Page 39 of Marked By Moonlight

“Yeah,” she confessed, nodding. “You could say that.”

“In my experience, wimpy guys only go for two kinds of women: wimpy or bossy. There’s no in between.”

“How do you figure?” She set her drink aside and leaned her elbows on the table. It had been a long time since she had had a stimulating conversation. Even longer since she’d been with a stimulating man.

“Wimpy men like women who make them feel stronger. Or they like the bossy types that can tell them what to do. It’s leador be led.” He tilted his head, cool green eyes assessing her. “Like with lycans.”

She frowned. “How so?”

“With lycans you’re either an alpha or a beta—a leader or a follower. One pack, one alpha.”

So he was saying Cyril liked her because she was spineless and could be led? Claire had spent a lifetime watching her father bully her mother. Had she turned out the same way? As submissive as her mother? Attracting men like her father? Ready to impose their will on a woman so that they could feel stronger?

Shaking her head, she bit out, “How do you know Cyril didn’t like me because I was the other way? Bossy?”

He seemed to fight back a smile. “Just a hunch.”

Her nape grew hot and she lifted her hair to let air cool her skin. “You’re wrong. I’m not a wimp.”

“Not now,” he allowed.

“Not ever.” Not entirely true, but she didn’t care. It would never be true again.

Their food arrived then. Claire grabbed her foot-long cheesesteak out of the basket. The waitress barely pulled her hand out of the way in time. Sinking her teeth into it, she groaned at the explosion of moist steak and gooey mozzarella in her mouth. Hot juice dribbled down her chin. She wiped at it with the back of her hand and took another bite without having even swallowed the first.

Wide-eyed, the waitress left, glancing over her shoulder, clearly amazed at the speed with which Claire devoured her sandwich.

Lifting her gaze, she watched the slow movement of Gideon’s well-carved lips as he chewed his dinner. A different kind of hunger sparked in her blood.

“What about you?” She set the remains of her sandwich back inthe basket, her voice low and sultry in a way she had never spoken before. “What kind of woman do you like?”

“Me?” The question clearly caught him off guard.

“How do you like your women?” she repeated. “Someone you can easily lead? Or do you like a woman to take charge?”

Suddenly she saw herself unzipping his jeans as she had at the lake house. Running her thumb over the engorged head of him. Except this time she was lowering her mouth, playing her tongue over him…

Their eyes clashed. The air sparked with electricity and she knew he was seeing the same thing, too.

“Not passive,” he said at last, voice strained as he broke eye contact and leaned forward to grab a chip from his basket of food.

“I thought so,” she murmured, picking up her sandwich again.

He wanted her. As much as she wanted him.

Only her satisfaction was short-lived.

Because the reality of it was that Gideon March would never give thetrueClaire Morgan the time of day. When all this was over and the curse was broken he’d forget all about her.

Staring into her glass, she studied the melting ice cubes and felt a frown pulling at her mouth. She didn’t want to revert to the mouse again. The submissive. True, she could have continued through life timid and afraid, without ever knowing what she missed. But now she knew.

She knew what it felt like to stand up to her father. To take control of her classroom. To go after what she wanted. Now she knew, and she could never go back. Didn’t want to go back. She smiled wryly. Although she could do without the loss of her soul and feeding on humans every full moon.

He stared at her from across the table, his eyes hard, shrewd,almost as if he could read her thoughts. “Don’t get too comfortable, Claire. You can’t stay like this.”

Of course not. She knew that.

Not if she wanted to live.

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