S4

"Stop pacing before you wear a hole in the floor."

Mariana didn't even look up from her phone. She was sprawled on my sofa in Valentina’s Bayside Condo, oblivious to the fact that my skin was crawling.

"He’s a territorial, ego-driven animal," I barked. My boots thudded against the hardwood. "He actually stood there, dripping wet, and told me he gets to kiss me whenever he wants. Like I’m some Omega looking for a handout."

"And yet," Mariana slid her gaze toward me, "you didn't punch him. You didn't even shift. Why is that, Val?"

"Because I need the damn story!" I slammed my fist against the wall. "My bank account is a ghost town. The Bayside Market doesn't take 'pride' as a currency."

"Is that the only reason?" She arched a perfectly groomed brow. "Or is it because Finn Reyes looks like he was carved out of a mountain and you’ve been staring at his highlights since you were twelve?"

"He’s my brother’s best friend. It’s practically incestuous."

"He's a werewolf, Val. Not your cousin." Mariana sat up, her expression turning sharp. "Besides, what’s a little mouth-to-mouth between professionals? He gives you the inside track on the Miami Ice Dome, you give him a little attention. Tit for tat."

"He called it that. Exactly that." I shuddered. "The way he said it... like he was already tasting me."

"So he’s got a big ego." Mariana shrugged. "He’s also got a big everything else. I saw the way you looked at his trunks, Val. You were cataloging the hardware."

I felt the heat climb my neck. My heart slammed against my ribs. "He went into the pool in his boxers. He didn't care. He just... existed in front of me."

"And?"

"And they don't call him the 'Cannon' because of his last name, Mariana. Jesus." I dropped into a chair, burying my face in my hands. "I’m supposed to go back there tonight. We’re watching the away game against the Blue Ridge Maulers."

"Then go." Mariana stood up, smoothing her skirt. "But maybe trim the edges first. You know, tidy the territory. Just in case he decides 'whenever he wants' starts at kickoff."

"He is not touching me," I hissed through my fingers.

"Sure, Val. Keep telling yourself that." She headed for the door, tossing a wink over her shoulder. "Enjoy the game. Try not to howl when he scores."

The door clicked shut. I stayed in the silence, my skin still buzzing. I looked at the clock. I had two hours. I went to the kitchen and ate three cloves of raw garlic. If he wanted to kiss me, he was going to have to work for it.

I caught my reflection in the toaster. My eyes were glowing—just a faint, jagged gold around the iris.

"You're not a prize," I whispered to the empty room. "You're a reporter."

I grabbed the keys to the black Mustang he’d insisted I borrow. The engine roared to life, a low, predatory growl that vibrated through the floorboards and straight into my gut.

He was waiting. I knew he was. I could practically smell the pine and ice from miles away.

I pulled up to the villa, the headlights cutting through the Miami mist. The front door was already open. Finn was leaning against the frame, a fresh shirt discarded on the porch railing, his golden eyes locked on mine as I killed the engine.

"You're late, Cruz," he called out.

"The traffic was a bitch." I stepped out of the car, my pulse racing.

"Is that garlic?" He tilted his head, a predatory smirk tugging at his lips as I reached the porch. "Trying to keep the big bad wolf away?"

"Does it work?"

He moved then. Fast. Before I could blink, he had me pinned against the doorframe, his chest pressing into mine. He leaned down, his nose brushing my neck, inhaling deep.

"Not even a little," he whispered.

His hand slid up my waist, his thumb hooking into the belt loop of my jeans. He didn't pull. He just held me there, letting me feel the heat of him.

"The game's starting," I managed to say, my breath hitching.

"Is it?" Finn’s eyes dropped to my mouth. "I thought the main event was right here."