The Wallflower

Becky’s gaze went from the Madonna to him. The reverence on her face seemed to stun Simon, who drew in a quick breath.

Emma felt Max stir behind her. When one of his hands came to rest at her hip, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Well!” She clapped her hands, moving away from the dangerous heat of the man behind her to go to the reverend. Not surprisingly Becky, after nearly jumping out of her skin, refused to meet Simon’s eyes again.

“What do you think, Reverend?” She put on her best salesman’s voice, for once not flustered to be using it in front of real people.

The reverend’s slow smile was all the answer she needed.

Hot damn, Max thought, watching the little dynamo that was Emma in action. Why the hell didn’t I stop here sooner? He’d been busy setting up his practice, true, but you’d think he’d have made the time to stop by. Be neighborly.

When Max had stepped out of the truck, he hadn’t really been expecting much; after all, most women couldn’t live up to the voice Emma had. It was slightly husky, like she’d spent the night moaning in some man’s arms, a visual Max could do without. She managed to infuse it with an authority that had his Beta jumping to do her bidding, something that spoke to the Puma in him. Max wondered if she’d try to take the lead in bed, as well. A challenge, that; he loved taking a strong woman and reducing her to a quivering, begging mass of bliss.

Her straight, dark brown hair was caught up in a ponytail that hung to just between her shoulder blades.

Big brown eyes dominated her face, artfully made up to accentuate them. Her lips were slicked with a pale rose. Her features weren’t classically beautiful, but something about the animation in them drew Max like nothing else ever had.

And her body…

Hell, her body…

The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, something he normally wasn’t attracted to, but on Emma it aroused protective instincts he didn’t even know he possessed. She had the most sweetly rounded ass encased in tight black jeans and the most magnificent breasts Max had ever been privileged to watch bounce under a lacy rose camisole. With a real waist and hips a man could grab on to for the ride of his life, she reminded him of an old-fashioned pin-up girl, all soft curves and feminine strength.

Then she turned, laughing up at something Simon said, sensuous and innocent at the same time, and Max was a goner.

Holy. Fucking. Damn.

Emma. Little Emma Carter sure as hell had grown up.

His hands burned to touch her again. That fleeting touch she’d allowed him had merely whetted his appetite. He longed to rip that camisole off her body and feast at her breasts, hear her moans as he slipped her jeans down those incredible, edible legs, her soft cries as he feasted on her juices.

She would scream his name as she came.

He would tie her to his bed, torture her into ecstasy, and then start all over again. He’d bend her over the arm of his couch and take her from behind over and over until she begged him to come, biting into her shoulder and marking her as his for all to see. The thought of slipping his cock into that luscious ass nearly made him come right there in the middle of her store.

When she laughingly hugged Simon, he nearly went for his Beta’s throat.

Mine!

Only Simon saw the way his eyes gleamed gold, heard the low, purring growl that erupted from his throat before he could stop himself. Sucking in a breath, Max turned away, desperately trying to get himself under control.

He’d been told he’d know his mate when he met her; now he knew what they meant. He’d spoken to Emma when she’d been a teenager, felt a little spark of something , but had dismissed it as nothing serious. Just young lust. Now he knew what that spark had been and wanted to kick his own ass. Not all Pumas got lucky enough to find his or her mate; to know he’d not only met her, but walked away from

her, hell, forgotten her, galled him.

He forced himself to look around her shop, at anything but the laughing group of people around the Madonna, before he walked over there, plucked her up and carted her out of her shop to somewhere private.

She’d done well for herself. Emma’s stamp, mixed with Becky’s, created an atmosphere both women seemed at home in. He could see women flocking to the store, much to the horror and amusement of their male companions. He walked over to the mantelpiece, seeing a silver picture frame his mother would probably appreciate as a gift for her birthday. Something about the picture in it drew his attention.

He leaned forward, trying to see why the Victorian lady in it looked so familiar when he felt a small hand touch his arm.

“Is everything okay between you and Simon?”

That husky voice, combined with her soft touch, had his cock once more threatening to burst out of his jeans. He looked down into her face and saw nothing there but concern. Before she could move, he put his hand over hers, trapping her at his side. He was ridiculously pleased when she didn’t try to pull away.

“Everything is fine between me and Simon.” As long as he keeps his paws off of you.

She looked away, back towards the group, and bit her lip. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Her voice was hesitant, shy in a way she wasn’t when she talked to Simon or the reverend, but her expression begged him to say yes. A fierce wave of protectiveness rose in him, and his hand tightened over hers. He nodded.

He allowed her to pull them to the side, quiet and private but still in plain view. She looked up at him again, obviously uncertain before she focused, damn it, back on his scar. “Um, do you have any idea how Simon feels about Becky?”

She peeked up at him again before dropping her gaze once more. A flush rose in her cheeks and she bit her lip again.

He took a deep breath, striving to control the possessiveness that roared through him. “Not a clue.”

Her softly muttered “Damn” had him nearly smiling, it was so filled with aggravation, but the possessive monster in him couldn’t get past her possible interest in his best friend. “He’s not for you.” He could feel wisps of his power flowing out of his control, trying to force her to acknowledge the truth of his words.

Emma looked him full in the face for the first time since he’d entered the store. He knew he sounded like a caveman, and probably looked like a jealous jackass, but he couldn’t help it; little Emma did that to him.

Then she laughed at him. Not one bit intimidated, frightened or cowed.