Alpha's Vow (Shifter Ops 2)

But Charlie’s not a game.

I don’t want to use charm and coax another interlude out of her. I want real connection. I need her to want more than one night.

“Um, no, I’m good.” She says it way too fast.

Crushingly fast.

I really couldn’t have fucked this up more.

She turns on her cute little barefooted heel and disappears to the bathroom, and I’m left with a jumbo-sized boner that is likely to kill me. I’ll be jerking in my shower the second I get home.

Speaking of home, I’m going to have to explain my absence last night to Rafe. Of course, he’ll assume I’m being my usual, careless womanizing self, and breaking the rules to dip my stick in another human.

He’ll give me shit but it won’t be anything he doesn’t expect from me.

The question is, do I tell him about Charlie? Not that I fucked her, but that she’s my mate?

No. It feels too private, and far too tenuous. I mean, I don’t even know if I’m going to get a second date with this female, and landing it feels like a national fucking emergency. I’m too tender to absorb Rafe’s disapproval, or a repetition of his rules about who I can and can’t fuck.

A black cat yarls at me and jumps onto the counter, tail puffy, ears back. He smells danger.

“Oh, right. You must be Merlin.” I pick him up by the nape and hold him up at eye-level, giving a low warning growl to show him what I am, and who’s alpha here.

The moment I set him back on his feet, he drops to his side and shows his belly in submission in a decidedly dog-like manner.

“Smart kitty.” I stroke his soft cheeks to reward him. He takes it for a few moments, then springs back up and trots away, apparently cool with me now.

I listen to the sound of the shower turn off, and have to work hard not to picture Charlie coming out of her bathroom, dripping and naked, that glorious body begging to be taken again.

No. I doubt she wants round two right now.

In fact, my gut says she doesn’t want another round at all, so I need to get my mind off fucking her and start figuring out how to get her on a date. I walk around her place, memorizing every detail. There’s a photo on her refrigerator of a young man in uniform—must be the brother. Another one of her whole family—the parents, Charlie, and her brother. A few coupons are stuck under magnets, and a card for a plumber and one for the chimney sweep.

I take in Charlie’s furniture, sparing a moment to savor the memory of Charlie served up on the dining table for me. Like the table, all her furniture is sturdy and practical. Well-made. Not expensive, but not cheap, throwaway crap either. She has a red Turkish rug in the living room, and a brown leather couch and chair set oriented to face either the kiva fireplace or the television.

The interior paint is a pale mustard, except for an accent wall of brick red. The house is southwestern without beating you over the head with it. There’s no coyote with a handkerchief or horned skull on the mantle, but there is a mirror framed with cheerful Mexican tile, and another colorful piece of art.

Charlie emerges in her work uniform, which shouldn’t look hot. I mean, the U.S. Postal Service wasn’t going for sexy when they designed the blue uniforms, but for some reason, I sprout a semi from the way the fabric drapes across her perfect tits. The flash of skin at her throat. Her pine and peach scent that fills my nostrils.

I clear my throat, turning away so she won’t see how excited I am to see her.

I rinse my coffee mug out in the sink and put it in the dishwasher.

“Thanks.” Charlie eyes me like she’s surprised I’m house trained enough to put away my own dishes.

“You ready? I mean, there’s no rush.”

“No, I’m ready.” She grabs her puffy coat from the hook by the door and then hands me my leather one. I hung it there this morning when I got up and found it on the floor under the table.

I slip it on. “You want to drive?”

She shakes her head.

The fun is over. Whatever willingness Charlie had last night to explore and play with me, it’s gone. It’s no longer her birthday. The permission she gave herself to indulge has passed.

I try not to let the low grumble of my wolf come out of my throat. It’s no problem.

I’ll get the second date.

I just may have to work a lot harder for it than I did for the first one.

Charlie

There’s nothing worse than the morning after a one-night stand. I mean, it’s not really supposed to happen, right? The morning-after part? The person who slept over is supposed to sneak out at dawn before the other one is awake. Or, at worst, make a mad scramble to grab their clothes and jet the moment they realize where they are.