by Kate Rudolph
"What's that supposed to mean?" Stasia sat down on the other side of the couch. She didn't want to sit next to him if he was going to be mean, but she did want to look at the screen.
He flicked his items off on his fingers. "Billionaire dad. Nine half-siblings. Actual career despite being a rich girl. Humanitarian mission. Should I keep going?"
She couldn't tell if he was trying to insult or compliment her. If she didn't have the day before to go on, she would have taken the last bits for compliments. She didn't know how to handle him if he was going to be nice. She could handle their antagonistic banter. But her knees would go weak if he turned out to be decent.
And she was trying to ignore her feelings.
Owen smiled as she kept quiet and his eyes started to sparkle. Was he really so cheerful? Had she read him wrong? It would be easy enough to ignore. All Stasia had to do was turn on the TV and end the conversation.
But she couldn't. "So what's your story? You don't seem like a bodyguard." Every bodyguard she'd ever employed was all business, all the time. A good trait in someone trying to keep her safe, but not exactly memorable. There was something about Owen, though, something that made her want him physically and sit down beside him to watch TV.
He blew out a breath and grimaced. "That was not the plan."
Wasn't that how life went? But now that she had a taste, she wanted to know more. "I know a thing or two about plans changing. What was yours? Originally?"
He laid his arm on the back of the sofa and ran his fingers over the red leather. Some part of him always seemed to be in motion. "Army for a while. I didn't really think much past that."
She looked at him, really looked at him, and tried to imagine him in fatigues on a battlefield somewhere. It didn't fit. "Full career?" Then again, she didn't always seem to fit in the places she wanted to be.
But he shook his head. "I wasn't going to go that far."
Stasia turned more fully to him and placed the remote on the side table. "How long have you been out?"
A dark look passed over his face so quickly that she wasn't sure she really saw it. "Two years."
"Doesn't sound like you planned it." But maybe Owen wasn't a planner, maybe he just let things happen.
"I didn't."
"Want to tell me what happened?" Now that she was asking, she was desperate to know. She could feel a secret hiding beneath the surface and she wanted to cut it away, layer by layer, until she knew it all.
He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. "I'd tell you but then I would have to kill you."
"I thought you were supposed to protect me."
He made a rumbly sound in the back of his throat that did things to Stasia, things she wasn't allowed to think about. Danger! Danger! She threw another question out there, desperate for a lifeline out of flirty territory. "Do you like New York? Do you even live in New York regularly?"
His finger dipped into one of the divots on the couch and circled around one of the decorative buttons. Stasia tried not to imagine what his fingers would feel like against her skin. "The company is based out of New York. I live in Queens. Raised in Jersey. It's alright."
Alright. Some people said New York was the greatest city in the world. Stasia agreed with Owen's assessment. It was fine. It was where she lived. But just like with the future of her career, she wasn't sure it was where she wanted to stay.
"What made you want to go to Bermeja?" Owen asked.
The question caught her off guard. Her father and AR had railed at her, demanding she not go. Em had insisted that she needed to go, just to stick it to them. But no one had wanted to know why. "I saw the devastation of Hurricane Charles and I knew I had to help. I always wanted to go into emergency medicine and I wanted to go someplace that really needed help. The dirty secret of a lot of humanitarian missions is that they need people with money to make things work. I had all the qualifications and I have the bank account where I could afford to do it. So I went. And as crazy, as hard, as terrible as the conditions were, I loved doing it. Helping people like that. I felt almost like I was made to do it."
"What do you mean by that?" He was leaning closer, as if her story had pulled him in.
Stasia could practically feel the grit in the air from the makeshift hospital she'd been working in. Reconstruction never seemed to end and a fine sheen of dust had covered every surface. "Thinking on my feet. Improvising. Just making it work. It really made me test my abilities to the furthest limits of what I learned and to listen to people who didn't go to a super fancy med school that had every single piece of technology that a person could ever hope for."
