Alpha's Revenge (Shifter Ops 3)

“Women have very different heart attack symptoms than men,” I snap because I’m still mad at him. “It’s not always chest pains–” I shut my mouth because why am I arguing with Rafe about the symptoms of a heart attack in the middle of the plaza? What I really want to do is slap him then break down and ask why he left. Where he’s been the last two days.

His hand closes over mine, and my heart threatens to flutter out of my chest. “All right, princess,” he soothes. “If it wasn’t a heart attack, then what was it?”

A Rafe attack. But, no, I can’t tell him that.

I flip Tabitha’s gift scarf over my shoulder. Rafe hovers so close, the tasseled end hits him in the face. Oops. “Nothing,” I say, trying to gather the scattered shards of my dignity. I guess we’re not going to talk about our night together. Fine. “I’m fine.” I go to take a step, and my heel hits an icy patch, and my leg goes out from under me.

I hit the solid wall of Rafe’s body and end up in his arms, slanted across him like we’re tango dancers posing for a song’s finale.

“You're wearing boots again.” He scowls at the high heels. “How do you walk in the snow with those things?”

“Elegantly.” Except when you’re around.

He sets me on my feet, and I make a fuss out of straightening my clothes. After a moment, he brushes my hands aside and starts adjusting my coat for me.

“You better start wearing something practical, princess. I'm not always going to be behind you to catch you when you fall,” he says in that rough voice of his, his patented sexpot growl. Every word sends goosebumps over my skin.

I had a snappy retort on the top of my tongue, but one look into his face, and it flew away.

He's looking at me like I'm a cupcake and good enough to eat.

His hands are still on my coat, and I feel their warmth penetrate all my layers of clothes straight to my skin.

He hums, and he adjusts my scarf in a careful way that makes me feel like he wants to tear off all my clothes. “This is nice.” He rubs the scarf between his thumb and forefinger, and I feel the ghost of his touch between my legs.

“Tabitha gave it to me.” I lick my lips. “Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Princess.”

“Because you’re high maintenance.”

“Is that so?” Lord, this man makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders every time he opens his mouth. If Mémère were here, she'd say it's because I really want to rip off his clothes.

I'm glad that Mémère isn't here to see her favorite granddaughter making a fool of herself over a man.

“I'm not high maintenance,” I say. “I just look good. I like to look put together. Besides, what does it matter?” I add with a little French shrug. “You're not the one maintaining me.”

He cocks his head. “That's right. I just get to enjoy the results.” There’s a flash of light in his eyes. His gaze warms me through and through.

Rafe looks leaner somehow, the hollows of his cheeks deeper, his cheekbones sharper. There’s a forest of shadows beneath his eyes. His dark hair falls over his face, and my hand itches to brush it back. He’s been keeping long work hours, and it looks like he’s been missing sleep.

My first instinct is to ask if he’s been eating, and order him to sit, so I can feed him. Heap his plate high and sit close to him to make sure he finishes it. And then climb in his lap and straddle him to give him his reward…

I blink. Where the hell did that thought come from?

But now he's staring at me, looking straight into my eyes.

“Where’s your winter coat?” I make a show of looking around for it. “It’s freezing out here.”

He's in his usual black henley and a vest. His tan cheeks are chapped. He's not even wearing a hat. I can see the heat from his body escaping out the top of his head.

“Worried about me?” His eyes are smoldering.

“You think my clothes aren’t practical…”

There’s a flash of green light from his eyes. But I must be seeing something. Maybe the Christmas lights reflected or something weird.

“Let me see something.” I grab his arm and step in front of him to study his eyes for a moment.

“What are you looking for, princess?” His voice is even more gravely than normal. He crowds into my space again, and I don't hate it.

I shake my head. “It must be a trick of the light. Sometimes your eyes look green, but they’re actually…” my voice trails off.

Our lips are a few inches apart.

“What, princess?” his breath wafts over my face.