Page 7 of Goldie's Grumpy Grizzly
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”
Chapter Four
Cole
The gorgeous woman lying smack dab in the center of my bed like a queen startles at the sound of my voice, letting out a gasp and a short scream as she bolts upright.
I step backward, wincing at her volume.
“Who am I? Who are you? Why are you in my room? Don’t come any closer. I’m warning you, I know krav maga!” She flails her arms, reaching under the pillow and scattering the objects on the nightstand around as she searches for something. “Mace. I’ve got mace somewhere.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. I own the place.” I don’t mean to shout or scare her, but it takes every ounce of my effort to control my bear who is driving me to dive into bed with her and nuzzle against her skin. What is wrong with me?
No woman’s had this effect on me before and it’s disorienting. Folding my arms across my chest, I frown when she sits up and my eyes travel over her mussed blonde strands gathered into a sloppy bun, the blackout eye mask shoved up to her forehead, and the long column of her throat. The curve of her bare shoulder catches my eye as one of the skinny straps of her top slips down, exposing the edge of a curious tattoo on the swell of her breast. Something wild and wanting stirs inside me as my bear paces back and forth excitedly. The desire to see more, know more, gets my blood pumping south.
She tilts her head to the side, a puzzled look on her face as she squints at me. “Huh. Funny. You don’t look like a Melanie Osborne.”
“Melanie’s my mom, and Wilderwood Camp is a family operation.”
“Right. Okay. So, what are you doing in my room again?”
“You’re. In. My. House.” I growl and bite into the sweet honey nut oatmeal muffin she’d obviously made when she’d been throwing flour and the last of my porridge oats all over my countertops. The flavors coating my tongue make my eyes roll back in sheer bliss.
Shit, it’s sweet and sinful.
Wonder if she tastes the same.
I nearly choke as I swallow and talk around another scrumptious mouthful. “You made a mess of my kitchen. And you left food out—a dangerous temptation. Didn’t anyone tell you there are bears in these parts? Our sense of smell is incredible, and we can sniff out sweet stuff like this for miles. Oh, and you broke my chair.”
“What? Is this about the food?” She rubs her eyebrow and reaches back to yank her lopsided ponytail out.
I watch, mesmerized, as her golden hair tumbles down over her shoulder. She shakes her head from side to side, and her heavy, freed breasts jiggle under the silk, making it impossible to ignore the points of her hardened nipples that poke through her top. Her skin looks so soft, but it’s her scent that wafts over to me and up my nostrils that’s killing me.
Honeysuckle. Sugar. Tea. And something a little extra.
I swallow hard. My bear is snuffling and whining, itching to get closer and pacing.
That woman, the one who could’ve killed me three nights ago, smelled just like that. Scents are signatures, and my shifter gifts are sharper than most. Even when I’m in my human form, I never forget a scent.
“You!” Shock and accusation laces the word, just as surely as if I was pointing right at her. Well, I am. Just with a muffin in my hand, not with my actual finger.
The pretty, curvy blonde snatches thick black-rimmed glasses from their precarious position on the nightstand and jams them on her face. When she turns the full force of her evergreen eyes on me, I feel like I’m caught in a bear trap.
Immobile. Shocked. Something not unlike pain, but not exactly painful, ripples through me as my bear roars in my ears.
What the f—
“I can’t believe it’s you,” I breathe.
Her eyes drop down to her lap and she fiddles with the bedspread, smoothing it out. I don’t know what’s up with the sudden change in demeanor. It’s like her walls have just come up.
“Oh. Yeah, it’s me. Aurelia Golding. But seeing as you’ve barged in on me in my pajamas and helped yourself to my ultra-special honey nut oatmeal muffins, you can call me Rae. All my friends do.”
Rae Golding. The name rings a bell. Where have I heard it before?
Then, in an instant, a tripwire flips in my brain. Recognition cuts through to my core, making my heartbeat thump hard and fast. With all my instincts firing at once, I’m left paralyzed and processing in the damn doorway.
A memory flashes—my mom and her book club group seated by heaving bookshelves full of shirtless, muscle-ripped men, all giggling and swooning over a set of thick-ass hardcovers involving shifters, magical folk, and monstrous beings of all types. The series is supposed to conclude with a massive on-site fan event here next year…
