“Alice,” he started, and it made the hairs at the back of her neck lift.
“Thank you,” she said brightly. “This was great fun. Maybe we’ll hook up again later, if I’ve got time. Wedding stuff, you know. Not mine. Mary’s. Mary’s wedding.”
Her shirt was in a heap on the floor, and her bra was nowhere in sight. Well, she wasn’t so amply endowed that it mattered much.
She pulled the shirt over her head, discovered it was backwards, and stuffed her arms through anyway. “Ciao!” she called, as merrily as she could, then she was fleeing in a random direction out of the door.
Chapter 8
Graham felt like the sun had gone out with Alice’s flight, though the room was still infused with golden light through the filmy curtains. Part of him wanted to roll on the rumpled bedcovers and inhale her scent on the pillows.
The rest of him wanted to hit something.
This is not fate.
His lion wanted to pursue her, of course, but Graham tamped down that with a growl of his own. Ciao indeed. If she wanted to keep this casual, fine.
He was glad he hadn’t told her his real name, even while he felt like he was a bottle under unbearable pressure, desperate to tell someone, anyone, especially her, who he really was, and beg for forgiveness.
One of the pillows tore apart under his hands before he could stop himself and Graham rose with a snarl to take a shower and wash her from his skin.
Her key found the bottom of his foot, and he growled in pain before he picked it up and was sorry he looked at the cottage number because now he’d know where she was staying. Dammit. He put the key on the bedside table, vowing to return it to the lost and found, and stomped to the shower.
He left the cottage in utter disarray, knowing that he’d hear about it later and not caring.
Still damp, still stung, he threw himself at his garden until afternoon, tying up the bean vines that were unfurling wildly across the beds, gently thinning the new lettuce, turning fresh dirt to plant a new batch of cucumbers.
By the time the staff meeting came around, he had buried everything again and felt the familiar layer of indifference settle around him. As long as he didn’t think about her, he wasn’t angry.
And Graham was good at not thinking about things.
He was still carefully not thinking about anything when he arrived early at the staff meeting, and he was sorry that he wasn’t in a better mood, because Neal and Tony were there, grinning and catching up on all the gossip and adventure that had happened at Shifting Sands since they’d been there.
“... Which is when the boat blew sky-high and Laura and I were left adrift in the middle of the ocean,” Tex was explaining.
“The fireworks were nice,” Laura said, laughing. “And he sang to me!”
“Sounds romantic,” Neal said with a grin.
Neal hadn’t done much grinning before Mary, Graham observed, and he scowled harder than ever. Wasn’t that how mates were supposed to work? His own experience was proving vastly different.
Tex went on to talk about the otter who saved them.
“That was me,” Jenny explained. “Not dead after all!”
That was when Neal realized that Graham was there, and he interrupted the story to rise and shake hands with a smile.
Graham shook the offered hand, but gave no reply to Neal’s cheerful greeting, wondering if there were layers of meaning in his knowing grin. Would Mary have already had a chance to tell him about his unorthodox introduction to her bridesmaid?
Fortunately, Breck arrived just then, and Neal turned his greeting to him, letting Graham edge into the room and find an out of the way chair to sit on. “I hear you got married? Can this be? Is it possible? Did she drag you kicking and screaming?”
“There was screaming and a lot of clawing,” Breck conceded. “But not so much of the dragging.” He was grinning broadly, his eyes soft the way they always were when he spoke of Darla. “Wait until you meet her,” he added adoringly. “She’s so amazing.”
Graham caught himself before he could growl out loud.
Lydia came in then, and gave Neal and Tony each a warm, affectionate hug, Wrench glaring over her shoulder at the strangers protectively. “You’ve done so much for us,” she told Tony appreciatively.
“Oh, it’s not so much,” Tony said, abashed. “Just doing my job.”