having to force an expression of pleasure onto her face. Damn it, she liked Chelsea and couldn’t have been happier that her brother had fallen in love with such a warmhearted, amazing woman. She was truly thrilled for them, and she honestly wanted their wedding to be perfect. She just...she just didn’t want to have to be a part of it.
Stop whining, you big ol’ baby. Just suck it up and stop acting like a pathetic bitch.
Wishing that know-it-all voice in her head would shut up and leave her the hell alone, Elise took another sip of wine while her gaze wandered over the crowd, until she came to the table where Wyatt sat. Unable to get her fill of him, she secretly watched the dark-haired Runner, same as she’d been doing all through the night. He leaned back in his chair, a cold beer in his right hand, his head tilted back as he laughed at something his Bloodrunning partner, Carla Reyes, was saying. The pretty, petite blonde looked like a golden little angel, but Elise knew Carla could be deadly when she needed to be, and she envied the lone female Runner that power. She’d have given anything to be like Carla, fearless and free to do as she pleased.
Wyatt rumbled something that Elise couldn’t quite hear but which had everyone at his table laughing, the scene like one of those idyllic beer commercials, with close friends enjoying good times together, a harsh contrast to her own situation. It wasn’t lost on her that she was the only person sitting at a table by herself. Guests had come and gone throughout the evening, trying to engage her in conversation, only to eventually move on when it became obvious she didn’t really want their company.
Suddenly, someone at Wyatt’s table roared with laughter, and Elise watched as Carla leaned to the side, one delicate hand pressed to her partner’s firm shoulder as she nearly doubled over with giggles. In that moment, the same helpless rise of jealousy Elise had experienced each and every time he’d danced with a beautiful woman that night burned through her system, making her feel sick inside. Struggling to hide the uncomfortable emotion, she shifted her gaze back to his face, wanting to see the glitter of humor in his dark eyes, to witness the white flash of his teeth as he smiled—and almost died when she found him staring right back at her.
Oh, my God...
Panicked, Elise quickly tore her gaze away, staring anywhere and everywhere, so long as it wasn’t at Wyatt. When she spotted Jillian heading her way, she nearly gasped with relief. The pack’s golden-haired Spirit Walker, also known as a healer or witch, took the seat on her left, and the entire time they chatted, Elise could have sworn she could feel Wyatt’s gaze lingering on her, watching...waiting for her to look back in his direction. But as Jillian’s grinning, gorgeous husband finally pulled her away to the dance floor and Elise slanted another quick look toward the table where Wyatt had been sitting, he was gone.
Okay, lady. It’s time to blow this joint before you make a fool of yourself.
Draining the last of her wine, Elise set down the glass, pushed back from the table and moved to her feet, already working up the lame excuse she’d give to Eric and Chelsea for bailing early. Bending down to get her purse from the neighboring chair, she’d just straightened and was starting to turn when someone walked up behind her. Caught off guard, she stiffened in alarm and dropped her purse onto the table.
“Dance with me, El.”
Jesus, Joseph and Mary.
The low, husky words had been whispered just behind her ear, Wyatt’s warm breath brushing against the sensitive skin bared by the upswept style of her hair, and she closed her eyes, nearly reeling as a stunning jolt of shock and lust and terror swept through her veins like a wildfire. He stood so close that she could feel his heat at her back, though he wasn’t quite touching her, a whisper of air still separating their bodies.
Wondering what the hell she should do, Elise drew in a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes just as he placed a warm, slightly rough hand on her arm, took a step back and then turned her around so that she faced him. She was tall for a woman, and in her heels she found herself staring eye level with the bronzed skin of his strong, corded throat. It was madness, but she couldn’t deny that she wanted to lean forward and press her mouth against that dark, silken skin. Wanted to feel his pulse against the tingling surface of her lips...the blistering intensity of his heat against her face.
Shivering even harder, Elise wet her lips, unable to get any words out over the choking lump of anxiety lodged against her larynx. Knowing she had to brazen this out, she slowly lifted her gaze over the square cut of his chin, then higher, over that wide, sensual mouth and strong nose, until she finally reached those dark, heavily lashed eyes. Reaching deep, she tried to find the smart-ass “I couldn’t care less that you’re big and bad and beautiful” attitude that she used when dealing with the other Runners—but it wasn’t there. Something about Wyatt Pallaton stripped her of her hard-earned defenses, until she couldn’t even fake her way through a sarcastic confrontation.
All she could do was stand there, trapped...spellbound...transfixed, until it felt as if she were somehow falling into that deliciously dark, heavy-lidded stare. It reminded her of gazing at the midnight sky, while the glittering points of the stars dazzled her eyes. His eyes glittered in just the same way, that mesmerizing gaze fixed on her with startling, breathtaking intensity, as if she were the only thing in the entire world at that moment that had his attention. Somehow, instead of the usual panicked alarm she felt when close to a man, there was only a strange, simmering warmth, like something bubbling up from the cold, decimated depths of her soul, breaking its way through the barren layers of ice, struggling to reach the surface.
She trembled, but not from the chill of the mountain breeze. No, she was melting, burning alive, and all he’d done was say four little words to her, stroking her senses with that deep, velvet-rough voice that was so damn sexy it should have been illegal.
He stepped closer, and amazingly, she didn’t flinch the way she usually did when a man invaded her personal space. But she did react. How could she not, when he was surrounding her, overwhelming her with his fierce, predatory energy, blasting it against her like some kind of freaking superpower?
“Wh-what did you say?” she stammered, stalling, wondering what in God’s name she was going to do. Run? Scream? Throw herself at him...and end up making a complete fool of herself when she couldn’t follow through, panicking at the mere idea of a kiss?
Poor Elise. You are so in trouble.
“Dance with me,” he said again, while a slow, sensual smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and the wind blew the thick, midnight strands of his hair over his brow. Such simple little words, and yet, their effect was so utterly devastating.
No way. Never. Not in a million years. The fervent responses rushed through her mind with dizzying speed, but when she opened her mouth to tell him no, she found herself nodding instead. The music and laughter surrounding them faded to a distant blur of sound, and Elise blinked, stunned that she’d just agreed to let this man take her into his arms and slow-dance with her. Had she lost her ever-loving mind? What the hell was wrong with her?
“I was hoping you’d stop being so stubborn,” Wyatt responded in a low, husky drawl, and she watched as the flames from one of the nearby fire pits cast a golden glow over the rugged angles of his face, glinting against the coal-black silk of his hair. “Took me all night to work up the nerve to ask you,” he added wryly, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling as he grinned. “Imagine how crushed I’d have been if you’d turned me down.”
She blinked, and his grin turned boyishly crooked, dazzling her with its beauty, making some forgotten part of her want to smile in response, though she fought against it. Elise knew he was teasing her, trying to put her at ease, and in another lifetime, words would have slipped from her lips like silk, either cutting or flirtatious in response, depending on her mood. But the woman with the ready comeback was gone.
Perhaps not an entirely bad thing, she reflected with an inward wince, seeing as how that woman had often been obsessively self-centered...and not very nice.
“Come on,” he murmured, gently taking her elbow and steering her toward the dance floor. He was being careful with her, tender in his touch and manner, and it made her want to snap