“Nine dollars, please,” the driver said.
I dug through my wallet for a ten dollar bill, handed it to the man, then touched the door handle but couldn’t bring myself to pump it. This felt like a meet-the-parents, even though I’d met the parents at the same time I’d met August-in the hospital room where Mom birthed me. In one of their photo albums, there was a picture of me cradled in August’s arms. My stomach churned like the cinnamon chocolate ice-cream Evelyn made this summer in the inn’s fancy ice-cream maker.
God, this was wrong.
How could I want someone a decade older?
Someone who’d felt like a brother my entire childhood?
Maybe Liam’s ban was a good thing.
Maybe I should wait for the Winter Solstice to arrive so the mating link vanished and put an end to my scandalous attraction.
Would it put an end to it, though?
“Is this not the right address?” The cabby spun around in his seat.
“No, it’s . . . um . . . I think I forgot-”
The Watts’ front door opened and filled with August’s hulking shape.
My heart beat bruisingly hard.
When I still hadn’t gotten out of the cab, August strode over. He opened the car door, and since I hadn’t released the handle, drew me right out of the taxi. I stumbled, my bouquet toppling onto the black pebbles lining the driveway.
He caught one of my wrists and steadied me. I think he asked the cabby if I’d paid, and I think the cabby answered, but maybe I was imagining them having a conversation. All I could hear was my thundering pulse. All I could feel was August’s thumb pressing lightly into my vein.
Was I too young to have a heart attack?
August smiled a little wider. “Shifters don’t get those, sweetheart.”
Shoot . . . I’d voiced my pathetic deliberation out loud.
His thumb stroked the inside of my wrist, and my skin broke out in goose bumps.
Remembering I wasn’t supposed to make contact with any part of August, I wrenched my arm out of his grip. Where he’d touched tingled and burned. A lot like my navel. Did his navel feel as though it was forever tumbling through a dryer set on the fastest and hottest setting? I would’ve asked but then thought better of it. If his abdomen didn’t feel that way, then I’d just be confessing to being one intensely hormonal girl.
August crouched to retrieve my fallen bouquet. I took it without touching his fingers and nestled it against my heaving chest. As he straightened, he returned his hands to the pockets of his gray jeans.
“I’m sorry.” He tipped his head to my wrist. “I didn’t mean to break the rule.”
I tucked the bouquet closer, probably injuring the petals. “It’s okay.”
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said huskily. “But if you could avoid wearing dresses and the color red while I’m banned to touch you, I’d be really appreciative.”
My lips bent with what I hoped looked like a smirk and not an I’m-about-to-melt-at-your-scuffed-boots look. “We’re back to discussing muumuus, huh?” A gentle breeze twisted the hair I’d spent a long time blow-drying straight. “I haven’t forgotten your advice.”
A firefly buzzed around August’s stubble-coated jaw. “It wasn’t advice.”
The vibrations of his deep voice had the goose bumps, which had started receding, make a brusque second appearance. I seriously needed to calm down before entering his parents’ home. Which reminded me . . .
“How much do your parents know about . . . everything?”
“Everything.”
I almost choked on my own saliva. “They know I spent the night at your place?” I whispered, praying my voice wouldn’t carry to Nelson’s lupine eardrums.
“No. But they know about the mating link, and they know how I feel about it.”
Heat wrapped around my collarbone and neck like a rampant vine. “Are they horrified?”
He stared at the sprinting pulse point in my neck. “Why would they be horrified?”
“Because I’m so much younger, and like a little sister to you, and you held me in the maternity ward.” I said all of this in one breath.
“Hey . . .” He stepped closer, and his heady heat scent enveloped me. “First off, age doesn’t matter. You’re not a kid anymore, Ness. You’re a woman and I’m a man, and that’s all that matters. All that should matter. And if anyone ever makes a derogatory comment to you about our age gap, then send them my way, and I’ll set them straight. Secondly, you are not related to me, therefore you aren’t my little sister. And yeah, I held you in the maternity ward, and yeah, back then I didn’t think I was holding my mate, but apparently I was. How many people can claim they saw the person meant for them come into this world? Not many. So I’ll always cherish that, and no, it doesn’t color the way I think of you today.” His words were so quiet they tangled with his exhale.
His exhale which I tasted on my parted lips.
“Fuck.” His pupils bled into his gold-green irises. “How long are we supposed to stay away from each other?”
I smiled, even though my pulse felt like it had hitched a ride on a fighter jet. “You give your mom that hundred dollar bill yet?”
His pupils retracted. “Not yet. I was waiting for you to witness the donation.” He tipped his head to the house. “We better go inside before I break all the rules and take you back to my house.”
A breathy gasp escaped me, and that little sound made August’s gaze flick to my mouth.
He shook his head as though trying to clear it of any dirty thoughts. I assumed that’s what his jerky movement was about since I had my fair share of brand-new steamy scenarios scrolling through my mind.
We didn’t speak the whole way up the path. He gestured for me to go ahead of him inside the house. The scent of simmering tomato sauce and caramelized onions hit my nostrils, awakening my hunger for something other than August.
Isobel smiled at me from where she stood at the stove top. “We finally managed to get you to come over.” She set down the wooden spoon and approached me, arms extended. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to hug me or take the flowers from my arms, so I remained statue-still.
Her arms wrapped around me and pulled me in.
“It smells so good in here,” I said into Isobel’s dark-brown hair.
Even though the strands were real, they weren’t hers. They had this chemical keratin smell to them like all wigs. I remembered visiting a shop for one with Mom before she’d decided she wouldn’t need a wig. The reminder of her cancer had me pressing away and inspecting Isobel’s face for signs of the disease.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Alive. Very much alive.” She smiled that bright smile of hers that could burn away the densest of fogs.
I gave her the bouquet, examining her for a noticeable slump or another mark of fatigue. She ran a knuckle over my cheek. “Don’t you start worrying now, too, sweet girl. I promise I’m fine.”
I nodded.
“August, honey, can you get one of the vases down from the shelf?”