Wolf's Hunger (Alpha's Hunger Book 1) Page 7

I nodded, swallowing. “Why do you ask?”

  “I can smell him on you,” he replied, his lip curling with something that looked an awful lot like disgust.

  “Jesus, Marcus, I wish you’d tell me why you hate the guy so much.” I didn’t ask him how the hell he could smell Tristan from several feet away. How had I never realized how strangely acute my roomie’s sense of smell was? “What has he ever done to you?”

  “Let’s just say that he and I are born enemies,” he said, turning away to stare at the television.

  “Is this something to do with your boss? Are he and Tristan business rivals or something?”

  For a few seconds he clammed up. I could see him grinding his jaw, like he was trying to figure out how to answer the question.

  “Sort of,” he said, leaning back and taking a swig of the beer he’d been holding in his left hand.

  I moved over and perched myself on the arm of the couch. “You’ve never really told me what it is that you do, you know,” I said. “Never explained any of it. Is this about some shady real estate or something?”

  “You might say that,” he muttered, but he didn’t expand on it. Instead, he just reached for my hand and squeezed, without actually looking my way. “The thing is,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to have to become your enemy too, Ari. I don’t want us to lose what we have.”

  I could have sworn that my heart swelled up three sizes when those words met my ears. Suddenly I felt loved—a sensation I hadn’t experienced much in my life, unless you counted Clarissa and the family members that I’d lost along the way. “I could never be your enemy, Marcus,” I murmured. “You’re my family. You’re just about the best friend I have in the world right now, what with Clarissa leaving town. So I need to know that we’re going to survive this—whatever this is.”

  He turned, looked up at me, and threw me a genuine smile. Warm, friendly, and sincere. I knew then that we were going to be okay.

  “I’m good if you are,” he said. “I love you, you know. I’ll do anything for you. I’d jump in front of a bus to save your ass, even if you do have shitty taste in men. Just don’t make me jump in front of Wolfe to protect you.”

  “I won’t,” I chuckled. “I love you too. Now stop worrying. No one could ever turn me against you. Not even a super-hot man who’s trying to give me my very own Off-Broadway theater.”

  “Wait—what?” he asked. “Seriously?”

  I nodded, pulled out the deed and handed it to him. “Is that crazy? It’s crazy, right?”

  To my surprise, Marcus shook his head. “No. I mean yes. I mean—take it. For fuck’s sake, take it. Unless you think it’s a bad deal.”

  “You think I can trust Tristan?”

  He ground his jaw for a second then said, “Wolfe wouldn’t screw you around about something like that. He has too much honor. It’s kind of his schtick. For all his negatives, the guy doesn’t lie.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that. Well, fuck,” I replied. “Then maybe I’ll have to accept. But not right now. I need to rest my brain before I can be bothered to reread the paperwork. There’s probably a clause in there somewhere about how I have to give him blowies every four minutes in exchange of the theater’s upkeep.”

  Marcus chuckled. “He’s a smart guy, so yes, he might just have added something like that.”

  It seemed that Marcus’ sense of humor was slowly coming back. Or maybe he was warming up to the idea of Tristan after all.

  “Can I join you on the couch?” I asked. “I need to vegetate.”

  He patted the cushion next to where he was sitting. “Sure, come watch a stupid movie with me. I want to forget about the world outside of this apartment and just hang with my roomie for a few hours.”

  “Excellent,” I said as I plopped down next to him. “Uh, there’s something I should tell you, though. Something you might not like.”

  “You’re going to see him again,” he replied.

  I nodded. “Tomorrow morning. He wants to take me away for the weekend.”

  Marcus sighed. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want, Ari. I won’t try to stop you. That is, unless I’m worried that you’ll get hurt.”

  “I might. The weird thing is, I don’t trust most men,” I said. “But there’s some part of me that really wants to believe that Tristan is good. I want to believe, for some crazy reason, that he’s not just out to screw me over. It feels important, but I’m not sure why.”

