandering to her face and her
