ALPHA’S PREY

He stops just before his hips emerge, and pulls the fabric up to his waist.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

I can’t help but look, because the reason he didn’t come out is obvious.

Yep. Giant tent in the sleeping bag. Holy shit, that flag pole is high.

I turn away to give him some privacy.

Bathroom. That’s what I need. I look around, not remembering the layout from last night when I was too disoriented from the cold.

I must’ve had hypothermia.

A fresh rush of gratitude runs through me. Bear and I would both be dead if it wasn’t for the man out there. Whose name I don’t even know.

I find the bathroom and quickly pee. My clothes are still in a puddle on the floor where he discarded them yesterday. I remember those large hands disrobing me. It wasn’t sexy-he’d been more disgruntled than anything-but the memory of it makes my nipples pucker again. I really wish I had a pair of panties to wear. Then the thrum between my legs wouldn’t be so strong.

I pick my clothes up but they’re wet and covered with dirt. Damn. I take a quick look in the mirror. Dear lord, I look like hell! My hair is a disaster from being in a hat all day yesterday and then rolling around on a beefy man’s arm all night. I grab his comb and do my best to yank out the tangles. I open the bathroom cabinet.

I read a statistic once on bathroom cabinets. Something like fifty percent of people who use your bathroom will look in the cabinets. I don’t normally fall into that group, but today’s an exception. There’s no mouthwash or extra toothbrush. There’s very little, actually. Just the man-basics: deodorant, dental floss, and Vaseline which I grab and rub some on my dry, cracked lips.

I carry my bundle of wet clothes out.

Mountain man is up and he’s put his jeans on, which somehow makes him look even hotter. The washboard abs look even finer when framed by denim. I lick up my lips-a nervous habit I thought I’d kicked years ago.

“Um, thanks. You know, for rescuing us. And um”-I look at the rumpled sleeping bag on the floor- “saving my life.”

He has this strange way of remaining perfectly still. He watches me intently, his eyes so dark they appear black, his expression inscrutable.

And then he doesn’t answer. Just turns and walks to the back door, opens it and whistles to Bear. Snow’s still falling. My dog, who has somehow decided that this man is the boss, trots over and stops just short of going out, tail tucked.

“Out,” Caleb grunts and nudges Bear. There’s no anger in his voice, but it’s impossibly firm and my dog instantly obeys, diving into a snow drift taller than him and disappearing.

I gasp because that means the snow appears to be over three feet deep.

Crap. I guess I’m not going anywhere. Not unless mountain man has snowshoes or skis I can borrow and he can point me in the right direction.

Bear does his business quickly and comes bounding back up the steps, snow coating his fur everywhere. He comes inside and shakes it all off onto the floor.

“Sorry,” I say wryly.

Mountain man doesn’t answer, just throws a towel down over the snow and walks away.

“Um, do you have a washing machine?” I try again.

He turns without answering.

I gasp when he snatches the clothes from my arms without a word and flips open the washer, which is right next to where we’re standing by the back door. I didn’t notice because the washer and dryer are cloaked by wooden cabinetry. He tosses my clothes in and starts it up.

When he turns, his gaze lands on my freshly-glossed lips.

I flush, imagining he’s thinking about me going through his cabinets. His gaze travels down the length of my body, stopping at my bare legs. “You cold?” he rumbles. His voice is deep and just as gruff as I remembered it. It’s also somehow pleasing. My body tingles in reaction. “I can get you some sweatpants.”

I’m not cold, because the cabin is toasty with the fire, but I definitely want pants. I lick my lips again-dammit, I have to break that habit!-and bob my head. “I-yes. That would be nice, thank you.”

He walks away without a response. If I weren’t so uncomfortable at waking up spooning this man naked, I might appreciate his economy of words. As it is, I would give anything for some kind of normal conversation. Some chit chat to put me at ease, like, “My name is Joe Mountain, you had quite a scare yesterday, didn’t you? How are you feeling now? Can I make you some breakfast?”

Actually, as I imagine that scenario, it sounds too much like what a serial killer might say. As long as this guy remains surly, it probably means he’s not interested in cutting me into pieces and burying me in the basement.

Right?

Caleb

MY BRAIN KEEPS STUTTERING over the fuck-hot body on that female in my living room.

Knowing her pussy is bare right now does something visceral to me. My bear came out of slumber hella fast the moment I woke up face to thigh with her. It’s a wonder I didn’t shift right there.

And her scent: arousal.

I can’t imagine why she was turned on. I thought she’d be terrified to come to her senses and find herself naked in a sleeping bag with a stranger. And I think she was. But she was also turned on.

I never thought a human female could smell so good. I certainly didn’t expect to be so affected by another female’s scent. Bears don’t normally mate for life, but this one did.

So I’m unnerved by my body-and my bear’s-reaction to her. It feels like a betrayal of Jen’s memory.

So I stay in my bedroom far longer than it takes to grab a pair of sweatpants and try not to wonder how she’ll look in them. I take my time, put on a t-shirt, pace around my room a few times.