  “You know what I think?”

  I shook my head.

  “You should see if he passes the litmus test,” Marcus said.

  “What litmus test?”

  He turned towards me. “Would you tell him about your past?”

  I clenched my hands in my lap and stared down at them, all too aware of how white my knuckles had just turned. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m not sure I trust him quite that much yet.”

  “Fair enough. But just remember that if you won’t let him in, it’ll be hard for him to trust you, too.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I just need a bit of time to get to know him. To figure out who he is.”

  “What if you don’t like who he is?” he asked.

  “Then I’ll walk away.”

  “What if you can’t walk away?”

  The words sent a chill down my spine. It was as if Marcus already knew just how addicted I’d grown. How much it scared me to be so drawn to Tristan, to feel so much hunger, so much need of him. My housemate had warned me that this would happen. He’d known, somehow, even before I had.

  “If I can’t walk away,” I said, “I’m in serious trouble.”

  Chapter 11

  At ten a.m. on Saturday, my phone buzzed.

  The message from Tristan read:

  Downstairs. Waiting for you.

  I’d thrown some things in a bag the previous night, anticipating his text. No part of me wanted to keep Tristan waiting, which was a purely selfish impulse. Because the truth was that I was the one who couldn’t wait.

  I grabbed the bag and dashed out of my room.

  Marcus’ door was closed, which meant that he was either still asleep or already gone for the day. Either way, I was relieved not to have to remind him where I was going, in case he’d changed his mind and decided it wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  When I pushed the building’s front door open, a red convertible was waiting for me on the street beyond. The sight of Tristan leaning back against it, arms crossed, drew a loud laugh out of my chest.

  “Oh, man! My hair will love this,” I told him as I ran a hand through the thick brown strands that fell about my shoulders.

  “Excellent. I love the idea of that mane of yours getting messed,” he replied, strolling over to climb into the driver’s seat.

  He didn’t kiss me, of course. For all our quick moments of intimacy, our lips had still never met. God forbid that we should try to turn this volatile emotional stew of ours into an actual adult relationship.

  I slipped into the passenger’s seat, aware of my bare knees and exposed thighs as my skirt slipped up, but grateful to have shaved diligently the previous night.

  Tristan was aware of my bare skin too, apparently. Once he’d pulled the car into traffic, he reached a hand over and slipped it between my thighs, sending a pulse straight to my clit. Fuck, it felt good to be touched so unapologetically. His unflinching possessiveness over my body was the sexiest characteristic I’d ever seen in a man.

  It was also the most dangerous.

  “Forgive me,” he said, staring straight ahead from behind a pair of reflective sunglasses. “I can’t resist touching this beautiful skin of yours.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “No flattery involved. It’s pure selfishness on my part. I want to get my mouth on you again, and this is the next best thing.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I’ll take it.”

  We drove for some time, chatting a little about topics like my childhood, the town where my sister and I were
raised. I kept the details limited. As I’d told Marcus, I didn’t know Tristan well enough yet to recount any details about my sister, or other tales of my sordid past.

  I also neglected to tell him when I’d left home, or why. Much as I was tempted to tell him about the emotional turmoil of my former life, I needed to keep a few secrets from him, at least until he’d revealed one or two of his own.

  To his credit, he didn’t push. He seemed genuinely interested in hearing about my life. So I painted an idyllic picture of my youth, of the days before my father died. It actually felt kind of nice to talk about the last time I could remember being truly happy.

  “What exactly is our destination?” I asked after a time, wanting to change the subject before things grew too intense. “All I can really tell was that we’re headed due north.”

  “First, a small airfield,” he said. “Then somewhere quite far away.”

  I tightened at the words. An airfield meant a plane. I hadn’t woken up this morning expecting to fly. Planes terrified me almost as much as Tristan did.

