by Liza Street
“Just getting reacquainted with the territory.”
He could hear something in the way she said it. “There’s more to it than that.”
“Fire flashbacks.”
“Fire?” He knew fire. He combatted it often enough. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “You don’t want an explanation. You just want to blame me for things.”
He hated that she was right. He wanted to blame her, he wanted to blame the world. The air around him felt thick, like he was in the middle of a burning forest and his mask had fallen off. Hard to breathe. Have to get out.
“I’ll listen,” he said. “This time, I’ll listen.”
“I’m not having this conversation while I’m naked,” Starla said. “Meet me tomorrow at Jesminda’s Café.”
It meant he’d have to sleep in his truck—it was too late to go begging quarter from her pride. But he’d do it. “What time?”
“Noon. I plan on staying out late tonight. Last run on the property.”
“Could I join you?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He had it so bad for her, opening himself up to rejection like this. Of course she’d say no, and of course it would fucking hurt.
She considered him, her brown eyes wide in the darkness. “Yeah. I’d like that. One time. As friends.”
He nodded and stripped before she could change her mind. As friends. The words rang hollow like a death knell. He saw the way she watched him with interest as he shrugged out of his shirt and slid off his pants. No, he had to be imagining her interest. She didn’t want him—or if she did, it didn’t matter. She was engaged. Fucking engaged.
“To the edge of the property?” she said.
Winner gets to drive the hay baler first. He wanted to say it—one of their random “prizes” for reaching the edge of the Fourniers’ land. But those days were long gone.
They crouched on the forest floor, side by side. “Go,” she said.
The race started now. He reached inside for his wolf—his territorial, playful, jealous wolf. His joints shifted, rearranged. To his right, the air around Starla shimmered as she shifted into her lion.
They’d never run together as animals; Rourke had had his first change before Starla disappeared, but she hadn’t experienced her first change. They’d talked about it often, how Starla couldn’t wait to be able to race with him in their animal forms, how much fun it would be to run around in the woods with him.
One run together, as friends, and then tomorrow she’d explain away the last nineteen years over lunch and disappear from his life again.
She was off, a vision of tawny gold flickering through the trees. Rourke chased after her, wondering what he was really doing here right now, wondering why he was really going to meet her tomorrow. He said he’d listen, but he had no obligation. There was no reason to get close to her again, only to be hurt when she left.
He was such a fool.
She beat him to the fence, her leonine eyes glowing with victory. Her success didn’t bother him. Tonight there was a clear loser, and it was Rourke.
Chapter Nine
Jesminda’s Café was full of people when Starla arrived at ten minutes to noon. She wasn’t certain why she’d suggested this place, except she wanted to have this conversation far away from her brothers and sisters. She had one more day with them, and the rest would be for spending time with them and pretending to be happy about her upcoming wedding. This time with Rourke, though, she didn’t want to be about pretending. This was real.
She stood in line for coffee, her attention on the door. People came in and went out, either meeting friends or picking up a quick lunch to go.
Where was Rourke? Maybe this had been a bad idea. She should have just written him a letter. So much of their friendship had been based on written words—it would have made more sense to write to him. Then she could have put it in the mailbox and forgotten about it.
She’d never be able to forget him, though.
She had to wait for a free table, the entire time feeling awkward and self-conscious. He wasn’t here yet. She checked her phone for the time. 12:07. There was a missed text from Erich. Dammit, she didn’t want to deal with him right now.
Have you looked at the guest list I emailed?
She sighed and texted back, Not yet, bot I will soon.
Just as she pressed send, she cringed. Stupid autocorrect!
You must be more careful with your words. You can’t be the perfect wife for me if you aren’t perfect. Do I need to find someone better?
She texted quickly in her panic, but proofed her message before sending it. I’m sorry. I was momentarily distracted. It won’t happen again.
One of the baristas whistled softly, and Starla looked up. There was Rourke, standing in the doorway, his hunter’s eyes scanning the crowded café. Looking for her. Starla quickly shoved her phone into her bag and strode forward.
“Hey,” she said. “Some people just left, so a table’s free—I’ll go sit down. Meet me there?”
He nodded, once, and moved to the line.
Starla checked her phone. Nothing from Erich. She just wanted to get married already so he could quit threatening to leave her. She needed this marriage, even though she didn’t want it.
While she waited for Rourke, she watched other people in the café watching him. He seemed to inspire lust in some, fear in others. He was a predator—a beautiful predator. She’d always thought him beautiful, even before his shoulders had filled out, before he’d gotten so tall. Those blazing green eyes had always been the same, as well as the determined set of his jaw, and his wolfish focus.
Finally, he sat down in the chair opposite hers.
“I wasn’t going to come,” he said, “but I couldn’t stay away, either. What are you doing to me, Starla?”
Her hands fluttered nervously over her napkin. “I’m sorry. It’s not on purpose, whatever it is.”
She risked a glance up at his face. There was as much anger in his eyes as there was pain.
