Page 31 of Choosing the Rejected Mate

A faint flush climbs her cheeks.“Yes.”

One word.Soft and clear.

I move slowly, giving her plenty of time to change her mind.She turns around and braces her hands on the counter, her spine straight, body tense.I step behind her but leave an inch of space between us.

I place my hands on her shoulders, and she stiffens.So do I.

The bond flares at the contact, a deep, glowing pull that slides beneath my skin and straight into my blood.Her heat seeps into my palms.Her scent rises around me, sugar and woman and wolf, and I have to close my eyes for a second to keep my head.

“Okay?”I ask.

Her voice is strained.“Yes.”

I press my thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of her neck, and she groans.The sound nearly drops me.It’s not sexual.Except it is.It’s also tired and relieved and painfully human, and that makes it worse.

“Daniel,” she breathes.

My cock hardens instantly.I grit my teeth and focus on her shoulders.Safe.Respectful.Shoulder muscles.Nothing else.

“You’re tense,” I say, because apparently I enjoy stating the obvious.

“I own a bakery and recently discovered fate still has my address.”

“Fair.”

My thumbs work slow circles into her muscles, and bit by bit, she relaxes under my hands.Not fully.Holly does not seem like a woman who knows how to be fully unguarded.But she softens.Trusts me with a fraction of her weight, and it feels like an honor.

“You have good hands,” she says softly, and my control slips a notch.

“I’ve been told.”

Her head turns slightly.“By who?”

The bite in her tone is small.Adorable but dangerous.

I lean closer before I think better of it, my mouth near her ear but not touching.“Jealous?”

She scoffs.“Of course not.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Because there’s no one to be jealous of.”

Her breathing changes.Mine does too.The inch between us disappears somehow.Her back brushes my chest.Barely.Just a whisper of contact.It still feels like being struck.

Her scent sweetens, and I freeze.“Holly.”

“I know,” she whispers.

“We should stop.”My voice is a low rumble.

“I know.”But neither of us stops.

Her hands tighten on the counter.My hands still on her shoulders.Her head tips back just enough that her hair brushes my jaw, and the small contact tears a low growl from my chest before I can bury it.

She shivers, not with fear, with desire.