Everything he said was like a statement, as if he’d been born centuries ago and still hadn’t really understood social expectations and communication. His bark, I imagined, was just about as bad as his bite — worse, since he was a healer.
I nodded my head as he took a cautious step forward and then grabbed one of the white towels and laid it on the counter. Two more steps and his warmth was pulsing all around me as he lifted me to my feet then very carefully wrapped a towel around my body. So tight, in fact, I wondered if he was worried about it dropping to the ground.
He surveyed his work as droplets of water ran down his chest. Water that had once kissed my skin seemed to glisten off his tan muscles. He gave his head a little shake as water slid to the ground near his bare feet and flip-flops.
I hid a smile by tilting my head down. I didn’t want him to think I was making fun of him — but he’d just shaken his body as if he had fur, as if he was a dog in need of getting dry.
It was endearing.
Sexy.
He cleared his throat. “You need meat.”
I almost choked. “Excuse me?”
“Meat. It has blood. If you eat it, you get blood. Do vampires know nothing?”
I stared up at him. “But I don’t like meat.”
You’d think I’d just announced that I was going to gnaw on his right arm then feed on his heart for good measure. He stumbled backward, confusion marring his face. “But… why?”
I laughed a little. “It’s too gristly.”
His dark, almost pitch-black, eyes widened. “Then you are eating it wrong!”
I wasn’t sure why he was so offended. I tried a different tactic, sensing his anger from a mile away. His hair began to stand on end, his breathing erratic.
“Okay,” I said quickly. “You’re probably right.”
“Probably?”
Wow, the man is impossible to get along with, isn’t he? “You are right.”
He exhaled, his body less rigid then before.
“I’m eating it wrong.”
“You are.” He apparently felt the need to comment again, and then he put his hands on his hips and let out a gruff sigh. “I’ll prepare you food, and you will dress.” He stopped, “Do you need help dressing?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Maybe if I sit on the bed I can manage.”
He scooped me up without permission and stomped back into the room then dumped me onto the mattress.
I bounced a bit then cringed as my bruised body screamed in protest.
“Shit.” It was the first time I’d heard him swear. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t exactly — thinking.”
Did he ever think beyond his wolf manners?
“It’s fine,” I said through pain-clenched teeth. “I’ll be okay.”
“No.” He scratched behind his head and swore again. “I’ll just…”
He hovered over me and then got up on the bed. He straddled my body with his. I tried not to cower in fear, but he was massive, dangerous, lethal.
He lowered his head to my neck and began to lick. And I forgot of all the reasons I was pushing him away instead of pulling him close.
I ran my hands down his bulky shoulders as the flick of his tongue moved between the bruises on my sternum; with each swipe, it felt easier and easier to breathe again, and then his tongue swirled my belly button, and my hips jerked in surprise.