Page 103 of Marked By Moonlight

He took it from her and squinted. “Says here you ordered the veal.”

“Yes, I know what it says,” she drew out her words, “but I know what I ordered. Baked ziti and Caesar salad.”

He looked from the receipt to her again, asking in his thick accent, “You’re saying you don’t want it?” He held up the bag of food.

“I want ziti,” she clearly enunciated each word, hoping to get her point across.

He frowned and grumbled, “What am I going do with the veal?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Use it to wax your car for all I care. All I know is that I ordered baked ziti. I’llpayfor baked ziti. I’lleatbaked ziti.” She pointed to the bag. “Not that.”

Maybe it was silly to take a stand over such a trivial thing, but she’d suffered enough disappointments lately. A woman nursing a broken heart had a right to the comfort food of her own choice. And if Claire couldn’t take a stand over something so minor, then she really was the same old mousy Claire.

“I’m not coming back here again tonight,” he warned, waving the bag of food between them. “Take the veal, lady, or—”

“I’m not,” Claire said between her teeth, “taking the veal.” That said, she firmly closed the door in his face.

She stood there a moment, leaning against the door’s solid length, breathing unusually fast, knowing that she had just done a hell of a lot more than take a stand over an incorrect order of food. Staring down at her shaking hands, she felt a smile tug her lips. Suddenly, she was seized with confidence.

I’m fine.Strong. Not the mouse. But not the beast either.

For the first time in her life, she was exactly what she should be.

Herself. The person she was meant to be before she allowed fear to rule her. Maybe turning into a lycan, even for a short time, had been a blessing. She’d been given the gift of herself. She’d been given Gideon.

That had been the real Claire who shot Cyril, the real Claire conquering the beast that urged her to feed. The lycan had tried to claim her, but she won.

And she was the woman Gideon wanted. Even loved. At least before she snuck off in the middle of the night like a coward.

Pushing off the door, she headed for the shower.

She had just concluded she wasn’t a coward.

Time to prove it.

“Claire!” Gideon pounded on her apartment door until his knuckles stung.

The neighbor across the way cracked open his door to glare at him.

“What?” Gideon snapped with enough heat to send the neighbor ducking back inside his apartment.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he called through the door, hands braced on either side of the frame. “Open the damn door.”

With a growl, he went around the back and entered her apartment through the sliding glass door—again. The sight of Claire walking out of her bedroom, rubbing her wet hair with a towel, greeted him.

She spied him just as he slid the door shut. “Gideon!” She hopped in surprise. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

“I did knock.”

She blinked those wide amber eyes of hers at him. “You could have waited for me to answer then.”

He marched toward her, immediately catching a whiff of clean shampoo and raspberry soap. “I’ve been out there for five minutes. I waited long enough.”

He scanned the terry robe—the same one she wore that first night. God, was that only a month ago? He’d lived a lifetime since then. He’d let go of the past, of his need for solitude, and fallen in love. With Claire. With beautiful, irrepressible Claire. He couldn’t let her go. He should have known it would come down to this that first night. His inability to pull the trigger had been the first clue.

She tugged the towel from her head. “What are you doing here?”

He focused on her face, resisting the urge to tear the robe off her and do what his body longed. They needed to talk first. Then they could move on to more pleasurable activities and get on with their lives. Together.

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