The front lawn is shadowed, but I can still make out Warner’s form as he dismounts. And I can see the way he stumbles to a stop when he takes me in. Next thing I know, the werewolf is running toward me, a triumphant howl ringing from him. The sound has me shivering in anticipation.

Warner tackles me in the gentlest manner. He scoops me up in his arms and uses his momentum to carry us both into the house. My arms circle his neck, and my legs wrap around his waist, clinging as I laugh at his enthusiasm.

“Nothing is better than seeing you waiting for me like this.” He rumbles the words with his face pressed into my hair and kicks the front door shut with the heel of his boot.

Disturbed from his nap, Bruce gives an exasperated huff before trotting back toward the guest bedroom he’s claimed as his own.

“Really? You like me without clothes on? I never would’ve guessed.” I can feel myself grinning as I move to meet Warner’s eye.

Only I can’t. He keeps his head turned away as he walks around the cabin with me in his arms. And for some reason, he seems bent on shutting off the lights.

“Don’t bother with those.” I didn’t wear my cutest set of underwear, only to hook up with Warner in the dark. Plus, I made sure to use ice packs on my eyes to get rid of the puffiness from my earlier sob-fest.

“I’m setting the mood,” he murmurs against my ear.

I shiver again.

Still, there’s tension underlying his words. The same bit that has all the muscles in his neck tightening. My first assumption was that it was sexual.

But now, I’m not so sure.

When the only light in the cabin is the almost-full moon peeking through a slit in the curtains, Warner finally turns his head to kiss me.

His mouth is ravenous, his tongue eager. The werewolf stands in the middle of the main room, clutching me to him, devouring my mouth as if I’m the reason he can breathe.

When we finally break apart, he gasps out one question. “Couch or bed?”

“Couch,” I declare.

For one, it’s closer. But also, it works better with my plan.

Just because my mind begs to get lost in the passion of Warner’s kiss doesn’t mean I’ll give in to the urge.

Something is wrong, and I’m going to find out what.

“I assume you want me on bottom,” he says, his tone half humorous, half pleading.

“Glad that you’re learning.” My voice is all huskiness, and Warner responds to it eagerly.

He walks around to the front of the couch, settling us on the old cushions, him lying back while I straddle his waist.

I’m tempted to lean down and kiss the hell out of him.

But I can’t.