I rotate slowly, and even though I’m prepared to see the brightness that is Sunny Hines, her beauty knocks my knees out from under me.
I flex my jaw, forcing myself to breathe.
“Sunny.” It comes out like a growl. Like an admonishment, which I guess it is.
This woman is fucking trouble with a capital Fuck.
A free-loving hippie who blew through my life two years ago like a fucking hurricane. Definitely left damage in her wake. And I hadn’t even realized I had anything on the line with her.
She’s dressed in a tank top that shows off her slender, muscular arms and her long blonde hair is woven in a braid that hangs across one delicate shoulder. She hurls herself at me.
You wouldn’t think a woman so tiny could make such an impact, but I have to brace to catch her full weight, and there’s no choice but to pick her up off her feet with a bear hug. Her arms wind around my neck in a stranglehold.
“Sweet goddess above. I knew I’d see you again! It’s so great. Such a surprise.” She barely breathes between sentences. “How are things? Have you been to Tucson to see the kids?”
I try to extricate myself from the hug, mainly because the feel of those soft, bra-less breasts rubbing over my chest is too much. Especially when combined with her unique scent. I don’t know what it is-probably some frankincense or patchouli shit, but on her, it doesn’t smell bad. On her, it comes off as feminine power mingled with mysticism.
It smells like danger.
My wolf doesn’t think so. My wolf thinks she smells like hedonistic pleasure.
And he’s totally down with that.
But I’m not.
Fuck, no. This female-this human female-is the last person I need to get involved with. If I think I made a mistake with my first mate, I know without question this one is a hundred times worse.
At least Barbara stuck around a few years to see Titus Junior grow into a little boy. But maybe that’s not fair. From what I can tell, Sunny was a great single parent for Foxfire, my son’s mate.
But she’s ditzy as hell. Like whacko airy-fairy.
I clear my throat trying to step back, but she follows into my personal space. Damn her. “Uh, yeah. I saw the kids a few weeks ago. All good.”
“Any talk of grandchildren?” The hope in her face is so blinding I want to look away. People shouldn’t show their emotions so clearly. It’s unnerving. Does something squirmy to my gut.
“No,” I say too gruffly. “At least not that I heard. But I don’t go pushing that kind of thing.” I glower at her like it’s entirely inappropriate for a woman in her fifties-a woman who looks too fucking glorious to be in her fifties-to want grandchildren.
Her expression dims slightly and she pulls back.
I’m instantly sorry for being such a dick. My wolf stirs, restlessly, like he needs me to fix it. ASAP. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out to touch her arm.
I fucking stroke her arm-like I have any right to touch her that way. To caress her sun-kissed soft skin. “I’m sure they’ll come eventually. The kids are still young.”
Some kind of pain flits across her face, something I can’t decipher, but she nods and turns the smile back up. “Well, what are you doing here, Titus? Clearly you didn’t come to see me.”
The idea that I would come to see her is ludicrous, and she must know it because a blush creeps up her neck. It may be adorable to see a woman our age blush, but again-the woman’s got to stop showing every single emotion. It’s fucking dangerous to show so much vulnerability. Especially a woman like her, living alone in that goddamn Airstream. Any guy could take advantage of her. Mow her down.
And that thought leaves my skin prickly with anger.
“I’m on official pack-I mean club business.” I’m not sure if Sunny fully understands what we are. She lives in a different dimension. To her, everyone has a spirit animal, which she can see with her inner eye. So she sees mine as a wolf. She saw her daughter’s as a fox, so she named her Foxfire. But does she really get that we’re shifters? That part is unclear.
If she were a different kind of human, telling her probably would’ve been necessary. But she sort of accepts it all like it’s nothing. I don’t think she’s actually seen a shifter in their true animal form. Tank swore to his alpha she hadn’t, anyway. I don’t believe she knows it is a real thing, not a spirit animal.
She came to my son’s pack run, the one where I lit up the sky with fireworks to welcome her daughter to the pack, but since she’s not a member, I took her on a ride on my motorcycle when the time came for everyone to shift and run.
She stares at me now, open-faced, expecting more.
“It’s private business,” I add. I’m sure as hell not going to discuss serious pack shit with her.
“Oh. Well great. Do you have a place to stay?”
I look around for her Airstream, but I don’t see it. I do see her painted VW bus parked at the edge of the gorge. Daisy, I think she calls it. Insert eye roll. How in the hell did I miss it before? I worked on that thing for a full week, not wanting her risking a breakdown driving around in the ancient pile of screws and bolts.
I don’t have a plan for where to sleep yet, but fate knows I’d never fit in the Airstream, if that’s where she still sleeps. Not that I plan to get anywhere near her and a bed again, anyway. “I’ll figure something out,” I say.