Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 (4 page)

explanation, damn it.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked

politely. “If I know Nana, she made sure you have

towels and soap, dishes, and dry goods.”

“That’s great. Thanks. I’m looking forward to

helping out.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about

me and not about the house?”

“I don’t know, Sophie.” He stepped just within

her space, close enough to touch, and Sophie felt

her stomach drop to her toes. All the air in the

room seemed to disappear. She felt as if she stood

inside a vacuum, her shallow breathing the only

sound, Trent’s blue mesmerizing eyes the only

sight. “Do you want my help?”

His question broke the spell between them,

almost with an audible snap.

Relief shuddered through her as she collected

her wits. She inhaled deeply. “No,” she said to

him. “I don’t want you around at all.”

She noticed Trent’s expression. His eyes held

too much sympathy. Here was a werewolf who’d

survived the same terrible thing she had, and she

couldn’t—wouldn’t—reach out.

She was a stubborn fool.

Trent leaned closer, and she caught another

whiff of his woodsy aroma, a pure masculine

scent. He had a strong jawline, high cheekbones,

straight nose, and that dimple. The damn dimple.

Her wolf form liked him, too.

Down, girl. We are so not going there.

“Don’t you think it’s time to move forward?”

Her gaze jerked from his chin to his eyes.

“Forward?”

“With your life.”

She couldn’t believe she was having this

conversation with a stranger. What had Nana been

thinking when she’d foisted this babysitter on her?

She saw right through that whole handyman

bullshit.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She paused her seething for a moment to

consider him. Her gaze landed on his lips. Strong,

firm, designed for kissing the daylights out of

someone. She stifled a sigh. He probably had all

kinds of kissing techniques designed to curl a

werewolf’s toes. But kissing Trent would be like

sampling a gourmet truffle. It would lead to her

devouring the whole box. She knew it would be

fulfilling and decadent. Then she’d feel sick and

guilty for indulging herself and swear off the

luscious candy...all the while craving more.

Yep. Trent was a Godiva chocolate...and she

was on a diet.

“My life is none of your business,” she said

flatly and with sharp regret at ending any

possibility of trying out Trent’s lips. She tried to

squelch all thoughts and sensations, but her body

refused to take orders and continued to react to

Trent’s presence. Run with him whispered her

wolf. Howl with him.

“I understand,” he said, backing away with

hands held up in surrender. “Just know that I’m

here if you want to talk.”

“You’re at the top of my list right behind Oprah

and Dr. Phil.” She shook her head when her

sarcasm garnered her a cute and cheeky smile from

Trent. She waved a hand at him. “Never mind.

Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Be sure to

wash up. Nana’s been known to check under

fingernails.”

“Noted,” he said.

“See you downstairs, then.” Sophie left as fast

as her shaking legs could take her. By the time she

reached the bottom of the stairs, she was nearly in

a full-blown panic attack. She took several deep

breaths and willed her heart to slow its rapid pace.

“You’re okay,” she whispered to herself.

“You’re okay.”

“WHAT ARE YOU doing?”

Sophie’s suspicious voice startled Trent.

Crouched on the kitchen floor, he’d been examining

the rickety drawer slides. As he jerked up, his

head connected with the underside of the drawer.

Muttering a curse, he withdrew from the cabinet

and looked up.

Sophie stood less than a foot away, nibbling

her lower lip. She had her pale blonde hair pulled

back in a tight ponytail, hardly any makeup, just a

little gloss on her pert, pink lips. Not that she

needed any. Her eyes were brown, like his, only a

lighter shade, almost golden. She had a smattering

of freckles across her nose that made him want to

get close enough to count each one of them.

She wore pink shorts and a crop top. Her bare

midriff was tan and lean. His gaze was drawn to

the dimple of her belly button. Oh, man. He’d

better not let himself think about anything below

her belly button. Or anything above it.

Trent rose, went to the refrigerator, and

removed a tray of ice cubes. He popped out one,

put it in his mouth, and returned the tray to the

fridge. He’d been under Sophie’s surveillance all

afternoon. This was his third ice cube in an hour.

He crunched down, grateful for the coolness

sluicing his throat.

She glanced at the cabinets. “If you’re looking

for her will, Nana keeps it in her bedroom closet.

She’s not the type to tape envelopes of cash under

the kitchen drawers, either.”

“Darn.” Trent snapped his fingers. “What about

stocks or bonds? Gold coins?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re joking.”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Relax, Sophie. I’m not

going to filch the family silver. I’m just fixing the

drawers. Remember,” he said, pointing at himself.

“Handyman.”

Red crept into her cheeks. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

She looked down at her toes, painted a bright

pink. “All the drawers stick. Some of the knobs are

loose, too.”

“By the time I’m done, everything in the kitchen

will be good as new.”

“Thanks. That’s great.” She looked away,

taking a sudden interest in the stove. She was quiet,

and he waited, sure that she wanted to connect with

him.

Just open up a little,
he thought,
and I can

take your pain.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Damn. She was stubborn. Trent watched the

sway of her hips. The shorts molded her firm

behind and showed off her long sleek legs. That

blonde hair. Those amber eyes. That beautiful

heart-shaped face with its slightly pointed chin.

