I leaned forward and gripped the top of the chair on either side of his head. “I don’t like this situation any more than you do, but I’ve never had anyone speak to me this way. I don’t form unhealthy friendships with people, but this isn’t exactly a friendship. I need a bodyguard, and neither of us seems to have any choice in the matter. So let’s just play nice, okay?”

His eyes glided down my neck and settled between my breasts. Wheeler’s pupils widened and, my God, I needed to get away from him. The closer I got, the more I picked up his heady scent. Wheeler was the opposite of the refined men in my life—powerful men with expensive clothes and imported cologne. Most were shorter or had a leaner frame than his medium build. Something began to culminate between us that I knew he must have felt, because he didn’t have a comeback. I wondered how it would feel to have those inked arms wrapped around my body, for the bristles on his face to scratch against my stomach as he laved my breast with his tongue. Would his hands feel as rough as they looked? Was he a gentle lover or animalistic?

The ropes of muscle in his arms were taut from the tight grip he had on the armrests of the chair.

Oh, no. This couldn’t be happening.

My cell phone rang and snapped me out of my fantasies. I stood up and put my hands on my hips. “I have a feeling that before this is all over, we’re going to end up killing each other.”

A sardonic smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Now that sounds like fun.”

Chapter 7

Wheeler’s presence in my apartment that afternoon was insufferable. He watched two vampire movies and then brought in a bag of beef jerky from his car to gnaw on. When he slung his legs over the arm of my chair and took a nap, I retreated to my balcony to soak up a little sun in my Adirondack chair. Lexi called, and I changed the topic each time she tried to squeeze information out of me. I had a great deal of respect for Austin’s willingness to help; therefore, it wasn’t my place to tell his mate something he hadn’t disclosed to her himself. I’d lose the pack’s respect for not honoring the confidence of their Packmaster, and I needed to stay in their good graces.

She reminded me about their upcoming costume party. Humans only held parties for special occasions, but we didn’t play by the same rules. When I used to live in Canada, a Mage had invited me to a masked ball at his secluded mansion, and I’d been deliriously thrilled to go. He’d supplied carriage rides around the property, and we’d dined like kings and queens—drinking from goblets and sampling fine cuisine. Many immortals had old money, so they lived extravagantly. My parties were big, but not showy. Only those I trusted to behave themselves were allowed inside my apartment—everyone else had to mingle on the stairwell or open grounds. I always extended invitations to my human neighbors so no one would call the police.