Page 3 of Claimed By the Grumpy Shifter

"Sorry about that. Where were we?"

"You were telling me about small-town drama," I say, though honestly, I don't care about anything except the way her lips curve when she smiles.

"Right." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I want to be the one doing that, want to feel the silk of it between my fingers. "Well, anyway, like I said, it's pretty quiet around here. Perfect for someone looking for peace and quiet."

"What makes you think that's what I'm looking for?"

She looks at my face with those incredible blue eyes, and I have the unsettling feeling that she sees more than I'm comfortable with. "Just a guess. You have that look about you. Like you've seen enough excitement for one lifetime."

She's not wrong. I have seen enough excitement, enough violence, enough of the worst humanity has to offer. But lookingat her, surrounded by flowers and light and everything good in the world, I think maybe I'm ready for a different kind of excitement.

The kind that involves making her mine.

Chapter 2 - Christine

The way he looks at me makes my skin feel too hot.

I've never experienced anything like it. I'm conscious of every breath, every heartbeat, every tiny movement. Marc Steel stands in my flower shop like he owns it, like he owns everything in it, including me, and the strangest part is that some primitive part of my brain wants to let him.

Which is absolutely ridiculous. I don't even know this man.

But God, he's beautiful in the most dangerous way possible. Tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, broad enough that he makes my cozy shop feel cramped, and there's something wild about him that makes me think of storms and forests and things that would swallow me whole if I let them.

His amber eyes haven't left my face since Mrs. Williams left, and the intensity of his stare is doing things to my nervous system that should probably require a medical consultation.

"You're staring," I say, then immediately want to crawl under the counter.

Did I just say that out loud? To a customer? To my gorgeous new neighbor who probably thinks I'm a complete lunatic?

But instead of looking offended, his mouth curves into something that might charitably be called a smile. It's more like a predator baring its teeth, but somehow that makes my pulse race instead of making me run.

"Sorry." His voice is pure gravel, like he doesn't use it often. "It's just... you're not what I expected to find in Cedar Falls."

"What did you expect?" I ask, genuinely curious.

I fidget with the ribbon scraps on my counter, needing something to do with my hands because they keep wanting to reach for him, which is insane. I don't reach for men. I barely make eye contact with them.

"Quiet. Simple. Forgettable." His gaze travels over my face like he's memorizing it. "You're none of those things."

Heat floods my cheeks so fast I'm probably glowing like a neon sign. Men don't say things like that to me. Men barely notice me, period. I'm the girl they ask about my prettier friends, the one they pat on the head and call "sweet" before moving on to someone more interesting.

But Marc is looking at me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, and I have no idea what to do with that.

"I should probably warn you," I say, desperate to fill the silence before I do something embarrassing like swoon, "Cedar Falls has a way of surprising people. Nothing ever turns out quite like you expect it to."

"I'm starting to figure that out." He takes a step closer to the counter, and I catch a hint of his odor, something woodsy and masculine. "What about you? Have you always lived here?"

"Born and raised." I gesture around the shop, trying to ignore the way his presence seems to fill every corner of it. "Took over this place from Mrs. Chelsea when she retired. She taught me everything I know about flowers."

"Must be nice, having roots like that."

There's something wistful in his tone, something that speaks to the romantic in me. "What about you? Where are you from?"

His expression shutters so quickly I almost miss it. "Nowhere special. I've moved around a lot."

Military, I think. Something about his posture, the way he holds himself, screams discipline and training. And those scars I glimpsed on his hands—there's a story there, probably not a happy one.

"Well, you picked a good place to land," I say softly. "Cedar Falls grows on you."

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