This was a bad thing, he thought as she draped the material over her to cover her br**sts and thighs. No one else, no matter who, no matter the circumstances, could have jerked that towel from him so easily. Never had he allowed his guard to drop to that point.
That didn’t excuse the fact that she had moved much more quickly, and with a precision no civilian could possess, to ensure that she acquired the towel from him. And she didn’t even notice the fact that she had moved so easily, and with a training he was certain she wouldn’t want revealed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” The smell of her distrust was offensive.
Rule grimaced. The animal was still far too close to the surface, the pleasure of moments before still lingering too strongly within his senses.
“Let’s get you dried off, hotshot,” he told her, kneeling in front of her and taking the towel from her, despite the struggle she gave him.
Starting with her hair, he blotted the excess water from it gently, aware long moments later that she was growing frustrated with his ministrations. The long, water-heavy ringlets were particularly pretty, though. The straight effect she sometimes achieved was nice as well, but he was fond of the waves and little curls. Drying it too quickly, too roughly could cause the strands to frizz. He knew she wouldn’t like that. He’d never seen her hair frizzy or at any time less than silken and healthy looking.
“Rule, what the hell are you up to?” She was watching him with far more distrust than even moments before.
“I’ve just been drying your hair.” Finishing the last of the long curls, he brushed them gently behind her shoulder as he evaded her attempts to grab the towel back.
“Fine, you dried it.” She glared back at him. “Now give me the damned towel. I’ll dry myself.”
The scent of her distrust only grew and, even more disturbing, also a sense of fear as he’d continued attempting to dry her. Why would taking care of his luscious little mate cause her such distress?
Narrowing his eyes, Rule did as she asked, reached out and pulled another towel off the shelf on the outside wall to finish drying his own body.
Seconds later she found the strength in her legs, rose to her feet and quickly wrapped the towel around the slender curves he would have enjoyed watching a bit longer.
Tossing his own towel to the corner of the shower, he moved from the cubicle and headed to the bedroom. The scent of the continued distrust and that edge of fear had been joined by the hint of pain.
Dammit. She was tempting those crazy f**king animal genetics into surging free again. And that was something he’d prefer to ensure never happened again. Well, unless he was buried deep inside her again.
Pulling on a pair of jeans, he zipped them quickly, aware that his c**k was still hard enough to ensure it wouldn’t be long before he was indeed buried inside her again.
Until then, he’d wait patiently.
It wasn’t long before she moved into the room, glancing at him nervously before moving to the dresser. There—his brow lifted as she found the drawer that held his shirts on the first try.
Lifting a dark gray T-shirt free from the top of the pile, she unfolded it, drew it over her head, then pushed her arms into the sleeves and let it fall over her body before dropping the towel.
Those animal genetics—
He normally cursed them; in this second, he was doing more than cursing them. The animal snapped inside him. A hint of a scent. The awareness of something not just right as his normally dependable senses failed him.
He’d come into this room weeks before, aware of the slightest scent that he should have recognized, only to have it elude him.
It wasn’t eluding him now.
“Where did you get the scent blocker the night you searched my room, mate?” he asked her softly. “And who provided it?”
CHAPTER 21
How had she given herself away?
Her gaze was locked with his, normal now, all evidence of the animal he shared his genetics with no longer present. But there was no way she could hide her response and she knew it. She was caught. She could feel it. She could see it in the flare of anger that lit his eyes and tightened his body.
“What are you talking about, Rule?” That didn’t mean she had to go down easy.
He’d already destroyed the plans she’d made for her life so many years ago. Nine years she’d spent vowing to avenge her brother’s murder and to make up for being the cause of it.
He chuckled.
It wasn’t a comfortable sound, she observed, watching him nervously. And she really wished he’d snap the band of his jeans and put on a damned shirt. Socks. Maybe some shoes too. That would definitely make her feel more comfortable. Though not in any less trouble, she was betting.