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When his other hand went under the water to my ass, I instinctively wrapped my legs around him. He let out a groan as my hands tore into his hair, yanking it savagely.

My body ground up against his, against the very obvious erection he was sporting. Naked. While my underwear was a tiny scrap of lace.

Pleasure built in my spine, desperate, hungry desire. My teeth brushed his lip, and I tasted blood. His blood. It was not unpleasant. In fact, it made my skin buzz, my core pulse, and my mind go near feral.

It took great restraint, and a rushing return of sense, to pull back from Dante’s mouth, unhook my legs from his hips, and shove away from him.

He let me, though the spark in his gaze told me it took great restraint for him to do that too. His jaw was hard, shoulders taut, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“That was a mistake.” My voice was breathy, thin.

“I disagree.” His lips stretched into a wicked smile.

I got out of the water with a huge splash, ignoring him as I felt his eyes travel up my body.

I used his tee to dry myself. It was meant to be an aggressive move to ensure that he didn’t have something dry to put on, but it only served to cover me in his pleasing, spiced scent.

My body still hummed with need, cried out for a release I knew Dante wouldn’t hesitate to give if I got back in the water. It was tempting. To throw caution to the wind and create more drama in this small-town shitshow.

Instead, I angrily kicked my legs into my jeans, tugging on my shirt, boots, and weapons, trying to alchemize my desire into anger.

It was working well.

Though I had plenty of choice words to hurl at Dante—and maybe even a knife or two—I resolved that it was best to ignore him. I didn’t want to look his way, see what he was doing. Or worse, see the way he was looking at me.

I just trampled back into the woods, hoping that he was killed by a werewolf who would do me a favor for a change.

eleven

“Hadley!” Sharon greeted me with a hug before pulling back to give me a quick once-over. “You showered. And put on clean clothes. Bravo.” She delicately clapped her hands together.

I looked down at my plain black tee, black cargo pants—the only pair I owned that weren’t ripped—and freshly cleaned boots. My hair was down in wild curls, and I’d even attempted subtle makeup. Though there wasn’t much I could do for the black eye, or the tattoos, the general lack of life and hopefulness that used to exist in the girl she once knew.

It was as good as it got. Nothing respectable or elegant.

“I did,” I agreed. “And I brought something.”

I handed her a bottle of whiskey. I’d splurged, since Gerald had made another visit to “go over the estate” just after I’d arrived back at the house with wet hair and confused feelings about Dante. Had I somehow agreed to the unthinkable … partnering with him?

I wasn’t allowing myself to recall what else had happened. The Nile was not just a river in Egypt.

Gerald, it turned out, had done a thorough job of looking after me, even in my absence. Apparently, he’d been hopeful about my return. Therefore, he’d made sound investments, renting out the house to people who clearly hadn’t minded the grizzly history or had stayed because of it. My room had always been locked, for whatever reason.

I hadn’t assumed there was any money for me to inherit. I’d found out my parents had a college fund for me, a healthy one at that. I’d done some cursing at the number at the bottom of the many sheets of paper. The money that was apparently mine. More than I’d expected to make in an entire lifetime.

I wasn’t too noble not to accept it. Wasn’t going to say something stupid and martyr myself. I’d take the money. I needed it. It would help ensure I never had to defraud people or credit card companies just to keep myself in cheap clothes and under the roofs of seedy motels.

Gerald hadn’t asked many questions about what I’d do with the money, but he’d offered to continue looking after other investments “for your retirement.” I hadn’t been able to stop myself from laughing in his face at that.

He’d been confused, so I’d told him I’d take it all, that I wasn’t worrying about retirement.

He’d nodded, again not asking any questions, though I could tell he was curious. I wondered if Sharon had forbidden him from prying. She’d have her own, far more subtle plans on getting information out of me.

“You shouldn’t have.” Sharon took the bottle of Blue Label. “Although I suppose you do owe us, considering how much of our liquor cabinet turned out to be water after you left.” She winked. “Come in.”

She ushered me through the extravagantly appointed foyer of their McMansion. It smelled of roses, candles. The hardwood floors gleamed, expensive rugs under my feet making me think I should’ve taken off my boots.

Paintings and antiques were the same; only subtle hints existed that over a decade had passed since I was last there. More photos adorned the walls, though ones with me in them were still up. I didn’t stop to look at those.