The scent memory of the place was obliterated by the smell of Owen's soap. When had he gotten so close? Had she moved closer? She must have; they were both leaning towards the middle of the couch, pulled together as if they were stuck in each other's gravitational orbits.
"What about the other doctors?" he asked, his fingers close enough to touch her if he stretched a little. "You meet a cute humanitarian who wanted to save the world with you?"
Stasia could barely imagine that. "We were way too busy for that. And, well. I'm me." She'd managed to make exactly one friend in her entire medical career, and that friend was about to abandon her to another job.
Owen's face scrunched in confusion and the tips of his fingers teased her shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?"
It was her turn for confusion. What was there to explain? He'd only been around her for a day, but he had to know, right? People didn't get close to her, and those who tried quickly retreated when they realized there wasn't some secret soft core under her prickly skin. "I'm a bit abrasive."
He stared at her in a way that felt like a caress, and then his hand moved, almost like he planned to touch her face. She wanted him to. She wanted him to reach out and close the distance between them, to put an end to this dance and quench the thirst she'd had for him since the moment she laid eyes on him. But he stopped his hand before he reached her.
Stasia was done fighting. She was done worrying about whether it was appropriate or not. She laid her head in his hand and let his fingers stroke her cheek, her eyes falling closed at the sensation.
"I don't think you're abrasive. I think you're kind of amazing." There was reverence in his tone, something she'd never heard another say about her, and her heart pounded wildly.
She opened her eyes and stared right into his. Brown now, soft and promising. When they'd appeared gold last night it must have been a trick of the light. Possibility hung heavy in the air. All it would take was for one of them to make a move.
One of them did.
Maybe both.
Stasia wasn't sure, and then Owen was kissing her and she didn't care. His hand cradled the back of her head, holding her close to him like she was precious. Her hands went to his shoulders, fingers digging into hard muscle and clinging desperately, begging him with her touch not to pull away.
He groaned deep in his throat and heat curled inside Stasia. She moved forward until she straddled his lap, fully on top of him and still desperate for more contact. It was carnal, feral, something more than she'd ever felt before.
It should have scared her, this roaring inferno of need, but Owen was touching her, kissing her, and fear had no place here, not between the two of them.
His tongue swiped against hers and it was her turn to groan. Talented tongue. She knew it and she wanted more. What could he do if she had him in bed?
A faint ringing interrupted them and Stasia was confused. Then Owen stiffened under her and pulled away. His pupils were huge and his lips swollen. He looked at her with unquenchable heat, and Stasia wanted to lean right in and ignore whoever was trying to interrupt them. She didn't think any man had ever looked at her like that.
"Phone," Owen said, voice gone gravelly with lust. "Could be important."
"Probably isn't." She would have ignored just about anything if it meant he would kiss her again.
But Owen was still her bodyguard and he s
till took the job seriously, even when his hard cock was trapped between them.
He answered the phone and Stasia was impressed with how professional he sounded. A wicked, newly awakened part of her wanted to play with him, to kiss and touch and see how long it would take his demeanor to break.
But that wasn't her. She didn't do things like that. Instead she slid off of him and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get it into something approaching order.
Someone knocked at the door.
Stasia looked down the hall as if that would reveal who it was. She wasn't expecting anyone, but trusted the doorman not to let a stranger come up. Owen was still speaking quietly into the phone so she stood, planning to check the security camera.
His hand flashed out and he grabbed her wrist. "I'm going with you. Don't answer the door."
A cascade of emotions slammed through her: frustration that he thought she was stupid enough to blindly open the door, fear that someone had gotten past the doorman, a stubborn desire to actually answer the door just to spite him, and a bit of residual lust at his commanding tone.
She wasn't going to examine that last one too closely.
The knocking stopped.
Owen ended his call and put his phone down. "Surveillance was checking in, they saw someone head up."
