Free An American Werewolf in Hoboken by Dakota Cassidy Page A

Mostly preservation. Wildlife preservation.”
    More vague. “What kind of wildlife are you preserving in Hoboken?”
    Max didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned across the table and pulled some cheese from her chin, gently pushing it into her mouth. The tip of her tongue grazed his finger briefly before he removed it, the pad of his thumb sliding over her lower lip.
    She shivered in response.
    And that was when their eyes locked.
    Every once in a while, like when he’d apologized for not finding Fluffy, or when he was listening to her answer a question, his gaze swallowed her whole with a familiar quality she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
    JC gulped, but she couldn’t pull her gaze from his. His eyes mesmerized her, dragging, consuming, pulling. There was a palpable thrum of heat between them, an electric current burning a hole in the moment.
    When he spoke, it was low and harsh, his eyes flashing dark in the flicker of the candlelight. “I have a confession.”
    JC licked her lips. Suddenly everything had a serious tone. “Just so you’re aware, I suck at keeping secrets.”
    “I don’t necessarily want it to be a secret.”
    “Confessions aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
    “And sometimes, honesty is the best policy.”
    The air in the room became heavy with her unexpected disappointment. “You’re gay, aren’t you?” Boo-hiss.
    “Nope.”
    “Out on parole?”
    “Oh, you’re this close,” he teased, low and husky, squeezing his forefinger and thumb together.
    Her chest tightened. “You live in your mother’s basement back in Cedar Glen?”
    Max slid his chair closer to hers. “My grandmother’s basement.”
    “Where you make dolls out of your victims’ skins?”
    He barked a laugh, grabbing the edge of her chair and turning her to face him, their knees touching. “I was joking.”
    “About the skin of your victims?”
    “No. About my grandmother’s basement. The skin thing is real.”
    Now she laughed, too, but it was punctuated by anxiety. “I’m all out of ideas about what you could possibly have to confess to someone you’ve only known a few hours.”
    “Do you mind honesty?” he asked, sort of growly and low, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, leaving them at eye level.
    Hadn’t she just said to Viv she was tired of the game? The cat and mouse of it? The promises men made just to get you into bed, only to fail you in every other aspect? “Name one woman you know who minds honesty?”
    “How honest do you like your honesty?”
    Now she really couldn’t breathe. Yeah. How honest do you like it, JC? Do you want to hear him tell you he only wants to sleep with you? Can you handle that? Will it hurt your widdle feelings?
    Because she had to know where this was going, JC fought to form words around the lump in her throat. “I like it very honest.”
    Max’s gaze captured hers and this time, there was no looking away. “I’m having a really difficult time keeping my hands to myself right now, JC. I’m trying to remember you’re in a vulnerable state because Fluffy is missing, and you’re worried about him. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
    Okay, fate, here comes temptation. “But?” She clenched the sides of her chair and waited.
    Max’s eyes flashed, his jaw growing tight. “But sitting here, looking the way you look, is making it damn hard not to haul you out of that chair and make amazing love to you. I want you, JC Jenson. I figured you should know.”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Ah. The bat-over-your-head brand of honesty. Refreshing.
    “So you want to have a one-night stand with me?”
    There was that stare again. Unflinching. Dark. Delicious. “I want to do a lot of things with you— to you, but none of the things I want have anything to do with just one night.”
    There was nothing now but Max, just inches from her. His heat. His warm palms, suddenly on her thighs, his amber-flecked eyes drinking from her depths. “I don’t know