“You can see Shaya beside me,” growled Nick. Eric’s eyes briefly flickered to her. “So I don’t think I need to explain why I’m here or why I’d like to snap your neck, do I?”
Eric did what was typical of any bully—he stood down the second someone stronger than him confronted him. Rather than fighting Nick’s grip, he stayed very still. “No.”
“I don’t think I need to explain what will happen if you don’t stop making yourself a problem for her, do I?” When Eric’s eyes again moved to Shaya, Nick tightened his hold on the bastard’s throat. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. Now answer my question. I don’t need to explain what will happen, do I?”
Eric shook his head as much as Nick’s grip would allow.
“Tell me,” rumbled Nick. “Tell me what I’ll do to you if you ever even try to upset her again.”
His voice came out strained and hoarse. “You’ll beat me up.”
Nick tsked. “Wrong. I’ll slash you open, rip out your intestines, and string you up by them. Because Shaya’s very, very important to me. And you know that voice in your head that tells you not to do wrong? I have one of those, but it doesn’t give a shit about right and wrong when someone upsets her.”
Seeing that not only was Eric likely to piss himself but that Nick was having difficulty staying in control, Shaya squeezed Nick’s free hand lightly and supportively, whispering low enough for only him to hear, “It’s okay. Let him go.” His hold on Eric loosened, but he didn’t release him. “Let him go, Nick. Come on.” She squeezed his hand again, pressing herself against his side. Inhaling deeply, Nick released Eric and locked his arm around Shaya. She should have moved away, but instead she melted against him, knowing he needed it. “Let’s go.” Turning, she realized that—no surprise—Derren was in the doorway of the kitchen.
He raised a questioning brow at her and Nick, asking, “Everything okay?”
Nick began leading her out of the house with Derren at their side. “Just making friends. Shay thinks I should get some.”
She snorted. “Shaya also thinks you should be keeping a low profile right now, not confronting idiotic humans.” He simply shrugged, like that was irrelevant when the subject matter was her. He truly was a law unto himself. And that was when something occurred to her. She’d originally thought he’d give up on winning her over after a series of rejections, but now she wasn’t so sure. Outside, she turned to him. “You could never be ‘handled’ by anyone, could you?”
Derren barked a laugh. “People have tried.”
Having thrown Derren a scowl, Nick met her gaze. “You’re beginning to realize that getting me to leave won’t be as simple as you thought,” he surmised. “Good. By all means keep trying to push me away if you feel you must, baby. But it won’t make a damn bit of difference.” It was a warning as much as it was a vow. He trailed the tip of his finger from her temple, down her cheek, over her jaw, and along her neck until he reached the collar of her T-shirt. “I won’t give you up. Not for anything. Not even for you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nick had never had so much trouble putting one foot in front of the other. But while an ass like that was right there in front of him, he had no interest in moving anyway. As Shaya was bent over riffling through a shelf of canned foods, Nick simply gazed at her ass in awe. What he wouldn’t give to know what kind of underwear she wore under that skintight denim. Normally he didn’t like jeans on a woman; they didn’t allow him easy access and they hid way too much, but with Shaya it was a sweet torment having it all left to the imagination. He looked for a panty line but couldn’t make one out. Maybe she was wearing a thong. Maybe she was going commando. Fuck.
As usual when he was around Shaya, he was assaulted by a number of erotic images. He could imagine her being bent just like that, but na**d and over a table while he was slamming into her. Or sprawled across his lap while he spanked her ass over and over until she begged him to take her.
And now his c*ck was hurting like a son of a bitch.
In the middle of a damn grocery store.
Knowing she didn’t work on Sundays and she was always so exhausted after working long shifts, he’d figured she would sleep most of the morning. Apparently his Shaya liked to be up at the crack of dawn on Sundays to go shopping. He had been on his way to the gas station when he’d spotted her heading inside the store.
Either she’d picked up his scent or had sensed someone’s gaze on her, because she suddenly glanced over her shoulder. He almost laughed when her eyes widened and she straightened abruptly. No doubt she had a good idea of the kind of thoughts and pictures that had been forming in his mind.
“What are you doing here?” asked Shaya, flustered—and annoyed with herself for being flustered. She knew she sounded particularly cranky, because she was cranky. Menstrual cramps could do that to a girl. “Are you following me?”
“It’s harder than I thought.”
“If I were you, I’d do the intelligent thing and f**k off,” she growled.
“No.”
She growled again. “Has anyone ever told you you’re unbelievably stubborn?”
“Frequently. But, really, it’s not stubbornness. It’s just that I can say no without feeling guilty.”
His lopsided smile miraculously made her want to smile back, but she would not. “What do you want?” His eyes went slumberous.
“You. In my bed. Naked. And wet and ready for me.” When she gaped at him, he shrugged innocently. “You asked.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, seeking patience. But she simply wasn’t a patient person. “I don’t have time for this. Move out of my way.”
“I’m here to help.”
Her words came out through clenched teeth. “Nick, not today, okay.” The a**hole actually put a jar of Bolognese sauce in her cart. She returned it to the shelf with a huff. “You can harass me again tomorrow.”
“I don’t harass you, I just show up wherever you are.”
She growled when he put the sauce back into her cart and also a bottle of garlic oil. “Stop putting things in my cart!”
Picking up on her wolf’s unusual prickliness, he frowned. Sure Shaya and her wolf were snippy, but this was different. “What’s wrong with your wolf? She’s a little…off today. Come to think of it, so is your scent.” He leaned in and brushed his nose against her neck. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” she said with a sardonic smile. At least one good thing would come from her menstrual cycle starting: he’d leave her alone for a few days, knowing seducing her wouldn’t be possible. And he wouldn’t send her a message similar to the one he’d sent last night that went a little something like:
If I was lying in bed with you now, if I had my hands on your body, where would you want me to touch you first?
