Page 35 of Auctioned Mate

“I thought you would enjoy them.”

“Why did you think that?”

I shrugged. “I got the impression you weren’t fed particularly well.”

“What’sthatsupposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it means, Macy,” I snapped as I shut off the kitchen faucet. “Why is it you constantly question my direct statements? They mean what they mean when I say them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Somebody needs a nap.”

“I think you’ve taken enough naps for us both.”

“Are you judging me?”

I shook my head. “I’m surprised you fell asleep at all. You hardly slept last night.”

“You should know. You’re the one who slept right outside the door.”

I slammed the kitchen towel on the marble counter. “I was making sure that if we were followed, I could defend you.”

“And what about the window? Wouldn’t that have been more logical to guard?”

“I would have heard the window. I would have heard anyone approaching.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, a sign I was starting to interpret more as protecting herself than acting snotty. There was so much more to Macy than her feistiness. She guarded herself carefully—except when it came to sex.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” she said. “I think you just did it to make sure I didn’t run away.”

“Should I let you run away?”

She glowered. “Why would I run away?”

“You mention it often enough. You say you want to be left to your own devices. You wanted me to drop you off in the middle of the woods, Macy. Do you know there are beasts out there?”

She laughed bitterly. “Like I can’t handle beasts.” Her eyes dropped to the zipper of my jeans so quickly that I almost thought it was a hallucination. But the scarlet patches on her cheeks told me she had indeed glanced at my package. “I can handle anything.”

“I don’t doubt that, little wolf.”

Vulnerability flashed in her eyes briefly until that hot temper returned. She tightened her arms over her chest and tilted her chin downward, angling her eyes up, sharpening her gaze.

Nothing could have been more attractive at that moment. I’d never been one to argue. I despised any sort of petty confrontation that didn’t give way to some kind of solution. But the way Macy fought with me—her resistance to my help and her strength—made me want to take her by the throat and slam between her legs until she was a puddle of limbs.

Her face hardened and she marched to the sink. “Look, if you’re going to make a good side, you’re going to need my help.”

“And what side did you think I was going to make?”

She gestured to the basket on the counter. “Those potatoes look good.”

“Did you read my mind?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

I tried to hide my smile—and failed. “I wouldn’t dream of it, little wolf.”

“I can tell when people are making me the butt of a joke, so don’t even try it.”

“What I said remains true.”

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