ford

She remembers morethan she thinks.

Her calling me Growly—my nickname for her—can’t be just a coincidence.

Her memories of who she was before are in there somewhere.

The woman I knew, the one I love, might not be gone forever.

But as Juliet zips down the ten-foot slide at the park, laughing like a kid, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. She’s so much happier and more resilient now. She takes hardship in stride and keeps hoping for better things. Her smiles come easily, and her laugh is so full of joy, it makes me grin in spite of myself.

“Come on, your turn,” she says, beaming up at me from the bottom. When I hesitate, she stretches out her arms. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll catch you.”

I snort and wave her to the side. “You will not. You’ll get out of the way. I’m too heavy. I’m probably going to fly down this thing like a bat out of hell.”

“I wonder where that phrase comes from?” she asks as she backs away from the bottom of the slide, a twinkle in her eye. “Someone saw a bunch of bats bursting out of a cave at twilight and assumed they were headed out of hell?”

“Probably,” I say, settling at the top of the slide. “Move back farther. This is going to be explosive.”

She rolls her eyes as she meanders backward another step. “Oh, please. You’re not that much bigger than I am, and I came down just fine.”

“I’m twice your size.”

She snorts. “You are not. I’m at least a hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, I bet. And what are you? One eighty?”

“Two twenty,” I say, arching a wry brow. “And you’re maybe a hundred and twenty, soaking wet.”

“I can still kick your a*s,” she says. “Especially when it comes to speed. Last one to the fountain on the other side of the park has to steal lunch.”

She takes off at a sprint as I call out, “Cheaters never prosper, Short Stack.” I zip down the slide and hit the ground running, easily catching up with her.

When I pass her a good fifty feet from the fountain, I turn, running backward as I pant, “Oh no, looks like you cheated and you’re still going to lose.”

“Fat chance,” she huffs, pouring on another burst of speed. “Don’t get cocky before the finish line.” She catches up with me and rams her bony shoulder into my arm as I’m turning back around, making me trip over my own feet.

I try to recover, but it’s too late. I hit the ground hard and roll across the grass.

By the time I’m upright again, Juliet’s at the fountain, one foot propped up on the edge and her arms thrust into the air. “I am the legendary stuff of legend!”

“You’re also a bad winner,” I say as I stand, brushing the grass off my clothes. I point to my stained elbows with a glare her way. “You’re ruined my favorite sweatshirt.”

She laughs. “That’s your only sweatshirt. But it’s okay. It’s getting warm enough for t-shirts.” She reaches down, stripping off her own sweatshirt, revealing the tight blue tee she’s wearing underneath. It hugs her breasts and tiny waist, sending my thoughts back into dangerous territory.

She holds my gaze with a grin as she tosses the sweatshirt onto the concrete at her feet. “Sorry, this is so tight. Oily’s girlfriend is apparently a very tiny human.”

“Yeah, guess so,” I mumble, too busy talking my c**k down from the edge of an obscene hard-on to think of something clever to say.

Her smile widens. “You should strip down, too. So, I can join the staring and drooling party.”

“I’m not drooling,” I shoot back, unable to dispute the staring part. A part of me wants to keep my top layer on as an extra level of protection against this flirtation I don’t quite know how to handle, but the Alpha in me can’t resist the challenge in her gaze.

I strip off the stained sweatshirt, tossing it onto the ground beside hers as I stop in front of her. “We should go get the bags.”

“The bags are fine,” she says, holding my gaze. “There’s no one on the playground.” She glances behind me for a second before her focus returns to my face. “No one in the park, really, except the coffee guy and his cart faces the street.”

“Your point?” I ask, as she steps closer.

“I doubt anyone would notice if I climbed you like a tree and made out with your face,” she says, sending a surge of awareness dumping into my bloodstream.

“I’d notice,” I say, torn between backing away and reaching for her, even though it wouldn’t be her I’m reaching for.

It would be the person she used to be, the one I want to hold so badly it feels like rabid squirrels are clawing away at my insides.

“I would hope so,” she says, her fingers skimming up the sides of my h**s before slipping under the back of my t-shirt. The feel of her hands on my bare skin is enough to wrench a g***n from low in my throat. “Was that a good g***n or a bad one?” she whispers, pushing up on tiptoe until her mouth hovers just beneath mine.

“I don’t know,” I hear myself confess. “I want you so f*****g much, but…”

“But?” she prompts after a beat, her palms sliding higher on my back as she presses closer. The feel of her breasts against my ribcage is enough to make me lose the fight with my d**k.

“But everything is crazy,” I say, my jaw clenching as she rocks her h**s forward, rubbing against my hard-on.

“Not everything,” she says. “I’m not crazy. You’re not crazy.” She shifts her h**s again, making my c**k twitch behind my fly. “And I bet we’d both feel better after a little co-ed naked fun time.”

“We can’t,” I grit out. “Not in the middle of the park.”

“Obviously not.” Her hands reverse their path, until her fingers are teasing at the top of my jeans. “But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and I know of a bed-and-breakfast with fifty-dollar rates and a vacancy. Meet me there in half an hour with the bags?”

She steps away and I reach for her, catching her elbow. “Where are you going?”

“To get fifty dollars. And tax. I bet they charge tax, too.”

“We’re not splitting up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” she says, tipping her head back and leaning in once more. “And I’ll be less likely to attract attention without a giant man beast tailing my every move.”

I’m about to tell her that this man beast isn’t one she’s going to shake when she cuts me off with a k**s. It’s our first k**s since she rose from the ashes and it’s every bit as explosive as the ones before. Hunger burns hot through my core as her tongue spars with mine and her mischievous fingers tease along the ridge at the front of my pants.

