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gorgeous when she’s angry. He’d never seen her like this, not once. It was a revelation. Would her skin be as hot as it was silky? His cock ached and his fingers itched to test his theory.
    “What are you staring at?” The question jerked him out of his reverie.
    “You’re tired,” he said, and his voice came out rough. Clamping down on the inappropriate desire proved even more difficult than taming his temper. She’d dressed in a light chambray shirt and regular jeans. Both emphasized her slender figure and curves. Denim had never looked so attractive to him. He found himself particularly fond of the loops where she wore no belt. It would take nothing to curl a finger through one and tug her…
    “Tired, not deaf. How dare you order me to tell Mason no? What are you thinking?”
    Cutting his gaze back to her face, he sighed. “Gillian…”
    “No, you don’t get to Gillian me in that tone. You’re a Hunter, Owen. You hunt, you protect, and you walk away. A lot. None of those give you the privilege to tell me what to do.” The words slapped him.
    Scowling, he let his wolf surge upward within him. His animal was as agitated as he by this whole idea. They could haul her out to his cabin and stash her there. The more he thought about it the better he liked the idea, except—the pack needed her.
    And he didn’t deserve her.
    As if realizing she still had a finger poking him in the chest, she withdrew her touch and he felt the loss. It was a strange kind of ache. Folding her arms, she blew out a breath and glanced up at the sky. “I’m going to go inside and I’m going to sleep. You’re going to leave now, and we’re both going to forget this part of the conversation.”
    “No, we’re not. You’re not going.”
    “Good night, Owen.” She withdrew a step into her house and he took a step forward, then stopped. She hadn’t invited him in. The urge to pursue tightened every muscle, but Gillian braced a hand on the door. “Say good night.”
    Clearing his throat, he growled, “Good night.”
    “Good boy.” Finally, she smiled and all the air backed up in his lungs. Before he could respond, she’d closed the door and Owen stared at it in consternation.
    What the fuck just happened?  
     
     
    Two days later…  
     
    Arms folded and eyes closed, Gillian tried to imagine how long the ride from Willow Bend to Hudson River would be, trapped in Owen’s truck with the Hunter and his quiet, seething fury. The morning after she’d shut the door on him and his presumptuous order, she’d found him sitting watch in the same truck he drove now. Apparently, he’d never left. Tired and rumpled, the damn wolf had never looked sexier. Feeling bad, she’d made him coffee and delivered the travel mug and a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich to him. A peace offering, she’d told herself, one to smooth over the rough edges of their disagreement.
    Then he had the balls to tell me again to tell Mason no. Shaking her head, she turned to study the landscape racing past. She’d never left their territory and had only left their community a couple of times. Most pack members would seek out her or Emma if they needed a healer. On the rare occasions a member on the fringe needed them, it had been Emma who went with her mate.
    Maybe I can do that when I come home. Make a circuit. The roaming could give her some measure of independence and she could see all of their pack, really get to know them. Recluses like Owen didn’t venture into town as often, or spend much more than tacit socializing time. Willow Bend territory was vast and included huge cities. Most wolves didn’t want to live in the urban areas, preferring small towns where they dominated the population.
    But not all.
    Owen’s anger continued to push at her, like ants crawling over her skin. Wiggling, she adjusted her seat and glanced at him. They were about to spend weeks together—not to mention the long drive—and she didn’t want to spend it like this. Her