Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

“Boy.” He chuckles. “How do you know? What will you be doing, playing with yourself? ’Cuz if I can’t help you, then at least I wouldn’t mind watching.”

I choke on my spit. “Screw you.”

He shrugs. “If it gets you off…”

“You’re unbearable.”

“Yeah.” There’s a note of regret in his voice, a bright, golden chime of sorrow, then he taps a rhythm on the doorframe with his fingers while picking with his other hand at a hole in his hoodie. “I’d better get going then.”

Those remarkable eyes shift, and the regret I heard in his voice echoes in their depths, a flash of bleakness.

Crap. I shouldn’t. Not with the way he makes my body react and my heart sting. Not with the way he teases me. He’s like salt in my wounds, the last thing I need.

I really shouldn’t.

“I have fresh coffee,” I say. “Get in.”

Jesse draped over a chair in my little kitchen is a sight not easily forgotten. He’s taken off his hoodie, and his T-shirt is soft and stretches easily across his pecs and broad shoulders. I watch his long fingers curl around the chipped coffee mug I dug out of the cupboard, his sea foam gaze glinting over the rim, and my mind goes blank.

I’m going to regret this, but Kayla was right. He’s such eye-candy, I can’t help staring.

Just a touch. Just a taste.

Shaking my head at myself, I busy my hands with the coffee maker and keep my back to him. I need a moment to gather my wits.

“So, Embers.” I hear the clink of his mug when he sets it down on the table. “How do you like it, being back here?” He taps his fingers on the table, like he did on the doorframe. “You did say you were from around here, right?”

Crap, I did. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

Mug gripped firmly in both hands, I turn toward him. “It’s fantastic,” I say drily.

He grins and looks down into his coffee. “Yeah, I see you can’t contain your excitement and joy. Going out on a limb, I’d say you hated it here and couldn’t wait to skip town. Makes sense.” He tsks. “Question is, why did you come back if it makes you so unhappy?”

Whoa. I’m not sitting in my kitchen with Jesse digging inside my head. Because that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Like, Oprah weird.

Besides… just no. Answer the question with a question. Boy, those visits to the psychologist are paying off.

“Are you from around here?”

He blinks, looks up. “No, actually, I’m not.” He seems shocked I asked.

“So where are you from, and how did you end up here?”

“You really wanna know?”

His question could be a trap to get me to admit I really want to know, so he can tease me mercilessly about it.

Funny thing is, I find I really do want to know more about him. He’s a puzzle, a riddle.

“Sure.”

He blinks again, brows lifting. “I’m from North Dakota, near Bismarck. I think.”

“You think?”

He shrugs. “Moved about quite a bit.”