Page 13 of Nanny's Mate

“All right then,” he said curtly. “I’ll have to get to the car first. I don't have any clothes here.”

Beatriz smiled, but Mike was stoic. He left the room and started to rifle through a drawer in her kitchen. She quickly dried herself off and picked up the robe off the bathroom floor, pulling it on as she padded back into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a piece of paper and a pen,” he said, clearly preoccupied.

Beatriz pushed past him and pulled out a pen and notepad, then laid it on the kitchen counter. It was astonishing the way he had morphed into an entirely different person in a fashion that made Beatriz sullen.

He scribbled his phone number on the notepad, dropped the pen, then headed for the door. He moved like a soldier, totally void of the vivaciousness that had kept them busy for nearly twelve hours straight.

“Call me when you can,” he said, opening the door. “I’ve got to run before daylight comes.”

It was already day, so Beatriz didn’t quite understand the rush, but she realized what had come over him. She nodded and said she would, folding her arms tightly one over the other.

Her armor was back on.

“You do that. I will talk to you soon.”

Mike raced out the door, shifted, and ran toward the woods. Beatriz stepped out into the brightening day and watched him closely, his dark fur swaying in the breeze.

She sighed sharply. Her belly bloomed with a sense of dread. Was history repeating itself? All of the wolves that Beatriz had been with lost their smolder, not only because of their inherently selfish nature but because they were standoffish and cold. She’d watched as that shroud of obligation cloaked Mike the second she mentioned Tristan. It made her feel kind of sick.

Was he the kind of wolf who didn’t have time for the devotion, commitment, and love that Beatriz required? Her disappointment was palpable as she stood in the warm sun. No matter how otherworldly their sex and chemistry could be, it wouldn’t be enough to build a life with him. If he was so quick to change from passionate lover to frigid enforcer, how could she ever know that his feelings toward her were genuine?

Beatriz went back into the cabin, feeling like the romance and whimsy of finding her mate was spoiled. She couldn’t and wouldn’t allow herself to fall for someone like Mike, an enforcer who prioritized his role over his only fated mate.

Because if she did, she would put her entire trust in him, and that would only lead to agonizing heartbreak. She hadn't opened herself enough to anyone to let that happen because the anticipation of it was enough to make her disengage. Beatriz could be cold, too, if she needed to be.

Since it was her day off, she decided to sit around, musing about Mike for longer than was necessary. The torrent of orgasms had left her relaxed but stimulated, so eventually, she decided to go out on a run of her own.

She had the intention of clearing her head, but Mike had invaded it. Her wolf was pleading with her to let him mark her and for her to mark him as well. But that would only fuse her attachment to him and welcome heartbreak with open arms.

That would be fucking stupid of her. And Beatriz was not a stupid woman.

So she ran under the blue dome of the sky, thwarting her confusion by ramping up the speed. The forest was dense, but Beatriz was lithe. She leapt over brush and sailed over tree trunks, losing herself to the wilderness.This was the best way she knew to escape her own mind.

EIGHT

MIKE

Mike headed to his car to retrieve his clothing. He didn't start scolding himself until he pulled his phone out from the glove compartment and noticed six missed calls and seven text messages.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

They were all, of course, from Tristan or Barbara. Technically, he was off the clock as far as Vegas went, but when it came to acting as an enforcer for the Wolfe pack, he was never really off duty. How could he let Beatriz, as enchanting as she was, distract him from his obligations?

Mike was trusted deeply by the Wolfes and for a very specific reason. He was untethered romantically, not a playboy, and was as dependable as they came. He felt like he had let them down immensely, so he hurriedly dressed, hopped into the car, and drove as fast as was reasonable to the main estate.

Mike knocked on the door, which wasn't what he usually did. In the past, before he was shipped off to Vegas to care for the new pack, he was welcome to walk in of his own free will, given that the hour was appropriate, of course. But that afternoon, he anticipated not being as welcomed as he generally could be.

But the general ambiance was calm and collected, just as it always was. One of the housekeepers let Mike in and led him to the main gathering room with a tall window that looked over the sweeping view of Blue Creek Forest.

Tristan was waiting for him at the window, gazing over the vast landscape. It was just past noon, a burning, tangerine ball cresting at the top of an azure sky. Mike approached the mighty patriarch with caution as smooth jazz played on a record player, something easy-flowing that you’d encounter in a snazzy cafe.

He tried to approach the alpha with caution and a sense of reverence.

“You've been busy,” Tristan said, still facing the window.