Regan was right. She had been celibate for too long, and now, as punishment from her neglected libido, she was going to burst, literally, into flames. What the hell was wrong with her? Had any guy, ever, caused her to have even one iota of the lust-drenched torrent of feelings she was currently grappling with? She was racking her brain, but sadly, there didn’t seem to be much left to rack. Gideon shut the refrigerator door and looked curiously at her with those intense honey-gold eyes.
“Headache?”
“Mmm,” was all she could manage. At that moment, Carly was afraid that if she tried to say anything else, all that would come out would be X-rated. It was so wrong, she thought miserably. All she’d wanted was a pet, to care for a wounded animal and make it her own. Instead, she had the hottest mythological creature she’d ever imagined making her breakfast. Not that it would have been quite so bad, she decided, if he were the kind of man that ever might have been interested in her. But there was just no way, and she knew it. Guys who looked like wanton gods of sex did not lust after shy bookworms. Oh, she was okay to look at, Carly knew. But she wasn’t a dark, irresistible gypsy like Regan. She was, she decided, sort of like Tinkerbell without the attitude. Short, curvy, and unfortunately, more apt to be reading about her ideal Peter Pan than chasing after the real one. How exciting.
“I’m not surprised your head hurts if this is all you have to eat.” Carly looked up again at the sound of Gideon’s rich brogue, seeing that he held her ancient jar of mayonnaise in one hand and a pathetic-looking orange in the other.
Glad for the distraction, she blew a lock of hair out of her face as she tried to remember where the latter had come from. “Oh, yeah. I remember.” She pointed to the orange. “Last month I decided I was finally going to start eating healthy. Then Regan invented this new cheesecake that works surprisingly well for breakfast and I fell off the health food wagon.”
“Last month.” He looked at the unfortunate fruit, looked back at Carly, his face serious but laughter playing around the corners of his mouth. “Somehow I doubt you were ever actually on the health food wagon. I’m thinking you just looked at it a moment as the junk food wagon passed it.”
“I have cereal,” she offered.
“No doubt something full of marshmallows?” He sighed when she just smiled. Her smile faded a little, though, when she noticed that he was still favoring the one leg pretty badly as he moved to forage in the cupboards. That one had been shredded worse, she remembered. Not that much of him had actually escaped injury. One other werewolf had done that to him? It was hard to believe, but it wasn’t like she was an expert on that subject. All she had to go by was Gideon, with whom she was strangely comfortable at some level, even as he was fraying all of her nerve endings at another. It was a weird mix. Kind of like him, she supposed. But just because he could no longer be mistaken for a wounded animal didn’t mean he wasn’t a wounded man who still needed some tending to, even though he looked like the type who would probably be difficult about it. She was just going to have to shrug off this attraction and do what her other instincts told her to, tucking his image away for some serious fantasizing once he was gone.
And he was going, probably soon, Carly reminded herself. No reason why he shouldn’t. But in the meantime, she could spare him trying to put together something decent from the meager supplies she kept in her kitchen.
She stood, moved to Gideon’s side as he pushed around a half-empty box of Cheez-Its and a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. “Christ, woman,” he muttered without looking at her. “It’s a medical miracle you’re living and breathing, if this is all you eat.”
He looked absurdly right standing there, big and male and confused by the mysterious habits of the single woman, causing yet another little twist of both longing and lust deep in her belly. Not for me, she told herself firmly, and put her hand on the rock-hard muscle of his arm, sucking in a soft breath at the unexpected jolt of electricity she felt at the connection. What was that? Not for me, she insisted to herself again, but this time it was weaker, almost a question. She forced humor, even as Gideon stilled at her touch as though she’d struck him, turning his unusual and heated eyes on her full force.
It was all she could do not to puddle at his feet.
“Don’t worry,” she managed with a shaky laugh. “I live because of the nutritional wonder that is takeout.” When he didn’t answer, but merely dropped his gaze to her mouth (and oh, God, she was chewing her bottom lip again, she realized, even as she forced herself to stop it), Carly reluctantly moved her hand, breaking the connection, and took a step back, making a mental note not to touch him again unless absolutely necessary. What was she doing, letting him stay here, she asked herself frantically, fighting against her body’s natural instincts to run from that predatory gaze. He was at least half beast; she could see that from the silent, graceful way he moved his massive form, the hint of danger that flickered in the way he looked at her, warning her. If she ran, Carly wondered, would he chase her? And more importantly … would she let him catch her? The thought that she very well might nearly had her fleeing the house as fast as her feet would take her.