“Ouch,” she whispers against my lips as she caresses my c**k through the jean fabric. “That must hurt. You need some relief, my friend.”

“Juliet,” I say, her name a warning and a prayer for mercy.

“Follow me at a discreet distance if you want, but don’t get too close,” she says, kissing me harder. By the time she points a finger at my face as she backs toward the grocery store on the other side of the park, I’m breathless. “Unless I’m caught, then feel free to save me before the police arrive. Tell them I’m a kleptomaniac in recovery who backslid in the wake of her father’s impending death. Play up the tragedy and pathos. Don’t tell them I’m the one planning to kill him.”

“We shouldn’t do this,” I say, not sure if I’m talking about stealing or f*****g or both.

Probably both.

It should be both, but that k**s has my head spinning.

I’m not thinking straight. It’s a fact that’s proven when I look up to replace Juliet already halfway across the park. I snap out of my turned-on trance and hurry after her, only to turn and dash back to the playground a second later when I remember the bags.

I catch up with her as she’s slipping through the sliding glass doors into the grocery store about fifty feet ahead and force my steps to slow. People are already staring, likely wondering why I’m charging into the store like a firefighter into a burning building.

Or why I’m scowling while I do it.

I’m a scary man when I scowl. In the past two weeks at Lost Moon, surrounded by people who saw me as a friendly new student, I’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be watched like a pipe bomb about to explode.

It brings back memories of the pits, of the way the crowd would cheer when I stepped into the ring and roar even louder when my opponent lay bloodied at my feet. They loved that I looked like a monster and killed like a machine.

For a long time, that was the only love or approval in my life.

If I’d been a different man, a man who craved attention over real, honest connection, it would have been easy to start taking pride in my work and the adoration of those anonymous crowds.

But I wasn’t that man.

I hated that no one saw the person I was on the inside, the man who wanted nothing more than a peaceful life in a happy pack.

Sure, I wanted to rip Hammer apart first, but afterwards, I wanted to farm and fish and spend long days at the beach with my friends. I wanted to expand my secret poetry collection and practice woodworking and use my muscles to toss my kids into the air until they giggle-screamed, the way my dad used to toss me when I was small.

I wanted a wife and a family and a chance to build something beautiful enough to make me forget all the horrific things I’d done.

Maybe I can have that with this Juliet.

This Juliet isn’t interested in fighting our attraction. She isn’t traumatized and might actually have the strength to make love work with a damaged man like me. Surely, no matter what my emo heart has to say about it, it’s better to have at least one partner in a relationship who doesn’t wake up shaking from nightmares of their former life.

As I follow her through the market at a discreet distance, watching her lift the wallets of a woman screaming at the deli man for cutting her meat too thin and a man too busy leering at a girl half his age to notice the other young woman slipping up behind him, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s a good person. Even when she’s getting her crime on, she does it with class and grace.

I could be good with her, for her. I don’t have to prove I’m worthy of her love by healing the broken women she was when I found her. I can let her help me heal and be grateful for an emotionally sound shoulder to lean on.

Maybe that’s even what my Juliet would have wanted.

She loved me and wanted good things for me, and if our positions were reversed, I’d sure as hell want her to take advantage of the fact that I had more strength and steadiness to give her.

I follow her outside, catching up with her on the corner, just as she’s tossing the wallets into a nearby trash can.

“One hundred and twenty.” She discreetly flashes a handful of bills before tucking them into her front jeans pocket. “We’re rich on goblin treasure.”

“Those two did seem like goblins.” I gather her into my arms, hard again almost instantly now that I’ve nearly convinced myself to stop fighting this. “Good work.”

“Thank you.” She loops her arms around my neck. “I figured why steal from decent people if I could replace a couple misbehaving?” She arches an assessing brow, seeming to sense a change in me. “Ready to get that room?”

“Let’s do it.”

Her eyes widen, excitement flashing in her blue depths. “Yeah? It it?”

I tip my head. “If that still sounds like fun to you.”

Her lips curve. “Oh, it sounds like great fun to me. And makes me glad I stole a box of condoms.”

I frown even as my c**k grows thicker. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” she says, looking very pleased with herself. “They’re down the front of my pants.”

I glance down, noticing the small blue cardboard box tucked behind the close of her jeans for the first time. “Shit. I didn’t see you do that. And I was watching you the entire time.”

She bobs a shoulder. “Turns out pick-pocketing is like riding a bike. And I only got the two pack. If you think we’ll need more, we might want to stop by the drugstore on the way.” Her cheeks grow a little pinker as she adds, “I don’t remember how many condoms are a normal amount to use on a day spent lounging around in bed with your sexy man beast.”

Her words remind me of a couple very important things she should know before we hit the sheets. But I don’t want to talk about them here.

“Two should be fine,” I say, taking her hand. “Want to grab something to take up to the room for lunch on the way or order takeout later?”

“Can we get pizza later?” she asks, her eyes dancing again, reminding me that s*x isn’t the only shiny new toy she’s excited to try out in her new body. “I feel confident that it’s delicious, but I can’t remember what it tastes like.”

“Pizza it is,” I say as we head for the bed-and-breakfast arm in arm, like any other young couple in Montreal on holiday.

Except that we’re not, of course.

We’re pack rejects on the run, about to bet our lives and the lives of our friends on a big city Alpha we’ve never met.

But maybe we can forget about that for the day and just be us, Juliet and Ford, two people who like to k**s each other.