Hunting Season: Werewolf Bodyguard Romance (Guarded by the Shifter Book 1), Kate Rudolph [ebook reader with android os TXT] 📗

see her and she couldn't think of any other friends she needed to call. And what about her siblings? They barely saw each other as it was. The only one she saw with any regularity, other than AR, was Emerald, but her younger sister was probably in some far flung city living it up right now.

Stasia cleaned up after herself and listened, satisfied that the water was still running. She could sneak back upstairs.

She hated that she was hiding, and she regretted promising not to run away again. But she had to be a big girl and deal with it. He was staying in her house; that meant they would see each other.

Stasia took some deep breaths to steady herself. A little bit of lust was nothing. Seriously. She just had to put thoughts of Owen aside and deal with it.

But as she walked up the steps, she realized the water had stopped running. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter. He was in the bathroom, she didn't need to see him.

The bathroom door was open.

Owen stood in front of the mirror, towel hanging precariously around his hips.

Stasia stopped in her tracks. She didn't mean to. She knew the right thing to do was to keep moving. But no power in the universe could have forced her forward at that moment.

Rivulets of water dripped from his dark hair and traced a path over his muscles and the light dusting of hair on his glistening chest. Her tongue curled up in her mouth, straining and desperate to lick that water up.

Owen turned and caught her staring, his mouth pulling up into a wolfish grin. Had his teeth always been that sharp? And when had his eyes turned yellow? Weren't they brown?

She was so far away that she shouldn't have been able to see his eyes, but that didn't matter at the moment. Stasia felt trapped, prey stunned by a predator, with no chance of escape. It was crazy. Intense. Too much.

"Enjoy the view?" Owen asked. He used a hand towel to wipe at his chest, and Stasia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. Heat coiled deep within her and she wanted to get close, wanted Owen to soothe the ache he was causing.

She needed to take control of this situation. She wasn't going to jump Owen's bones, and it would be easier to hold true to that vow if she wasn't looking at him. "Can't you keep the door closed?" Seriously? That was her brilliant response?

Owen chuckled darkly, and it felt like a caress against her most private places. If he could do that with a sound, she was terrified to think of what he could do if he got his hands on her.

"Do you need to shower?" he asked. He tilted his head back, as if inviting her into the bathroom with him, inviting her to join him in the shower.

"I have my own." And she had to cling to that. She wasn't going to do anything with Owen. He was in her house to protect her, not get in her pants. She wasn't going to cross that line. It wasn't fair to him.

No matter how much her body was screaming at her to act.

"I'd be happy to help." The wolfish grin got even more predatory. It would have scared her if it wasn't so sexy. "It's my job to keep you safe."

Somehow his reminder was the bucket of ice she needed, even if the reminders she'd been thinking to herself did nothing. Owen was her bodyguard. He was doing his job. His job was not to be her gigolo.

"There's food in the kitchen," she muttered before scampering to her room.

She hated that she kept running from him, but she was afraid to find out what would happen the moment she stopped.

Chapter Nine

Owen breathed deep as he watched Stasia walk away. The need to chase her pounded in his heart, and he had to grip his towel tight to keep from taking off, as if that was strong enough to root him in place.

His wolf wanted to tear out of his skin and tackle her, take her, claim her until she understood that she was his. And he didn't know how to deal with that. Since when did his wolf care about the women he wanted?

Mate.

The word was rough, not quite human, and it definitely didn't sound like Owen. He wasn't sure if he’d said it out loud or in his mind, but it rattled around, a concept too big for him to ignore. He'd tried to do research on werewolves, but his options were limited. Still, Owen had come across the word before. Was it real? Was it possible?

If his wolf had anything to say about it, it was. But Owen wasn't convinced his "wolf" was anything more than his imagination trying to deal with something outside of his normal. He was an easy going guy. He didn't get possessive, especially not for a princess who he was only going to be around for a week.

And what kind of stunt was that? Preening in front of her in just a towel? Throwing out sexual comments like he had a right? She could fire him for that and he would deserve it.

He had to get control.

Owen slammed the door and winced at the sound it made against the old wood of her house. He wasn't supposed to have super strength, but he was beginning to think he knew exactly jack shit about what it meant to be a werewolf.

He gripped the edges of the porcelain vanity and breathed deep, trying to center himself. He raised his head up and looked in the mirror.

His eyes were wolfish, shifted to a golden tone far different from his normal brown. Owen squeezed his eyes shut and looked again, as if that would banish it. But no, they were still gold. He opened his mouth to check his teeth. Were they extra sharp? He wasn't sure.

And