“Pretty much.”

“Great.”

“And you haven’t exactly helped the situation.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, her look indignant.

“You’ve… embraced your urges.” He wondered why he even mentioned it, except that he was annoyed at her total naïveté. Was she completely unaware of the signals she put out—how she looked, how she moved, how she affected him?

“How?” Her lips worked like a fish’s, searching for words. “I don’t have any urges.”

He laughed as he turned into his driveway. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she countered.

He shut the motor off and faced her, the leather creaking beneath his shifting weight. “Yes. You do.”

She shook her head again.

“And I suppose you still think this change in appearance—” He waved a hand over her person. “—is just coincidental?”

Her eyes flared wide, the brilliant silver glowing even brighter. She jabbed a finger through the air accusingly. “You told me to dress provocatively!”

“You changed your looks before I made any suggestion about how you should dress tonight.”

Her knuckles whitened where they held her top together. “You got me to dress like this when you knew they would come after me.”

“I didn’t know you were going to dress like this. You’re the one who sent that lycan into overload.”

“Oh,” she squeaked, face flushing a vivid red.

Before she could arrive at a more dignified answer, he hopped out of the Jeep. Heading toward the back door, he called over his shoulder, “That lycan was right. You want to give it up.”

Gideon bit the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from adding that he wanted to be the one to receive it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A dog in season is subject to variances of mood; be sensitive to your pet.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

Claire stepped into the kitchen and let the door slam behind her. “You make it sound like I’m in heat,” she accused.

Propping her hands on her hips, she waited for him to assure her otherwise, waited for him to say she wasn’t actually a dog, that she couldn’t be ruled by base, primitive urges.

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he shrugged out of his jacket and removed his holster. She translated his look to mean, if the shoe fits.

All the ways in which she had recently changed flashed across her mind: heightened senses, quick temper, wardrobe, hair, makeup, revitalized interest in men.

“Oh, my God.” She sank into a chair, propping her elbows on the kitchen table and burying her face in her hands. “I am in heat.”

“You’re not in heat,” he said as he opened the refrigerator to peer inside.

She looked through her fingers, staring at him hopefully.

“Well,” he amended, “not exactly.”