Keeping Secret (Secret McQueen) - By Sierra Dean Page 0,42

couldn’t explain to them the reasons for it. “I… Because of that I’m more connected to the moon. I’m fully nocturnal.”

“Wow.” Her eyes were wide with wonder, absorbing my words.

Dominick held back near the door, listening to the web of half-truths I was weaving. I hoped he was committing them to memory because Lucas was going to have to maintain the lie for everyone when I didn’t show up to any daylight events.

“I mustn’t be disturbed during the day, do you understand?”

She nodded vigorously. “Of course.”

When she walked out of the cabin, I could hear her muttering, “A born wolf…” like I’d told her I was a unicorn.

Dominick didn’t like my idea of leaving Lucas to sleep off his drunken stupor on the porch. I didn’t like the idea of sharing a bed with a snoring, drooling mountain of inebriated werewolf. We compromised by dumping him on the couch in front of an imaginary fire. Dominick offered to sleep on the porch swing, which I didn’t love, but I couldn’t talk him out of it.

When I climbed under the duvet, there was still an hour before the early rays of dawn would drag me down into my daylight sleep. I was grateful the design of the cabin meant the bedroom had no windows, but it also made the space a little claustrophobic.

I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t have to stare at the walls and fantasize they were closing in on me.

A weight sank down beside me on the bed, making the springs groan.

“Managed to find your way off the couch?” I asked.

In response, the duvet lifted and a muscular body slipped against my back, spooning me perfectly. I arched my back towards him, our bodies molding together like they were meant to be paired this way.

“Maybe we left you outside too long,” I said with a smile. “For a werewolf, you’re downright freezing.”

Lips brushed my earlobe, and I could feel the curve of a smile. “Then warm me up,” he replied.

My eyes flew open, and I spun in the bed, still encased in the arms of a man who was decidedly not a werewolf, nor my fiancé.

“Holden, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? How did you get in here?”

“Bathroom window was open.”

Jesus, these wolves certainly trusted the woods around them. Doors and windows left open. I was all for Southern hospitality, but didn’t they know vampires were just lurk—

“Wait a damned second. How did you manage that? Even if it was unlocked, no one invited you in.”

He chuckled. “It’s not anyone’s primary residence. It’s not a home, just a guest suite. The invitation rule only applies to permanent dwellings, not temporary ones. It’s the same reason we can go into hotels. Don’t ask me how the metaphysics works…it just does.”

He clasped his arms around my back and tugged me close. Though he wasn’t hard, I felt the unmistakable pressure of his package through the thin material of my underwear. My brain said, no, no, no, but the hypersensitive parts of me below the waist said, oh, oh, oh.

My vagina was always trying to be my undoing. It only understood pleasure and didn’t tend to care who the penis belonged to.

My brain was a little pickier.

But only a little.

Holden leaned in to steal a kiss. I head-butted him.

“Ow,” he groaned, his hand shooting to his forehead.

“You idiot. Lucas is in the other room, and there is a pack of more than thirty wolves hanging around outside, drunk off their asses. I’m sure they’d love to know a vampire was sneaking into the bed of an unsuspecting princess.”

In spite of the pain I’d inflicted—which probably wasn’t too much considering I hadn’t given it my all and his skull was about as fragile as cast iron—he grinned like an idiot when I used the P word on myself.

“My apologies, your most serene princessyness.”

“Don’t be an ass. You were born in England. You of anyone should know the right terminology.” And just like that he’d made me forget I was angry with him. “Seriously, though, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Sig was pretty specific about me not letting you out of my sight.”

“I don’t think he meant it literally.”

“I don’t think Sig understands the finer points of English colloquialisms enough to mean it anything other than literally. For him ‘don’t let her out of your sight’ can only mean one thing.”

Shit.

“Shit.”

“Look,” he said, loosening his hold on me and propping his head on one hand. God he looked delicious with pillow-mussed