He cleared his throat. He hadn’t touched his coffee. “You said you wanted to explain.”
“Yes.” But where to begin? “When I was taken, they gave me false memories of the house burning down, with all my family in it. Up until about a week ago, I believed those memories were real.”
His expression softened. “I’m sorry, Starla.”
She continued, “The worst part was that the memories included that I had been the one to start the fire. Up until a week ago, I believed that I killed my birth family.”
She tried to keep her eyes open wide, to keep tears from falling. She didn’t want to cry, not here in the café in front of all these people, and definitely not in front of Rourke. He looked tense on the other side of the table, his hands in fists.
“It’s why I didn’t write to you,” she said. “Lynn said she tried to place me with the Pacific Coast Pack, but you guys didn’t want me—I was a lion instead of a wolf, and I’d burned up my own pride. After that, I was too ashamed. You were friends with my brothers, and our parents were all close. I didn’t think any of you could forgive me. The truth was, I couldn’t forgive myself.”
“Lynn lied, but I guess you know that now,” he said. “We would have taken you in, no matter what.”
She couldn’t look at him. Her eyes were too wet, and his understanding and acceptance were too much. She focused on the scent of her coffee—the splash of hazelnut that used to remind her of Rourke. With him right in front of her, she realized the coffee version of Rourke was nothing to the original.
There was more to his scent, though.
“You smell angry again,” she said, “but I don’t feel like you’re angry with me this time.”
“No, I’m not. This wasn’t your fault.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I know it in my head, but it’s a whole other matter re-training my brain to understand—”
Her phone chimed in her bag. Rourke scowled.
“S
orry, I have to,” she said.
He waved his hand tolerantly, like a king waving off an annoying subject.
She held in a sigh. Another text from Erich. Have you packed to come home?
Not yet.
Don’t put it off until the last minute. A prepared wife is the best wife.
Okay. She dropped the phone back in her bag. “Sorry about that.”
“Your fiancé?”
She nodded. It was useless to lie, and it wouldn’t accomplish anything, anyway. Erich had already broken the lightness she felt at being around Rourke.
“Does he deserve you?” Rourke growled.
Starla couldn’t help her surprised laugh. “It’s the other way around, actually. He’s doing me an immense—”
Her phone chimed again.
“Can he wait two bloody minutes so we can finish our conversation?”
Starla’s heart pounded loudly in her chest. She rummaged for her phone, which had fallen to the bottom of her bag. Best not to keep Erich waiting. He’d been so pissy lately. “No, actually. I’m sorry. I have to.”
“Carry on, then,” Rourke said. “I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, congratulations and all that.”
He stood abruptly and walked out of the café. It took Starla longer than normal to clear her vision enough to see the words of Erich’s text. Because you haven’t responded to my email with the guest list draft, I took the liberty of finalizing the guest list without you. You don’t seem very interested in our wedding, Starla. I expect better.
Chapter Ten
Rourke sat in his truck, facing the café. Starla was inside, crying. Crying. Was he the cause, or was it that asshole of a fiancé?
The fiancé couldn’t be an asshole, could he, if Starla had chosen him?
There was something more to it, something Rourke didn’t know.
And Starla’s story. She’d actually believed she’d killed her entire family. He felt guilty. He’d tried to put himself in her shoes and see the whole thing from her point of view, but he hadn’t even come close.
She’d been merely a girl when she was taken—the strongest girl he’d ever known, but still a kid, unable to sift through the confusing memories implanted in her mind.
He hated all the pain she’d been in, everything she must have felt for so long. If she were his, he’d have embraced her and held her until the memories were just that—memories.
At the party yesterday, Gabriel had briefly mentioned that the kidnappers were dead. Rourke wanted to kill them all over again. Kill them for hurting her, for taking so much away.
Why did he feel like he’d just hurt her, too? Had he abandoned her when she needed a friend?
He watched through the café window for a few minutes more. Starla sipped her coffee and tapped things into her phone. She looked okay. The expression of pain on her face probably wasn’t about him at all.
Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get back to Santa Cruz. The idea of emotionless, random one-night-stands didn’t appeal to him at all right now, but Babe’s Bar was waiting with an endless supply of whiskey, and it would help Rourke forget.
*
Six hours later, and he was still in Findley. A little outside of Findley, actually. In fact, he was right back where he’d been the night before, on the edge of the Fournier’s property.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. Why couldn’t he leave this girl? He punched in Gabriel’s phone number.
“I’m still in town,” he said.
“You know she’s engaged, right?”
“Yes, I fucking know she’s engaged.”
Gabriel sighed. “Come on over.”
Rourke pulled into their drive and parked in front of the house. Soft twinkle lights lit the patio, and several Sierra Pride members sat out, drinking and talking.
Justine waved him over. “We’re telling spooky stories! Come on over and share!”
Rourke grinned, climbing out of his truck. “The scariest one I know involves Gabriel skinny dipping in the creek.”
Everyone groaned. “Don’t even,” Maverick said.