"I'm not expecting anyone." Stasia's brain was still a bit frazzled from the kiss and it took her a moment to get her thoughts in order.
Owen stood up right next to her, the concept of personal space forgotten. "Does anyone have a key? I thought you said you didn't have a boyfriend."
A boyfriend? What did he mean by that? Why would he care? Well… maybe he had reason. Was he jealous?
Footsteps tapped down the hallway and Owen stepped in front of her. Whoever it was clearly did have a key, and there were only a few people Stasia trusted that much.
A blonde woman stepped in the doorway to the library and looked at Owen and then over his shoulder to Stasia. "Am I interrupting something?" her sister, Emerald, asked.
Chapter Eleven
Emerald Selby looked a little familiar, but Owen wasn't sure why. Was it a resemblance to Stasia? There might have been a hint of it in the curve of her jaw and the shape of her nose, but with blonde hair falling in gentle waves past her shoulders and eyes as blue as the sea, not much about her coloring suggested a connection.
Some survival instinct instructed him to put distance between himself and his client. His wolf protested, but he managed to take half a step. He could still taste her on his lips and remember the press of her body as she sat in his lap.
He was going to kiss her again. And when he did, they weren't going to be interrupted.
His body ached with want. He knew lust. He'd been a horny asshole at times, but it was nothing like what he felt when it came to her. His wolf was unsettled in his skin. He wanted Stasia's sister to go away so he and Stasia could get back to what they were meant to be doing.
Mate.
There was that word again. If he thought it a few more times, he wondered if he'd begin to believe it. Was something like that possible? Was she his?
Yes.
His wolf knew it, even if the man was still trying to figure a thing or two out. But he knew that a person didn't forget a kiss like that, and they didn't let go of a woman like Stasia.
He wasn't supposed to get attached to his clients. Gibson would probably have kittens if he knew what Owen wanted. Damn the consequences, Owen was ready to take on the world for the chance to stand at Stasia's side.
If she would give him that chance.
Emerald came further into the library and pulled a small rolling suitcase in behind her. It was one of those hard cased suitcases in a blinding red.
"Fuck," said Stasia, stepping around Owen to get closer to her sister. She looked at the suitcase and then back up at Emerald, as if she hoped they might magically disappear.
Emerald crossed her arms. "You forgot?"
"What's going on?" He and Stasia had gone over her plans for the week and she'd failed to mention this visit. From his standpoint as a guard, it wasn't a huge deal. Emerald was a trusted family member and if she had ill will towards Stasia she wouldn't need to have her abducted off the street, she had a key to the woman's house. But from the perspective of Owen's cock? Not great.
Stasia gave her sister a half hug. "I'm sorry, Em. Some shit's gone down. I guess AR didn't loop you in. It's probably best if you just get a hotel." She winced as she suggested it, and Owen wondered why. There wasn't a hotel in the city they couldn't afford—even if they wanted to buy the building outright rather than just rent a room—and no doubt Em wouldn't want to be caught in the line of fire if something went down.
Not that Owen would let either of them get hurt.
Em was shaking her head, eyes wide and stubborn. "You know what happens when I go to hotels." She grimaced. "It's so much better if I stay with you…" There was a pause. "Unless this is sex week that I’m interrupting."
"No!" Stasia stepped to the other side of Em, putting as much distance as possible between herself and Owen.
That stung a little. A sex week sounded like a dream. But he found it almost… cute, the way Stasia jumped right there. From some other woman he might have seen it as a rejection, but not from Stasia. Maybe it was just his wolf engaging in wishful thinking.
Or maybe this was more than just lust.
Mate.
Em looked between him and Stasia, eyes raised and skeptical. "I mean, I guess I could stay at Dad's penthouse. As long as Riley isn't there." She sounded even less enthusiastic than the idea of the hotel.
"Riley is one of your sisters?" Owen asked. There was a whole family tree in Stasia's file, but it was convoluted and he was bad at remembering names. He vaguely remembered a Riley.