“I, um,” she fumbled, then drew in a deep breath, straightened. She was going to have to stop being such a shrinking violet, she chided herself. Gideon was intimidating, on a lot of levels, but damn it, this was her house, her life he’d crashed into, and if she didn’t take the reins back now, God only knew what kind of shape she’d be in by the time he crashed back out of it. She cleared her throat, tried again, and fought back a flash of irritation as what looked like amusement flickered across Gideon’s face. She’d just thought of a perfect, completely practical escape hatch so that she could clear her head. She was going to use it.
“Look, I’m going to save you some trouble here. There is nothing fit to eat in this house. However, my best friend runs a bakery and, as luck would have it, lives just two houses away. I’ll go forage for food. You rest. You look like you need it.”
To Carly’s relief, he seemed to have managed to shut his prey drive off. He looked normal again. Or as normal as he probably got, anyway. Gideon shut the cupboard, leaned back against the counter, and raised his dark brows at her. He didn’t have to say anything. His disbelief was obvious.
Carly felt her temper trying to bubble up again and reminded herself that there was no reason for Gideon to trust her not to sneak off and have him hauled out of her house. He didn’t know her, after all, she told herself. Although it might have been nice if he’d given her a little more credit, all things considered.
“I’m walking there. In a blizzard,” she pointed out flatly. “Also, I don’t usually save people’s lives just so I can have them tossed in jail. If you don’t believe me, however, you’re more than welcome to find another place to stay.”
Gideon’s look of chagrin was a perfectly adequate balm for her wounded pride.
“Sorry,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair, and Carly saw that, despite his casual demeanor, he found the entire situation just as awkward and uncomfortable as she did. Against her will, she felt another warm little twist in her belly. Getting all friendly-warm-and-cozy with Gideon MacInnes would be nothing but trouble. If only he wasn’t proving to be so damned likeable.
“I don’t mean to imply,” he started, raising his eyes to her a little before moving them back to the floor. “That is, you’ve been more accommodating than … and it’s not as though I don’t appreciate … oh, hell.”
“Apology accepted,” Carly offered, throwing him a line. If saving Gideon was a trend, she might as well continue it.
He blew out a breath, nodded. “Well then. A baker for a friend,” Gideon, obviously relieved, collected himself and gave her a curt nod. “That should do nicely. And despite your, er, flattering assessment of my condition, I am going to need to sleep. I’ll heal more quickly. Normally I’d be fine by now, but when my kind go after one another, the damage tends to be a bit longer-lasting.” Gideon paused, and Carly couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of his eye. Had another werewolf done that to him? And why? So many questions, and she had no idea when or if to even begin asking them.
“And of course,” he continued slowly, his gaze direct, “the more quickly I heal, the faster I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Then by all means, sleep,” Carly laughed, even though she didn’t even want to imagine him leaving yet. Which was, she chastised herself, so utterly dumb, it was frightening. “Take the guest bed this time, though.” Gideon just chuckled, a throaty rumble that made Carly’s knees feel slightly watery.
“I’ll do that. But do you mind if I use your phone first?”
“Oh. Um, Scotland?” She’d sort of forgotten he’d be making international calls. Silly, because that deep, growly brogue of his had already ruined her for all other accents, forever and ever, amen.
Gideon looked at her apologetically. “I was supposed to be flying home today. My brother and father will be wondering where I am. I’ll make it quick.”
Carly rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh, happy to be back on some sort of even footing. Teasing she could do. Having two older brothers, she was a master. It was the migraine-inducing sexual tension that made her want to run screaming. Keep it light and simple, she instructed herself. Banter was good. Though she wasn’t about to tell him that even if he felt the need to call Japan, it was no big deal because her phone had seen even less action than she had lately, which was really saying something.
“Okaaaaaay,” she drawled, then narrowed her eyes. “But you owe me.”
His expression turned unexpectedly solemn. “I know I do. You saved my life. I’ll be forever in your debt for that.”
And so much, Carly thought, for light and simple.
“Oh,” she stammered, feeling the heat flood her face immediately, “that’s okay.” She searched for something, anything to say that would cut the crackling tension arcing, once again, between them. She tried for a smirk, hoping against hope that it didn’t simply look pained. “You’re just lucky I’m not squeamish. You were kind of an ugly dog.”
