Holly’s Grizzly (Monster Relations Bureau #4)

8

Irving

By the end of Holly’s second day with me, one thing is very clear.

I’ve got it bad for my temporary house guest.

I can’t remember the last time I met someone I felt so instantly comfortable with. In the steady stream of conversation we keep up throughout the day and the times we lapse into easy silence, there’s never a moment of discomfort. Even when she casually drops in a question about whether or not I’m dating anyone and sends my heart leaping into my throat, a sensation that’s only amplified by her small, unreadable smile when I tell her I’m not. It gives me hope I shouldn’t feel that I might not be losing my mind here.

It doesn’t hurt that Holly’s absolutely stunning. I have to keep giving myself reminders not to stare when all I want is to admire the gleam of her golden hair, the adorable little dimples in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes when they catch the firelight.

The logical part of me knows I should question it more. I shouldn’t feel so much so fast. I should keep some perspective and some distance and I shouldn’t forget this will all be over when she leaves in a couple of days.

The less logical part of me, though…

The less logical part of me marvels over how any of this is possible. It makes me wonder just how often in life I’ll meet someone I connect with so easily. Effortless, the time we spend together, like we’ve known each other all our lives.

Grizzly shifters aren’t so fortunate—or unfortunate, I suppose, depending on who you ask—to have fated mates like some other kinds of paranormals do. If we did, though, I imagine it would feel like this.

Easy. Natural. Like the answer to a question I never knew to ask or the first deep, gasping breath taken after being underwater.

But I can’t let myself go there.

As soon as the roads are passable, I’ll get her down the mountain.

The old truck I drive hasn’t been starting reliably for the past couple of weeks, but I’ll figure something out. I can call Vic to give her a ride, or get my buddy Emery from the other side of the mountain to come out and take a look at what I suspect is a faulty alternator. I’d meant to get on that before the blizzard, but it hadn’t seemed all that urgent.

It doesn’t seem urgent now, either. Not when it means that as soon as the truck is back up and running, Holly will leave, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Today, we’ve got a little more time to spend together. The snow is still falling and the fire’s still warm, and the unexpected woman who came crashing into my life makes it all so much brighter.

With that in mind, I resolve to keep my head on straight.

I resolve to quit gawking at her, to stop all those unreasonable thoughts right in their tracks.

It’s resolve that only lasts as long as it takes Holly to step out of the bathroom, where she’d been changing from her hiking clothes into something more comfortable.

She’s wearing nothing more than the plaid flannel button-down I gave her a few minutes ago. It hits her at mid-thigh and leaves her shapely legs on full display. All that soft golden skin of hers gleams in the low light from the flames dancing in the hearth.

My mouth goes dry. “Didn’t need the pants?”

Holly shrugs, tugging gently at the shirt. “Well, this is basically a dress on me, and it’s plenty warm with the fire, so I figured they weren’t necessary.”

She walks over and holds the discarded sweats in question out to me, with some expression on her face I can’t quite read. Her lips are turned up at the corners and there’s a sparkle of… something in her eye. Some small teasing challenge, like she’s just waiting for me to say something else, do something else, pull her into my arms and—

Nope. Not going there.

If she’s more comfortable this way, that’s fine. I don’t need to be a godsdamned creep about it.

We settle onto the couch and sit in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the snow fall outside the window. The fire crackles and pops, and I’m far too aware of how easily I could reach for her, tug her to me, have her sprawled across my lap in seconds.

Holly props her feet up on the coffee table, clad adorably in her thick woolen socks. From the corner of my eye, I see the movement shift the shirt higher on her thighs. Though I don’t dare fully look over at her, in my mind’s eye I can more than imagine just how much of her it puts on display. I can imagine all that fire-gilded skin, soft and so damn touchable.

What was I worried about earlier? Holly having to leave in a day or two?

At this rate, I should be more concerned about my ability to survive that long. Because the way things are going, I might just expire of sheer, pathetic longing well before that.

My grizzly agrees, grumbling his displeasure at the distance between us, the fact that my hands stay firmly in my lap instead of reaching for her, every last instinct whispering temptation in our ear.

Holly stretches her arms over her head and shifts a little on the couch to get more comfortable. She probably doesn’t realize it puts her even closer to me. It’s probably innocent, the way she’s near enough now for me to feel her warmth, near enough that I could reach over and tug her into my lap in half a heartbeat.

I can scent her from this distance—the freshness of my soap and shampoo that smells so damn good on her, the under-notes of her natural essence, something like spring meadows and crisp, clean air.

If sunshine had a scent, it would smell like her.

But I can’t think about that. I can’t act on any of those impulsive, reckless instincts that would have me reach for her and bury my face in the soft waves of her hair, tug that shirt even higher so I could—

Holly’s fingertips brush against my thigh—just one gentle touch—but it ricochets all the way through me. My entire body goes rigid and my grizzly roars his protest, demanding to touch her, hold her, keep her close.

“Holly.” Her name comes out lower and rougher than I intended. A warning.

I’m about to apologize, or maybe just get up and leave before I do anything else so unbelievably stupid. I’m probably scaring her. She’s probably ready to bolt from this room, from this cabin, to head back out into the elements where she doesn’t have to deal with me and my idiotic, desperate need for her.

Only, when I meet her eye, it’s not fear I find there.

It’s more of that soft, wicked teasing, another smile that’s just for me. Knowing, so endlessly knowing, like she’s more than aware what that one small touch did to me.

If I was fucked before, I’m obliterated now, breathless in the silence and the waning light of the fire, not daring to hope she’s feeling the same.