A fierce protectiveness roared through Cal at the thought. He could admit it, finally: he’d felt this from the moment a beautiful, brave woman had sat in his office and calmly explained that shifters were threatening and frighte
ning her, and that she was afraid for her own safety. He’d felt it when he’d gone to Hennessey’s cabin. He’d been feeling it all along.
He’d been locking it down, keeping his leopard muzzled, because it was inappropriate for the situation. And overall not likely to help Lillian much.
That last hadn’t changed. But now he understood.
Our mate is in danger, his leopard snarled. Our mate! Protect her!
It all made sense now. He’d wanted to take on all those mountain lions alone, back at that cabin. He’d been reckless to even confront them. And when Lillian had told him about her worthless ex, Cal had wanted to hunt him down and show him what real men thought of the sort of cowardice that led to the mistreatment of women.
It was all true. Cal would help any woman in this situation. But the depth of his rage and the fierceness of his leopard was all due to Lillian. It was because the beautiful, brave woman was his mate.
He reached out and gently traced his fingers down the side of Lillian’s face. Her hair had come out of its complicated-looking style and was falling in curly golden tendrils over the pillow. He caught one in his fingers; it was soft as silk.
Should he explain what had happened? He wanted to, deeply and desperately; he wanted her to understand that he was on her side—that the side was theirs, forever.
But she knew so little about shifters. Would the idea of mates scare her? Would it make her want to get away somewhere? That wasn’t safe for her right now.
Cal couldn’t risk her getting hurt. And he didn’t want to confront her with something so momentous when she couldn’t leave to think it over, not without putting herself in danger. On the other hand, he didn’t want to lie to her. He wasn’t sure what to do.
But he was sure of something: no one was hurting Lillian under his watch. Not ever.
He glanced at the clock. Late afternoon. Practical considerations started creeping in: maybe she’d want a snack or something when she woke up. He’d go down and see what he could rustle up.
***
Lillian woke up slowly, feeling suffused with the kind of well-being she’d forgotten was even possible on waking. Normally, she woke up tense and anxious, already anticipating what the first challenge of the day was going to be.
She stretched slowly, luxuriating in the way her limbs all radiated comfort. The bed was so soft...had she replaced her mattress or something?
Then she remembered where she was. Her eyes flew open.
Oh God, she’d slept with Cal Westland.
Teri’s boss. She’d slept with her sister’s boss. Whom she’d only known for twenty-four hours.
Lillian had never in her life slept with a man she’d just met. She’d thought that only desperate women did that, women who needed to fill some kind of emptiness in their lives and chose physical satisfaction because it was the easiest. She’d always thought it must be incredibly sad, to have sex with a stranger.
But last night hadn’t felt like sex with a stranger.
Lillian had certainly lost any inhibitions she might’ve had with a stranger. Oh God. She blushed fiery-hot at the memory of the noises she’d made, the absolute shamelessness of how she’d cried out for more.
She wasn’t like this. She’d never been like this. How could she have—and what must Cal think of her now? She knew men didn’t respect women who just fell into bed with them. What on Earth had she been thinking?
Lillian pushed the covers back, noting with mild horror all of the marks on her body. She had little bruises on her inner thighs from Cal’s mouth. And despite the cold light of—well, of later in the afternoon—putting good sense back into her, the sight still gave her a bit of a thrill.
She clamped down on that. It was time for damage control. She had to try and re-establish herself here. Make it clear that she really wasn’t the kind of woman to just throw herself at any man who fixed her lunch.
Not that she’d met many men who’d fixed her lunch. Lew might’ve made her a sandwich once or twice during their marriage, but that was it.
Focus. She grabbed her clothes, tugging them on despite the wrinkles, glad that at least she wasn’t...sticky.
That resurrected the memory of Cal and his warm washcloth, tenderly cleaning them both up so they’d be more comfortable napping for a bit. Lillian blushed harder.
At least Cal wasn’t the sort of man to insult her or say crude things because of this. She was certain of that. But—even though she had just met him the day before—she found that she couldn’t bear to lose his good opinion.
Which was silly, because he’d done the same thing she had, hadn’t he? Slept with a woman he’d just met. It was a double standard, clear as day. But that didn’t change the squirmy, shameful feeling that what she’d done was worse.