  “Wait, what? I didn’t bring a passport,” I said. “You didn’t mention that we were going to…” Paris? London? Where the hell was he actually taking me?

  “You won’t need it,” he told me. “We’re remaining inside the United States.”

  I had to admit, my interest was seriously piqued. “Okay, but you’re still not going to tell me anything?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t want to spoil it.”

  I tried not to guess and ruin it for myself, even though I wasn’t good at spontaneity. Particularly when it came to finding myself stuck somewhere with no means of escape.

  But this kind of surprise? This I could probably get used to, with a little practice.

  “I’m not sure what we’re going to do once we get to our mystery destination,” I said, “but I don’t have a lot of clothes with me. I sort of pictured us romping around outside, maybe going for dinner…”

  “Whatever you brought will be fine,” he said, digging his fingers into my thigh just enough to remind me what we’d probably be doing later on. “Though to be honest, I’d prefer you in nothing at all.”

  “That can probably be arranged,” I replied, though I regretted it immediately. We were still in limbo, Tristan and I. I didn’t know what this was—this weird, potentially destructive relationship of ours. Were we lovers?

  Boyfriend and girlfriend?

  Hell, no. Definitely not that. The title of boyfriend was far too innocent-sounding for a man like Tristan. He was too experienced, too savvy and sensual a man to warrant one shred of naiveté. The most I could probably hope for was to make him my temporary lover.

  “What were you like as a kid?” I asked after a momentary silence, trying once again to steer the subject away from what was going on in my head.

  He turned and grinned at me for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asked.

  “I would, actually.”

  “I was fairly happy,” he replied with a quick shrug. “Right up until…” But with those words, he stopped talking, his jaw setting in a sudden frown like I’d hit a nerve that stung him to the core.

  Interesting. It seemed I was’t the only person in this car with a past.

  “Until?”

  “Until I wasn’t,” he said. “Don’t ask me anything more. Not now.”

  “All right,” I said, turning to stare out the window at the property we were passing. It hurt to be shut down so abruptly. But it made me angry too—more at myself than at him. What had I been thinking when I’d said yes to this weekend? I’d willingly climbed into a car with a man who was all walls and coldness, and now I was about to get onto a plane with him. I should have known that this would be a difficult outing, at best.

  At worst? It would be a nightmare.

  I supposed I should have asked him to turn us around, to take me home. This whole thing was probably a mistake. One of us would end the weekend hurt, and I was willing to bet all my meager savings that it wouldn’t be Tristan.

  But I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t ask him to abort our foolhardy mission.

  Maybe it was curiosity that made me determined to see it through. Or maybe it was masochism.

  Or stupidity.

  Whatever it was, it was pulling me in. Chaining me to Tristan, heart first, like someone who’d become enslaved by my own lust.

  The truth was, I wanted him to care about me. I wanted him to need me, to crave my affection.

  Just as I was beginning to crave his.

  Chapter 12

  We arrived at the airport—which really was tiny—shortly after our moment of awkward silence. Tristan pulled the car to a stop near a hangar, cutting the engine in spite of the fact that we weren’t exactly sitting in a standard-issue parking spot.

  “Get out,” he ordered as he pushed the door open. I balked at the command, though his tone was more rushed than icy. For some reason, he wanted to get us on the plane and out of the state as quickly as possible.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied as I climbed out.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That was abrupt of me.” He walked around the car and laid a kiss on my forehead, presumably to make up for it.

  “It’s okay. You seem to have a lot on your mind.”

  “I have you on my mind.” He looked down at me and smirked, like he was trying to solve a riddle that was giving him trouble. “I don’t know what to do about you, Ariana. You’re too irresistible. It’s possible that I’m making a mistake, taking you with me to my retreat. But I suppose there’s one way to find out.”

  Once again, I found myself feeling hurt, my walls surging up immediately to protect my ego and heart. He was torturing me as usual, making me feel both good and awful at once. This was Tristan’s M.O.

  Don’t over-commit.