Her traitorous body had responded to that, just like it was responding to his very presence now. But getting him to go away would be simple enough. Not simply because seduction wouldn’t be possible, but because no wolf liked to be around menstruating female shifters. Shifter PMS was a bitch—a time filled with excessive fatigue, mood swings, irritability, cramps, bloating, aching br**sts, tension, increased appetite, sleeplessness, and hot flashes.
“So that’s why you’re snippier than usual,” said Nick. “It explains what your pretty ass is doing out of bed so early, too—you usually have major trouble getting up in the morning.” It also explained why her br**sts were bigger than usual. But he wouldn’t comment on that. He wasn’t stupid.
She gasped, indignant. “I get out of bed just fine each morning, thanks. And I’m not snippy.”
If he was sensible, he’d walk away. Female wolves with PMS were likely to eat someone’s face off at the slightest provocation. But this was his female wolf. And right now, she needed someone to take care of her, whether she’d admit it or not. He curled an arm around her shoulders and used his free hand to push the cart. “Come on, baby. Tell me what stuff you need, and I’ll help you get this over with. Then you can go home and lounge on the sofa all day. Doesn’t that sound good?”
It did, actually. Nonetheless, she snapped, “I’m perfectly capable of putting items in a freaking shopping cart.”
“Of course you are. But if I help, you’ll get out of here sooner.” Despite her grumbles and the string of unprovoked insults she flung at him as they strolled down aisle after aisle, Nick aided her in loading the cart and then helped her bag the items. When he offered to pay, he thought she’d break his jaw.
“I’m not a charity case,” she hissed. Slightly mollified by his apologetic look, Shaya fished the money from her purse and held it out to the cashier…who was staring lustfully at Nick and wearing a seductive smile. Shaya cleared her throat particularly loud. “Do you see something that you like, because he doesn’t,” she spat. Apparently the guy waiting to be served behind her thought that was pretty funny. Shaya wasn’t at all amused.
Holding the grocery bags with one arm, Nick gently but firmly took Shaya’s hand and pulled her to him. “Ready to go home, baby?” Her response was a low growl that made him smile. As she ranted in the parking lot about how much she liked to walk thank-you-very-much, he placed the bags into the trunk of his car and then guided her into the passenger seat.
She continued ranting all the way home, and he did what any wise male shifter did when his mate had a PMS-induced tantrum—he kept his mouth shut and nodded along. She was still ranting when they pulled up outside her house. When he retrieved her bags from the trunk of his car, Shaya went to take them from him, but he shook his head and advanced up her driveway.
Shaya growled. “I’m—”
“Perfectly capable of carrying your own bags,” he finished soothingly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do it for you, does it?”
“Stop with the therapist tone!” Realizing that something about the yard was different, Shaya took a moment to study her surroundings. “Did you mow the lawn?”
Nick shrugged. “It kind of needed it. You only just noticed? I did it yesterday while you were at work.”
Huffing, she marched to the front door and unlocked it. “Do you have to be so f**king nice and helpful?” she growled.
“Now, Shay—”
“It’s hard to hate you when you’re nice and helpful!”
“Good. I don’t want you to hate me.”
Ignoring the murderous look Shaya shot him, he walked right on into the house like he had every right. She followed him, watching with growing agitation—like she wasn’t agitated enough!—as he began puttering around her kitchen. “Okay, look, you’ve earned a gold sticker for ass-kissing. Now get the hell out and—” She gave a startled yelp as he lifted her, sat her on the kitchen counter, and then stood between her legs.
Nick handed her some Tylenol and a glass of water. “Here. Take these.” It was most likely sheer stubbornness that made her hesitate. “You’re in pain, baby. Take them.”
There was enough authority in the latter words to make her bite back a snappy comment. Her wolf reluctantly backed down too. Conceding to herself that she did in fact need the pills and that refusing would be stupid, she sighed inwardly and snatched them from his hand. Once she’d washed them down with the water, he took her glass and placed it on the counter.
“Good girl.” He moved his hand to her stomach and gently massaged it, hating that she was in pain and feeling totally helpless. “Now…would you rather curl up on the sofa or go lie down in bed?”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Every male shifter knows that when his mate has PMS, it’s best for her to curl up on the sofa or in bed and enjoy doing absolutely nothing.”
“I’m not your mate.” Her wolf sassily swished her tail at her for that offensive comment.
Wearing a reprimanding expression, Nick tsked. “Yes, you are, baby,” he insisted softly, tapping the tip of her nose. “You always will be, no matter what. You were made for me, belong to me in a way you could never belong to anyone else.” He soothingly combed his hand through her red corkscrew curls. “I love how soft your hair is. Like silk.” The compliment seemed to disarm her, and he got the feeling that she hadn’t gotten a lot of them in her life. “What will it be: the sofa or the bed?”
She sighed, slumping in defeat. “Sofa.” Her eyes widened as he curled her legs around him and carried her to the living area. He placed her gently on the sofa, where she immediately curled up like a fetus, and handed her the TV remote. Instead of leaving the house, he disappeared back into the kitchen. Hearing the banging of the cupboard doors, she realized he was unpacking her groceries. A part of her wanted to yell at him to get out, but then she’d have to do the unpacking herself, and she’d much rather stay where she was. So, instead, she turned on the TV and began flicking through the channels until she found something she wanted to watch.
When Nick returned to the living room a little while later, it was to find that she was crying. Putting the chocolate bar and cup of coffee he’d brought in onto the table in front of her, he crouched down and cradled her face with his hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“This damn movie,” she said, sniffling. “The dog just died.”
It took everything he had not to smile. He kissed her hair. “Maybe you should watch something else.”