Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“Yes, sir.” I wasn’t going to argue. He was technically complimenting me in a bassackwards sort of way.
He hung up. It was my turn to sigh as I headed toward my house. Natalie’s house. The case was going to hell. At least I didn’t have to kiss Markle again. As for Rob, I had no answers there. I wanted to be with him, to see him smile. To make him smile because I knew I could do it, and I had a feeling it was a rare thing.
As if my thoughts had conjured him, Rob was on the porch, leaning against the rail as I pulled up. I couldn’t help a smile of my own at the sight of him. A crisp pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. A simple, but lethal, combination.
He took his hat off as he came down the steps and met me.
“Hi,” I said, going up on tiptoes and kissing him. “I didn’t expect you.”
He didn’t kiss back, only sniffed. Once, then again. “You left this at my place.” He held up my earbuds for my phone. “I thought I’d return them.” There was no smile on his face. “You were with Markle again.”
Markle had confronted me about the same thing only minutes before. With him, I’d been a little worried I might get shot. With Rob, I was worried I might get my heart torn out. I wasn’t sure which would be more painful.
He looked down at my hand.
“With wine.”
Shit.
“What happened? He fuck you and forget about it?”
Okay, that pissed me off.
I wasn’t a slut and two guys just accused me of being one.
“That’s unfair,” I snapped.
“You were riding my dick, at my house, a short while ago. I wasn’t enough for you?” His jaw was clenched, every muscle in his body taut. It didn’t matter whether I’d fucked Jett Markle six ways to Sunday or not. Rob thought I did. It looked like I did.
The way Rob had sniffed when I’d gotten close, I smelled like I did.
“It wasn’t a date. I went there as a neighbor,” I said, trying to smooth things over.
“With wine.”
“Nothing happened. He didn’t even invite me in.”
“I told you, I don’t like the guy. I don’t think he’s safe. I wouldn’t let Audrey or Marina near him.”
I was glad to hear that.
“I told you I can handle myself.”
“Right.” He stared at me, then shook his head. “Okay. You do that.”
He didn’t say anything else, only cut across the field that separated our land.
Shit.
I wanted to tell him the truth. That I wanted nothing to do with Markle, but I had a job to do. Rob might hate the guy, but I wanted him behind bars. We were on the same side.
It didn’t matter. I couldn’t tell him. I’d already fucked up the case enough. It would be blown wide open if Rob knew. I’d be on the next flight to Phoenix to clean out my desk, and Markle’d be on the next flight to a country without extradition to the US.
While something inside of me ached for me to call out to Rob, to follow him, chase him down and climb him like a tree, I couldn’t.
This was the wakeup call I needed. I was Willow Johnson, DEA agent. I was assigned to find evidence to arrest Jett Markle and a connection to Murrieta.
And I knew better than to get involved with people under false pretenses. It only led to hurt. I never should have started anything with Rob Wolf.
Trouble was, now that I had, I didn’t want it to end.
16
ROB
I woke in just as shitty a mood as I’d gone to bed. It had been two days since I discovered Natalie had gone over to Markle’s house with a bottle of wine, I’d had to shift and run off my aggression on the mountain. I’d never been possessive of a woman before, but the pendulum swung the other way now. I was obsessed with her to the point of insanity, with moon madness tearing at me. She was my mate. What the fuck was she doing with Markle? He’d put his cattle on Natalie’s land. Big deal. He’d even shot one of the pack. James had healed. But I wasn’t going to recover if my mate ended up choosing Jett Markle over me.
I’d pushed myself hard, my wolf trying to burn off some of the anger, running until my paws ached, then crashed in my bed long after midnight. Yesterday, I’d thrown myself into work, rearranging all the hay bales in the barn just to keep my body moving. I’d been at it until late, then had gone straight to bed. This morning, I still had enough rage in me to snarl at anything that got in my way.
After showering in the place that reminded me way too fucking much of her, I dressed and stomped down the stairs to the kitchen. The house smelled sweet—Marina must already be up baking.