“Don’t have his number; he probably doesn’t have a cell,” I say, sitting down across from her.
“Then I’ll give you Ivy’s number. She probably won’t answer not knowing the number, but it’s worth a try.”
“My phone’s on the fritz, too. Dig in.” I gesture to her plate while lifting my fork.
“You called that girl,” she accuses, “And talked to some guy earlier.”
“Yeah, but I’ve tried to use it since.” I slide my phone toward her. “Look.”
She eyes the screen with suspicion.
“Who in the world doesn’t have a cell?” She tries to re-dial Riley on speaker with my phone. The call fails.
“A shifter that lives reclusively and has just shifted back to human form for the first time in more than half a decade.”
She blinks hard. “Huh?”
“Tyson’s been off grid a long time. He only shifted to human form because he smelled your sister.”
“So … my sister is stuck with some reclusive kidnapper? Your efforts to make me feel better are a big fat fail. And love at first smell? Spare me.”
“You cynical about love?”
“Pff.”
“Strange for someone who’s about to get married, don’t you think? I’d expect someone saying they already found their happily-ever-after would be all about love.”
Her face goes beet red, and I feel emotion flaring in her. I’ve struck a nerve.
“We’ll find a way to connect you with your sister soon, Amie. Meanwhile, eat up. You’ll need your strength.”
She looks about to protest, but I jerk my chin toward her plates. Her eyes slide down and then they go round as she examines the food. She reaches for the plate holding the sweet crepe.
“That’s the sweet one. Not gonna save it for last?”
“Life’s too short for that,” she mumbles and maneuvers the plates around so the sweet plate is beside the savory one.
She daintily saws off a small bite and I watch as she tastes it. She says nothing, but her eyes slowly drift shut before a moan slips from her. And it’s a direct line to my cock.
“Fuck, I want you right now.”
She startles, but says nothing. She takes her time chewing and then swallowing, her eyes rolling a little more; she’s savoring it. And then she dabs her mouth with her napkin, takes a sip of orange juice, dabs again and then tries a bite from the savory one. She moans again. Louder.
I shift in my seat, then find myself gripping the table’s edge, resisting the urge to sweep everything off so I can fuck her on it. But she’s hungry. And so am I. It’s been a few years since I’ve made these. Seems I haven’t lost my touch.
Lust shifts marginally to amusement as Amelia enthusiastically alternates between both plates and studiously avoids my face.
“So, what do you do for work? Do you work?” I ask, halfway through the meal, deciding to follow her lead and alternate between plates. And talk because I want to know more about her and also, if I don’t occupy myself while we eat, she’s going to get fucked on top of this table instead of getting to enjoy the rest of her crepes. She shoots me a dirty look and then takes another bite from the dessert crepe.
“I build things. Sometimes I design them first,” I offer.
She says nothing.
“Homes. Businesses. Some agricultural operations. Recently finished the new racetrack on the other side of The Hollow.”
No response.
“You?”
Still nothing.
“Amie?” I prompt. “Lady of leisure?”
She shoots me a look of annoyance. “Hardly. I’m a nurse.”
For her to be a nurse, she’s got nurturing qualities. And I like that.
“Yeah? You got one of those cute little nurse dresses; one of those black and white hats?”
She shakes her head. “I wear hot pink or purple scrubs and Crocs when I work. Or one of several pairs of Disney-themed scrubs if I’m working in the pediatric ward. The epitome of unsexy.”
“Well, looks like you make up for it when you’re not working,” I say, gesturing to her. “Saw some hot clothes and shoes in your suitcase. What was all that stuff in your trunk for?” I gulp back some juice.
“Maybe I was packed for my honeymoon. Not that you should’ve opened my suitcase and snooped.”
I frown. “Two weeks early? Not likely. No summer clothes in there, either. Where were you going for that honeymoon?”
She says nothing, but her expression sours even further.
I continue. “Or maybe you were planning your getaway.”
“A getaway?”
“Not a getaway. Your runaway bride getaway. Leaving your useless ex and timing worked in your favor bringing you to your fated mate.”
“Fate. If only,” she mutters, making me perk up. “No, my sister turned up devastated and bandaged. I was planning to go stay with her until her roommate got back from Jamaica. Whatever happened with that Tyson guy, she was a mess. Seeing that when Ivy never gets like that over a guy, I knew she needed me. You know where he lives?”