Man, he was in trouble. He groaned. He opened

the freezer and took out another ice cube.

IN THE BASEMENT, Nana prepared herbs and

flowers for drying, and Sophie hung them on the

hemp rope strung across the room. The ingredients

they used for salves, teas, and other ointments

were in various stages of drying.

While Nana braided long spiky strands of

rosemary, Sophie looked at her fragile, and all too

human, grandmother. She wore a T-shirt and

rolled-up jeans, penny loafers, and pink smock.

Affection bubbled through her.

Nana looked up and grinned. “When’s the last

time you got laid?”

The effervescent love for Nana fizzled. She got

off the step ladder and put her hands on her hips.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Nana tilted her head. “Maybe

you should get your bell rung a time or two. That

might be all you need to get some decent sleep.”

Sophie gaped at her grandmother.

The old woman laughed at her. “You need

some pointers?” She threw up her sun-spotted

hands. “Hey, don’t look so horrified. I was doing it

long before you were born. I have this one trick

that works every time. You grab his—”

Sophie put up her hand, palm out, in the

universal sign for STOP. “I’m not taking sex

advice from my grandmother.”

“Um…should I come back later?”

Sophie whirled at the sound of Trent’s amused

voice. The glint of humor in his eyes told her that

he’d heard most of the conversation.

Nana piped up. “We’re just talking about

Sophie’s—”

“Feet.” Sophie bit her lower lip. “They ache.”

Nana chortled. “It’s her feet that ache, all

right.” Sophie saw the calculating look Nana sent

Trent. She loved the old gal, but at that moment she

wanted to trip her. A hip fracture would give her

something other than Sophie’s sex life to fixate on.

Not a very nice thought, but the woman was

throwing her granddaughter to the big, bad wolf.

Literally.

Nana made a big show of looking at her watch.

“I gotta go. Hubert’s gonna be on in a few minutes,

and I need to get settled.” She swept past them and

out the door. Her footsteps clattered up the

basement stairs; then the door banged shut.

Sophie clasped her hands together and stared at

Trent. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, which

defined his physique in a saliva-inducing show of

muscles. He hooked his thumbs through the jean’s

belt loops and rocked back on his heels. She

inhaled a fortifying breath.

The expression on Trent’s handsome face did

not reassure her. She wished he wasn’t blocking

the only way out of the basement. Her knees

always seem to wobble when she got too close to

him. Surely, if she attempted to slide past, her

knees would collapse, she’d topple over, and

break her neck.

“Who’s Hubert?”

“Nana’s TV boyfriend. He’s as old as dirt and

as greasy as lard, but Nana will watch that man

from four p.m. to eight p.m. every day. She loves

the shopping channel.”

“That explains a lot.”

“You have no idea.” Sophie felt jittery. Why

did she feel so anxious about him? As though she

might implode. Boom! Pieces of Sophie

everywhere.

“How bad do your feet ache?” he asked. The

sincerity in his voice made her flinch. “I’d be

happy to assist you.”

“How?” she asked before she could stop the

question. Damn it. “I mean—no.”

“I give great foot.”

The problem was that she had a sneaking

suspicion he gave great everything, and she

probably wouldn’t want him to stop with her feet.

It had been a long while since she’d been intimate

with anyone. Her last relationship had been more

than a year ago, and it hadn’t been a serious one.

Her desire for Trent was crazily intense.

The fantasy of Trent touching her, kissing her,

was nirvana. Realistically, jumping into bed with

him only to satisfy her physical needs wouldn’t be

enough. That had never been her style. She wasn’t

a one-night-stand kind of werewolf.
Gah.
Sophie

shook her head, hoping the motion would realign

her thought processes.

She caught his gaze. His fire dared her to get

burned.

Her mouth went dry.

Her knees quivered.

Oh hell.

“I’ll pass on the foot rub,” she said, her voice

going hoarse. She cleared her throat. “I appreciate

the offer.”

“My pleasure. Let me know if you change your

mind.” He smiled. The dimple appeared. Sophie

briefly wondered about tasting that indentation.

Stop. It. She wasn’t putting her lips anywhere near

his mouth.

“How’d you like Nana’s lunch?” she asked

going for the one full-proof way to change the

subject.

“I’ve eaten dirty socks that tasted better.”

Well, he was honest. “I hope you were a wolf

when you ate them.” She grinned. “C’mon, I’ll fix

sandwiches.”

Trent gestured for her to go first, but gave her

little room to maneuver. Her breasts brushed

against his chest, again, as she edged out the door.

Her nipples hardened, her skin tingled, and her

breath shallowed. She’d never felt so hot and

bothered by a man before. As if she would die if

he didn’t touch her right now.

Sophie hurried to the kitchen and opened the

refrigerator, hoping the cool air would relieve her

heated skin. As she grabbed the lunch fixings, Trent

leaned against the counter. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.” Sophie wasn’t about to discuss

any Alberich-related topic with Trent. Irritation

flashed. Nana had created this uncomfortable

situation. She knew that Nana was worried about

her. But this little plot of hers wasn’t what she

needed to recover … was it?

Guilt niggled at her. She was shuffling along a

crumbling ledge, a misstep away from plunging

into the darkness and being consumed by it. Why

couldn’t she accept help? If her king thought it was