Page 7 of Rejected By My Shadow Alpha
Drew.
His hand found my waist, warm and commanding. My pulse jumped.
"I didn't know you danced," I murmured.
His fingers tightened slightly, not possessive, just present. "I didn't. Until now."
The music shifted, slowing to a sultry rumba, and we moved in time to the sensual beat. His body was too close, and heat radiated off him, mixing with that cedar wood scent that haunted my dreams.
"You've been avoiding me," he said quietly, his breath brushing my cheek.
"I've been mingling," I replied, my voice cooler than I felt.
His gaze dropped to my lips, then slowly returned to my eyes. "You look dangerously beautiful tonight," he said, his voice low and rich, like it came from deep in his chest.
I arched my eyebrow. "And you look like trouble."
His lips twitched, but there was no amusement in his eyes, only heat. And hunger. And something I could not define.
His thumb brushed my lower back. The contact nearly broke me. Every breath was tight in my lungs. My body was hyper aware of him; of the strength in his arms, the way his gaze locked mine like it was the only thing holding him together. Something primal shifted between us, something old and familiar. I could feel his wolf pacing just beneath his skin. Mine answered.
The song ended.
I stepped back too quickly, nearly stumbling.
"Excuse me," I whispered, turning before I embarrassed myself further.
I pushed through the ballroom doors, heart thudding, lungs desperate for air. The terrace was blessedly quiet. Cool night air brushed against my skin like an old friend. Cold air bit my cheeks and filled my lungs, clearing my head. Footsteps. Slow. Controlled. I knew he was the one behind me.
I didn't turn. "What do you want, Drew?" I murmured.
"To stop pretending," he said behind me.
I closed my eyes. His voice was low and certain, a dangerous whisper that danced down my spine. "You're drawn to me," he continued, "the way I'm drawn to you. You can feel it, can't you?"
My breath caught. I hated him. I hated how he made my pulse race, and I hated how much I wanted him to kiss me.
"You're messing with my head," I whispered.
He shook his head. "No. I'm waking it up. You are my mate," he said softly.
Before I could reply, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. My skin tingled. I didn't pull away. His fingers lingered and slid down to my neck, where my pulse throbbed violently.
"You feel it too," he said quietly.
"I feel something," I whispered. "But I don't even know you, Drew. I don't know where you came from or what you want from me."
His gaze didn't waver. "You don't need to know everything to recognize what's already yours," he said, stepping closer. His voice was low and steady. "Your body knows me. Your wolf knows mine, and you've felt it since the moment we met."
I opened my mouth to protest, but no sound came because he was right. I had felt it, that first spark of heat across the room. The ache. The knowing.
"I don't want this," I whispered, but even I could hear the lie in it.
He tilted my chin up with one finger, and my breath caught. "Maybe not with your head," he murmured. "But every part of you…every part that matters…wants this."
And then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn't gentle. It was full of hunger, of weeks of restraint breaking. My hands were on his chest before I could think. His lips moved against mine like he already knew the shape of me, like this was inevitable.
