Home > Missing Lynx (Kodiak Point #6)(9)

Missing Lynx (Kodiak Point #6)(9)
Author: Eve Langlais

“You are not fat.”

“Poke me and see.”

She arched a brow. “I am not touching you.”

“I forgot about that rule.”

“It’s not a rule but a preference.”

“Which I will respect. My mother raised me right. Shifter’s honor.” He saluted with two fingers.

She snorted. “With how many times you’ve mentioned your mother, I’m surprised you ever left home.”

“It was a battle with much tears. Have you ever seen a grown man cry, bella? Not pretty. But in the end, despite her swearing my leaving would probably kill her, I moved into the loft over the garage.”

She stared at him. “Please tell me you’re kidding. You still live at home?”

“Over the garage,” he clarified. “My loft is rated as a fully functional apartment. I even pay rent and utilities.”

“It’s ten feet from your mother.”

“More like twenty-five.” And he didn’t seem embarrassed by it at all.

“You know, at your age, you might want to think about getting some space. Cutting loose those apron strings.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a grown man and it’s weird.”

“She’s my mother. She needs me.”

“And how does your girlfriend feel about it?” Too late she realized it looked as if she was fishing for information.

His smile couldn’t have gotten any smugger. “Single. So you don’t need to worry. Especially since I am not the type to double dip. If you’re with me, you won’t have to share me with anyone else.”

“Except your mother.”

“Exactly. Glad you understand. Since my father died, I’m the only family she’s got left. Don’t take it personally when you meet if she hates you on sight.”

She knew she shouldn’t ask but did it anyway. “Why would we ever meet?”

“I’d say that seems obvious, given you and I are fated to be.” With those bold words, he strode off in the direction of her cabin, leaving her to gape.

This was the second time he’d made the assertion. The first time, the very idea had made her heart flutter, and then her blood chilled. A mate meant letting someone get close.

Never.

Ever.

She would set him straight. Warn him he wasted his time. She knew better than to get involved with anyone.

Entering the cabin, she immediately noticed he’d already begun to unpack his knapsack. A mason jar with red sauce inside. A canister of flour. Eggs, which he’d wrapped in a soft, light gray scarf. When the eggs were safe, he handed the scarf to her.

“This is for you.”

“Why?” She scrunched the soft fabric.

“Do I need a reason to offer a gift?”

“I don’t want a gift.” Because those came with strings. She shoved it back at him.

“What if I said to think of it as payment?”

“For what?”

“Not killing me.”

“Yet,” she specified. “I haven’t killed you yet.”

The threat had him throwing back his head and uttering a boisterous chuckle. It was kind of contagious. She bit her lips lest she join him.

“If you’re going to kill me, wait until after dinner. Because I am about to blow your taste buds,” he practically purred. But it was the playful wink that made something clench between her legs.

He turned away, and a good thing too. She found herself startled and alarmed because, for the first time in a long time—a very, very long time—she felt desire for another person.

It surprised her mostly because she’d assumed that part of her life over. Sure, she masturbated, she was, after all, a healthy woman, but she never expected she’d ever want someone to be the one touching her again.

She stared at him, hearing the deep rumble of his voice as he laid out his ingredients. She waited for the fear to become unbearable. The panic as she realized they were alone in a closed room.

But much like Reid and Boris and the other people she trusted, she could relax around him. Maybe even be normal.

He certainly didn’t appear to think anything was amiss with her. He grabbed things from her shelves as if he had every right, regaling her with stories of his childhood as he measured out flour and water then added eggs, kneading the whole mess, still talking. He never shut up.

She couldn’t have repeated what he spoke of, other than he was amusing, often outrageous. He had a tendency of turning and just plain smiling at her, as if the sight of her made him happy.

Which was odd because she’d thought him to be a serious and grim man. That first time when he’d stalked her in the store, he’d had a dangerous look. In the forest, he kept careful watch.

But in here, with her, he showed a gentle side that kept up a single-sided conversation and didn’t appear to mind she kept a wary eye on him, waiting for the moment he’d… He’d what?

Logically she knew he wouldn’t attack her. No, his plan was much worse. He offered friendship and the kind of flirting that usually happened between a man and a woman. The teasing that would have led to something more with a person a lot less broken.

She could have sent him packing anytime, but she didn’t. Instead, she allowed herself to pretend for a few hours that she could be that girl who had a dinner date with a guy. The kind of girl who deserved the candles he scrounged from a shelf and sat in the middle of her small table.

The food certainly rivaled the best she’d ever eaten.

She groaned aloud at the first bite. Then blushed.

“How is it?” he asked, his voice oddly rough.

She held up a finger as she brought another forkful to her mouth. Surely, she was wrong. It couldn’t have been that good.

Moan.

Even better.

“Lord fucking help me,” she heard him mutter.

She glanced over to see him intent on his plate of food, sopping some of the bread she’d made yesterday, but he’d transformed. He’d slathered it with some ghee, sprinkled garlic powder on it, and then toasted it.

She joined him in enjoying the feast, doing better about holding in her sounds of enjoyment but unable to stop herself from wiping the plate clean.

When she was done shoving food into her mouth, she leaned back with a sigh and admitted, “That was really freaking good.”

“I could tell,” was his rumble. “I’ve never been more jealous of food.”

“Jealous?” she said with a nervous laugh but also a flutter at the ardent look in his eyes.

“So—” Whatever he planned to say got drowned out by Ozzy’s, “Mama, I’m Coming Home.” He frowned. “She’s early.”

“Who is?”

“Mamma.”

She thought he was joking. “Wait, your mother is calling? How? I don’t get a cell signal.”

“Satellite phone. I am not allowed to leave home without it. And. yes, it’s my mother. We talk every night. Give me a second. If I don’t answer, she’ll freak.” He rose and brought the phone to his ear, answering with a rushed, “Can I call you back, Mamma? I’m kind of busy.”

Rilee’s hearing was good enough to hear what was being said, but politeness had her making noise as she cleared the table.

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