Page 6 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

The bond hums between us, hot and aching.His wolf presses against his skin.I see it in the glow of his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flex like he wants to reach for me and is choosing not to.

Finally, he nods once.“Okay.”

I narrow my eyes.“Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats.“I’ll fix the mixer.”

“And?”

“And I won’t mention the other thing unless you do.”

My throat tightens.That is very rude of him.He’s supposed to push.Growl.Demand.Make it easy for me to hate him.Men who push are simple.Men who listen are dangerous.

“Good,” I say, because I have survived worse than attractive patience.Probably.

Daniel’s gaze flicks to the flour on my cheek.His mouth twitches again.

“What?”I snap.

“You have...”He gestures to his own face.

“I know.”

“It’s kind of everywhere.”

“I was attacked.”

“By flour?”

“Violently.”

His lips press together like he’s fighting a laugh.My wolf perks up, and I glare harder to compensate.Daniel clears his throat, but there’s warmth in his eyes now.Not pity.Not possession.

Something worse.Amusement, interest, want.

“I’ll be careful in the crime scene,” he says.

Maisie makes a strangled sound behind me, and I jab a finger toward the kitchen.“Mixer.Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Oh, that should not do anything to me.Yet, the words roll over my skin, low and respectful and just edged enough to make my thighs press together behind the counter.

Daniel hears the change in my breathing.Of course he does.Wolf bastard.His eyes darken for one dangerous second, amber turning molten.The bond flares, sudden and hot, sweeping through my body like a match touched to dry paper.

My fingers tighten on the counter and his hand curls around the tool belt.Neither of us moves, then he takes a slow breath, steps back, and looks away first.

“I’ll fix the mixer,” he says, voice rougher now.

I nod, pretending I don’t feel shaky.“That’s all you’re fixing today.”

He pauses beside the counter, close enough that his scent wraps around me and tugs at places I have kept locked for years.Then he looks at me again, not at my body, not at the place on my neck where a claim should have been once.At me.

“Good,” he says softly.“I charge extra for emotional repairs anyway.”

The laugh slips out before I can stop it.It’s small, rusty, and almost unwilling.But it’s real.

Daniel’s face changes when he hears it, like that tiny laugh is something precious and my heart does one stupid, reckless little flip.Oh no.No, no, no.Absolutely not.