Free Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy by Evanne Lorraine Page A

then
carved off a juicy bite of steak. The meat was medium rare and
baby-butter-lettuce tender. When the beef was well on its way to her empty
stomach, she indicated the gravy boat. “What’s the sauce?”
    “Béarnaise.”
    “Ah. Something I haven’t had in a very long time.” She
decided not worry about clogged arteries tonight, poured a small puddle on her
plate, and then got serious about eating.
    Halfway through the food on her plate, she sensed Chet’s
eyes on her. She set down her utensils and blotted her mouth. “I was hungrier
than I realized.”
    “You’re full?”
    “Utterly.” Her gaze skittered across his plate, which was
empty except for a very bare bone. She nudged her still-laden plate toward him.
“Please, help yourself.”
    She sipped wine as Chet deftly carved the remainder of her
steak into economical bites, alternating them with baked potato. In a few
minutes, the rest of her dinner was only a tasty memory. If she’d put away that
much food, her stomach would’ve pouched. Amazingly his abs remained as smooth
and ripped as when he’d started.
    The silence stretched, but she felt oddly at ease with it.
Perhaps she was numb from everything that had happened, or simply exhausted,
but her anxiety had been all but smothered by a good meal, warmth, and easy
company.
    Chet’s hard thigh overflowed his chair and pressed against
hers. His body heat and intoxicating scent surrounded her.
    “Are you trying to seduce me?” She asked, entirely too comfortable
for serious concern.
    “Absolutely, the second you’re ready. But you can relax. I’m
a very patient male.” His lips grazed her temple before he straightened and
began clearing.
    Something she wasn’t entirely sure about seemed to stretch
inside her, nudging her toward Chet. She shivered and not from any chill in the
air. Even the slight brush of his mouth against her face made a heady sensual
awareness sing in her veins.
    She pushed back from the table. “I’ll help.”
    “I’d like that.” He smoldered at her, a look more delicious
than any dessert.
    Together they made quick work of putting away the dirty
dishes and refrigerating the condiments. She set their goblets and the
remaining wine on the counter.
    He lifted the bottle and tilted it toward her glass with a question
in his eyes.
    “Yes, please.”
     
    CHET GUIDED HER to the living room with his palm in the
small of her back. His hand spanned her narrow waist. The feminine curve of her
hip, barely visible under his fluffy bathrobe, teased him. “Tomorrow we go
shopping.”
    “For what?”
    He waved for her to sit, sank onto the couch next to her,
and then tucked her nice and tight against his side. “Clothes—you can’t show up
at pack headquarters in my bathrobe.”
    She gathered the loose garment’s neckline more securely.
“Scarlet said she’d arrange something for me to wear tomorrow.”
    “Excellent. You’ll enjoy the trip to the West Hills mall
more if you’re dressed.”
    Her chin tilted. “I don’t need a lot of clothes. I’m not
staying.”
    “My mistake, I thought you wanted to help find your
friends.”
    “You know I do.”
    “The packs have been hunting this rogue group for a few
weeks. We will catch them, but it’s unlikely to happen in the next day or two.”
    “Sure. I get that.” Her shoulders slumped.
    He regretted using her loyalty to the other captives to gain
her cooperation. Although he wanted her to stay, he reminded her it was her
choice in order to ease his conscience. “You don’t have to stay. We will catch
them with or without your help.”
    “You said ‘this group of rogues.’ Are there others?” Her
voice caught.
    “Not right now. Not that I know of anyway.”
    “But this is common?”
    How did he answer that? He moved one shoulder, trying to
play down a problem that had cost him lots of sleep. Ivy had enough nightmares
without him adding to them, but he wasn’t going to lie to her. “A rogue pack is
fairly rare,