That had been the real Claire who shot Cyril, the real Claire conquering the beast that urged her to feed. The lycan had tried to claim her, but she won.

And she was the woman Gideon wanted. Even loved. At least before she snuck off in the middle of the night like a coward.

Pushing off the door, she headed for the shower.

She had just concluded she wasn’t a coward.

Time to prove it.

“Claire!” Gideon pounded on her apartment door until his knuckles stung.

The neighbor across the way cracked open his door to glare at him.

“What?” Gideon snapped with enough heat to send the neighbor ducking back inside his apartment.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he called through the door, hands braced on either side of the frame. “Open the damn door.”

With a growl, he went around the back and entered her apartment through the sliding glass door—again. The sight of Claire walking out of her bedroom, rubbing her wet hair with a towel, greeted him.

She spied him just as he slid the door shut. “Gideon!” She hopped in surprise. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

“I did knock.”

She blinked those wide amber eyes of hers at him. “You could have waited for me to answer then.”

He marched toward her, immediately catching a whiff of clean shampoo and raspberry soap. “I’ve been out there for five minutes. I waited long enough.”

He scanned the terry robe—the same one she wore that first night. God, was that only a month ago? He’d lived a lifetime since then. He’d let go of the past, of his need for solitude, and fallen in love. With Claire. With beautiful, irrepressible Claire. He couldn’t let her go. He should have known it would come down to this that first night. His inability to pull the trigger had been the first clue.

She tugged the towel from her head. “What are you doing here?”

He focused on her face, resisting the urge to tear the robe off her and do what his body longed. They needed to talk first. Then they could move on to more pleasurable activities and get on with their lives. Together.

“You didn’t really think we were finished, did you?” At her blank look, he continued. “No good-bye, no note, no phone call. Nothing. I woke up and you were gone.” He hated the hurt and accusation in his voice, hated to reveal his vulnerability.

She turned away and sank down on the couch, holding her robe carefully together at her shapely knees. With a searching look, she asked, “Why are you here, Gideon? Because I didn’t tell you good-bye?”

“Claire, I—” He swallowed and tried again. “I—”