  But don’t under-commit, either.

  Just fuck with her brain.

  “It’s okay to change your mind, you know,” I lied.

  It was the last thing I wanted.

  He shook his head. “Never. The one thing I know is that I want this time with you, whether it’s a good idea or not. I want to show you everything. I want you to see me as I truly am.”

  “As you truly are?” I asked. “Well, maybe after that, you can explain why you don’t want to tell me anything about yourself. I mean, I’m closed off, but at least you know what I do for a living. I don’t even know what you actually do in that sky-palace of yours, Tristan.”

  “All in due time.”

  With that, he turned away and walked over to an official-looking man—possibly the pilot—to speak to him.

  Moments later, another car pulled up close behind Tristan’s, drawing my gaze. When the driver’s side door opened, my heart sank like lead hitting the bottom of a swimming pool.

  Kara, the hot receptionist from Tristan’s office, stepped out and walked towards me.

  Seriously? The queen of all sexy, legs-til-Tuesday perfect chicks was here?

  She advanced like a cat, her hips moving like a jaguar’s, all danger and sensuality. I could see now why they called the runway a catwalk for fashion shows. I could also see why average women tended to hate models. I was not enjoying being around a woman who looked like her face might be worth millions if she hadn’t chosen to hide it inside the walls of Wolfe Tower.

  “Hello, Ariana,” she said, smiling as though she had no idea that I wanted to claw those perfect lips right off her face.

  “Hi, Kara,” I replied, trying like hell not to succumb to my violent fantasy. Don’t be jealous. Don’t feel threatened. He invited you, not her.

  So why is she here?. “Um, what are you doing here?” I asked, trying not to let my voice take on a bitchy edge.

  “Tristan didn’t tell you?” she asked, looking over to where he was standing with the pilot. “No, I guess he wouldn’t have. Well, this is awkward. Thing is, I’m coming with you.”

  “What? Why?” The words bu
rst out before I had a chance to stop them. Couldn’t she have been here to drop off some paperwork? Or to do literally anything other than join us for our sexy weekend away?

  She laughed, like she’d expected the question. Fuck. Even her damn laugh was pretty. “Because I’m his assistant in every way imaginable,” she said. “He needs me.”

  The words ate away at my chest like acid. He needs me.

  Of course she had to say that.

  I wasn’t sure if she was trying to drive a wedge between us, to make me jealous, or was just so oblivious to my suffering that she’d spoken the truth. Either way, I wasn’t very amused.

  “Come on, I’ll carry your things,” she said.

  “I’ve got them,” I replied, my tone surly as I reached into the back seat and grabbed my small bags. I stormed away from her, unsure of whether to be angry with her, Tristan, or both.

  When I got close, Tristan turned my way. “Ariana, this is Fredrick. He’s our pilot.”

  “Oh. Hi,” I said, dropping one bag to the ground and shaking his hand. Much as I was feeling irritable, it wouldn’t do to take it out on the guy who’d soon hold my life in his hands.

  “Kara is his co-pilot,” Tristan added, nodding towards the woman who was coming up behind me. I spun around to look at her, if only to see if this was some kind of twisted joke.

  She nodded. “I told you, he needs me,” she said, letting out a funny sort of laugh before she and Fredrick proceeded towards the plane.

  “Why the actual hell is your receptionist co-piloting your plane?” I hissed as Tristan guided me towards the steps that led into the cabin.

  “That’s a very good question, and one that will be answered in due course. In the meantime, do you trust me?” he asked.

  “Not entirely,” I replied, too annoyed to bother being dishonest.

  Tristan chuckled. “That’s good enough.” When he reached out, I handed him my bags to carry. “You head up the steps ahead of me,” he said. “I want to enjoy the view.”

  I did as he ordered, aware that my too-curvaceous, non-modelesque ass was his focal point for the next several seconds. But when I heard him moaning with pleasure from behind me, I softened a little.