Starla sat off to the side, close to Blake and Gabriel. His heart clenched in his chest—she wore a long, dark blue top over gray leggings. Her feet were bare. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun, but stray wisps of hair had fallen from it to frame her face. Coming out here tonight wasn’t fair to him or his wolf, or even the guys at the station, who were shuffling shifts around to cover for him tomorrow since he wouldn’t be back in time to start his shift.
This was stupid, but it had to be done.
“Starla,” he said seriously, “can I talk to you for a minute?”
Her brothers and sisters got quiet, the chatter forgotten. He knew his earnest tone of voice said everything he was feeling—his angst, his heartache, his intentions. Never had he been so vulnerable in such a public manner before.
She cleared her throat and stood up. “Um, sure. Let’s go for a walk.”
Rourke stood in place while she carefully set her phone on her seat, facedown. She wasn’t bringing it with her. This time, she’d really talk to Rourke.
Instead of walking around the front of the house, like he’d expected to do, she led him down off the patio, back behind the house and into the forested part of their property. She didn’t complain about the sharp path on her bare feet, and she seemed lost in thought.
“I’m sorry I left you like that at lunch,” he said.
“It’s okay.” She stared everywhere except his face.
He tried to see the forest through her eyes—the stars through the pine branches above, the needles and pine cones blanketing the ground.
“Why are you really here?” Starla asked.
“I had to say goodbye,” he said, practically choking on the words. “I know I don’t have any rights when it comes to you or your friendship. I shouldn’t even be out here with you. I should be far away.”
“Because I’m engaged.”
She looked so tortured at the admission, not at all like a happy fiancée should look.
He had to know. Before anything else, he had to know. “Do you love him?”
Gazing at the ground, she said, “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he insisted, “it does matter.”
“I was saying no, I don’t love him.”
The words were so quiet it took him a moment to process the meaning, but something eased in his chest.
“Then break things off with him,” he said in a rush. “Immediately. We have something, Starla, and we always have.”
She looked—and smelled—terrified.
“Starla?”
She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him.
Chapter Eleven
The kiss was just as incredible as the one in her room yesterday had been, and Starla felt like she was floating. She was lightness and air in her heart and head, and heavy, pooling desire in her breasts and lower belly. Wetness gathered between her legs.
“You smell so good,” he murmured into her hair. “You smell like strawberries and sex.”
She frowned. “It’s not fair that you can sniff out arousal like that.”
He pointed to his bulging crotch. “I have the biggest hard-on I’ve ever had in my life. You don’t have to smell a damn thing to know I want you—you can use your eyes.”
He was right—there was a sizable erection in his pants. She licked her lips, suddenly wanting to see it all. Last night when he’d undressed and shifted, she’d been too shy to look closely at him.
“What do you want, Starla?” he whispered. “I’d give you everything. All of me, everything I am and everything I have. It’s always been you, don’t you know that?”
She nodded. “It’s always been you, too.”
He leaned forward and kissed her again. His mouth fit perfectly against hers, and he threaded his fingers with hers. She pulled him tighter into her and felt the hardness of him against her lower stomach.
He wanted her. He wanted her, not a perfect wife, not some perfect kitten that she’d make with him.
Starla let go of his hands, letting them roam over her back, down to her butt. She moaned into his mouth. Clothes. They were wearing too many clothes.
“What do you want, Starla?” he asked again. “Tell me.”
She couldn’t tell him with words because she didn’t really know them. How could she say what she wanted? In answer, she lifted her tunic over her head. Rourke’s touch blazed her skin. His hands came around her and fiddled with her bra clasp until she was free of it, her breasts heavy with want.
“I’m shirtless and you’re not,” she whispered.
“Easily remedied.” He yanked off his shirt.
His chest was perfect—hard planes, tight lines. She’d never wanted to lick a person before, but right now she was consumed with the idea of trailing her tongue over that perfect skin. His abs led down to a V shape toward his pants.
She was doing this. She was really doing this. As soon as he’d suggested that she leave Erich, she’d known it was the right decision. Her parents could come here—she knew they’d be welcome. Either Gabriel would take them into the Sierra Pride, or Rourke would make sure they had a home in the Pacific Coast Pack.
Rourke. How had she gotten so lucky to get a second chance with him?
“All right,” she said. “Pants, too.”
“Bossy,” he said, shucking them.
She grinned and pulled off her leggings. She was bossy—she’d forgotten that. In all her obedience in Florida, all her insecurities over what had happened—what she’d believed happened—here in California, she’d lost that part of her, too.
She’d been fantasizing about sex for years, and she knew what she wanted.
“Stay still,” she said. “I’m going to explore your body.”
He smiled, but remained still. Stars above, this man was perfect. From his gorgeous face to his taut ass and thick cock to his sculpted legs. Even his damn feet were attractive. If any man could help her come, it would be this one. She rubbed against him as if she was scent marking him, but when he reached out to grip her hip, she nipped his shoulder. “I said to stay still.”
