“I’ll tell them—and try to convince them. But since I’m not sure I believe it myself …” He sneezed again, backed away. “Don’t get up,” he told her, certain it was safer if she kept that light hand on her dog’s ferocious head. “I’ll let myself out. You ought to get a collar for that thing, at least … make sure he’s had his shots and—”

The sneezing fit shook his long, lanky frame so that he walked to the door with the handkerchief over his face. It looked as though the dog was grinning at him, which he knew was ridiculous.

“I’ll call you,” he managed to say, and rushed out into the fresh air.

“I hurt him.” Rowan let out a deep sigh and laid her cheek atop the wolf’s head as she listened to the sound of the rental car’s engine springing to life. “I couldn’t find a way not to. Just like I couldn’t find the way to love him.” She turned her face, comforting herself with the feel of that warm, soft fur. “You’re so brave. You’re so strong,” she crooned. “And you scared poor Alan half to death.”

She laughed a little, but the sound was perilously close to a sob. “Me, too, I guess. You looked magnificent coming through the window. So savage, so fierce. So beautiful. Teeth snapping, eyes gleaming, and that marvelous body fluid as rain.”

She slid off the couch to kneel beside him, to burrow against him. “I love you,” she murmured, felt him quiver as she caressed him. “It’s so easy with you.”

They stayed like that for a long, long time, with the wolf staring into the dying fire and listening to her quiet breathing.

*  *  *

Liam kept her busy and kept her close over the next three weeks. She loved the work—and that helped him justify spending so much time with her. It was true enough that most of her sketching could—even should—have been done on her own. But she didn’t argue when he insisted she come to him nearly every day to work.

It was only to … keep an eye on her, he told himself. To observe her, to help him decide what to do next. And when to do it. It wasn’t as if he wanted her company, particularly. He preferred working alone, and certainly didn’t need the distraction of her, the scent and the softness. Or the chatter that was by turns charming and revealing. He certainly didn’t need the offerings she so often brought over. Tarts and cookies and little cakes.

As often as not they were soggy or burned—and incredibly sweet.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t do without her very, very easily. That’s what he told himself every day as he waited restlessly for her to arrive.