Page 21 of Claimed By the Grumpy Shifter

"Jury's still out."

I laugh, surprised by how easy it is despite the tension crackling between us. "Thanks for the ringing endorsement."

"Give me time. I'm still processing the fact that you exist."

The words are casual, but there's something intense in the way he says them, like my existence is somehow miraculous. It's the kind of thing that should sound like a line, but coming from Marc, it feels like the simple truth.

"I exist," I confirm, trying to lighten the mood before the intensity burns us both alive. "Disappointing as that might be."

"Disappointing?" His grip on my hand tightens. "Christine, you're the opposite of disappointing. You're..."

He trails off, shaking his head like he can't find adequate words.

"I'm what?"

"Everything I didn't know I was looking for."

The confession knocks the air from my lungs and makes my heart race so fast I'm worried it might explode. How is it possible that this man, this beautiful, damaged, incredible man, is sitting across from me saying things that sound like they're straight out of my most secret fantasies?

"Marc..." I start, but I don't know how to finish the sentence.

How do I respond to something like that? How do I tell him that he's everything I've dreamed of but never dared to hope for?

"Too much?" he asks, reading my expression.

"Maybe. But in the best possible way."

"Good. Because I'm just getting started."

The promise in his voice makes heat pool low in my belly, and I have to squeeze my thighs together to ease the sudden ache between them. This is what desire feels like, I realize with startling clarity. This desperate, consuming need that makes everything else fade into the background.

I've read about it, dreamed about it, wondered if I was broken because I'd never felt it before. But now, looking into Marc's amber eyes and feeling like I might spontaneously combust from the desire coursing through my veins, I understand that I wasn't broken.

I was just waiting for the right person to wake me up.

"We should probably eat," I say, gesturing to our mostly untouched plates, "before they think we're just here to stare at each other."

"Aren't we?"

The question makes me laugh, breaking some of the tension that's been building between us. "Maybe a little."

"I'm not complaining."

"Neither am I."

Chapter 9 - Marcus

The bear is pacing restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by the scent of her arousal and the knowledge that she wants me as much as I want her.

But this is a public place, and Christine deserves better than having me lose control in the middle of a restaurant.

We eat in silence for a few minutes, the tension between us simmering just below the surface. Every time she brings her fork to her lips, every time she takes a sip of wine, I find myself cataloguing the details like they're precious memories I need to preserve.

The way her tongue darts out to catch a drop of butter sauce. The soft sound of satisfaction she makes when she tastes something particularly good. The unconscious way she leans toward me when she laughs, like she's drawn to my warmth.

"Tell me about your family," I say finally, desperate for something to focus on besides the way she's making me feel.

Her expression shifts, becoming more guarded. "There's not much to tell. My parents live about three hours away in the city. Dad's an accountant, Mom teaches high school English."

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