I thought of Jaz that afternoon, asking me to undress, watching me as I did, the look on his face telling me I was beautiful even before he said the words.

And then there was Karl…“Get something on.” As if I’d strutted out here in a towel just to annoy him.

I strode into my bedroom and slammed the door.

TEN MINUTES LATER, he shook the bedroom door handle. It didn’t have a lock, but he made no move to open it, just rattling to get my attention. God forbid he should knock like a normal person.

“I’m not dressed yet.”

A low growl. “You’re stalling, Hope.”

“No, I’m dressing.”

Or I would be, once I figured out what to put on. It wasn’t a big deal—I could change before I saw Jaz again—but I stared at my choices, brain frozen, unable to consider the options much less pick one, too busy thinking about how to deal with Karl. Or, better yet, how to avoid dealing with Karl.

The door banged against the frame, then rebounded, as if Karl was giving it a test push. I could sense him hovering, waiting for the door to open so he could pounce.

“I don’t know why you’re here, Karl, but—”

“I’m here about your mission tonight.”

I paused, silk tank top in hand. “How’d you—?”

“The security on that nightclub leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh.”

“You weren’t going to call me, were you?”

“Was I supposed to?”

Silence, then a rustle, as if he’d brushed against the door. Walking away? No, I could still sense him hovering, the anger vibes muted but clear.

“You won’t ask for my help.”

“I don’t need—”

“Of course you don’t.”

I picked a plain T-shirt and yanked it on. “I can handle—”

“Of course you can. The fact that you’re about to do a potentially difficult and dangerous break-in and you have a professional thief nearby to offer advice is irrelevant, isn’t it? Because you can handle it, and you sure as hell aren’t going to ask me for help.”

I realized then he was offering to help with the break-in, not insinuating I couldn’t make the decision about telling Benicio on my own. Which, in this case, I couldn’t…but I didn’t need him knowing that.

“I’m sure the gang can handle—” I began.

“In L.A., you encouraged Jeremy to call me for help on a break-in.”

“Because he should. He’s your Alpha.”

“You wouldn’t call yourself, would you?”

I passed over the skirt options and tugged on jeans, then opened the door. He was right there, so close I was surprised he didn’t fall in.

“I did call you about that,” I said.