Em scoffed. "She's our twenty-three-year-old stepmother."
Yikes. Owen didn't know how to react to that. He knew Stasia was thirty-four and Em looked like she was in her late twenties. It was no secret that Armand Selby had been married several times, but Owen had never paid attention to the ages of his wives. He was curious to know how Stasia felt about that, but now was not the time to ask. Clearly Em wasn't a fan.
"You have to get over it eventually," said Stasia.
"Why?" Em finally gave up on standing in the doorway and came all the way in and leaned on Stasia's desk. From the ease of the movement, Owen had no doubt she'd done it a hundred times before. "It's not like she's going to last for long. Name stealer."
"What?" The more Em talked, the less Owen understood. What was with this family? He thought being a werewolf made him weird, but it had nothing on the weirdness of the outrageously wealthy.
Neither sister answered him. "I won't make you stay at Dad's," said Stasia. "You can stay here. Owen is my bodyguard. There was a kidnapping attempt the other day. Dad and AR insisted on a babysitter. Just for the week. They don't think it'll take long to figure stuff out." She didn't look at him while she explained the situation.
Owen didn't like the reminder of the time limit. But a week—six days now—was plenty of time. Not to get her out of his system. One kiss was enough to know that wouldn’t happen. But all he had to do was convince her to take a shot on him.
Surely she'd want to upgrade her werewolf bodyguard to werewolf boyfriend.
Right?
Em's eyes got wide, this time in surprise. "Another kidnapping attempt? Why do they always come for you?"
It sounded offensive, but Stasia smiled. "I'm an easy target. Shouldn't you have hulking men surrounding you at this point?"
Em shook her head. "I gave them the week off. I just need a week to be a normal person. Or a few days. I guess your bodyguard will have to be eye candy enough." Owen was a bit lost on why Em needed bodyguards, and he wondered if it had something to do with why she looked so familiar. But he couldn't resist preening a bit when she objectified him.
"Keep your hands to yourself." The words were jealous and petty out of St
asia's mouth and Owen's eyes got wide. Maybe he was closer to werewolf boyfriend status than he thought.
"Oooooooh. What have we got here?" Em pushed off the desk and stepped close to her sister, grinning from ear to ear at the idea of Stasia's possessiveness of Owen.
He loved listening to the banter, but he knew when to make his exit. The sisters needed time to reminisce, and they couldn't do it properly if he was standing right there. "I'll let you two get caught up," he said.
But as he left the room, he trailed a hand down Stasia's arm, a reminder that the thing between them was far from over.
Chapter Twelve
Stasia could still feel Owen's touch as she went back to the couch and sat down. She patted the seat next to her for Em to join her, her cheeks warm. She expected him to do the normal thing: ignore everything they'd just done together and let things go back to normal.
She was going to tuck that kiss deep into her memory and revisit it every time she needed a pick me up. But she could barely dream of letting it be more. What was she to Owen? What was he to her?
What could they become?
Everything. The instinct was terrifying and exhilarating, and she was almost sure it was right. If she let him, if she wanted, they could be everything together.
With one casual touch, he’d destroyed her expectations, and she was excited to see just how he planned to build them up again. Owen wasn't like any man she'd ever dated, ever kissed. And if he got under her skin, she didn't know that she'd be able to let him go.
Who was she kidding? He was under her skin already.
Em sank down onto the couch next to her and gave her a bright, questioning look. "What's going on? You're grinning."
"Nothing's going on." Stasia bristled. Sure, she was having happy thoughts about Owen; it didn't mean she wanted Em to come in and make it weird.
But Em had the instincts of a little sister and she wasn't about to drop it. "You keep touching your lips. Those pillows over there are way more messed up than you would ever allow. And that guy looked at you like he was thinking naughty thoughts and you didn't do anything to tell them off. So what's going on between the two of you? Bodyguard?" she scoffed. "Yeah, right."
