Releasing The Wolf (Eye Of The Storm) by Hardy Dianna

Author:Hardy, Dianna [Hardy, Dianna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Satin Smoke Press
Published: 2012-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

~*~

Lydia felt much better on stepping out of the shower … except that the pain in her chest had come back – not as badly as before, but bad enough so she didn’t feel comfortable. But then she’d been mostly ill all week. Stupid for her to think that sex with some hot bloke, no matter how orgasmic, could get rid of her flu symptoms.

And even more stupid for her inner-voice to go suggesting it was because she’d washed Taylor’s scent off her. Or because she was a werewolf.

Ha. Yeah, let’s just forget that conversation ever happened, shall we?

Her intercom buzzed and she frowned. A quick glance at her bedside clock told her it was quarter to midnight. Holy hell, had she been in the shower for a whole hour?

Usually she wouldn’t be leaving the restaurant until about quarter to one, but Lisa had ordered her to go home, and to be honest, she hadn’t felt like sticking around with everyone staring at her in sympathy after her fiasco with Simon.

She picked up the handset of the intercom. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Let me up.”

Brendan.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“When someone calls me a dickhead for no apparent reason and without any given explanation, I like to know why.”

“It’s late.”

“And I’ll be gone in two minutes, but I think I deserve to know why you’re pissed at me.”

She huffed in exasperation. “Did you plan to have Taylor seduce me?”

“What? Who … you mean, Taylor? The Taylor we talked about this morning? What the fuck’s happened? Did he do something to you?”

She pinched her forehead in exhaustion. This was all starting to get confusing. “No … I mean … look, just come up, but you only get two minutes.”

She buzzed him in and hung up the receiver.

He must have taken the stairs three at a time, because he seemed to be at her front door before she could gather a thought. She waved him in and closed it.

He took in her washed hair and bathrobe, eyes lingering on the silver burns, now faded but still visible on areas of her skin. His jaw tightened. He plonked his motorcycle helmet down on her dresser. “You’re home early.”

Her tears sprang up out of nowhere, and her face crumpled.

Congratulations, Lydia, you are finally having a normal reaction.

“Hey,” said Brendan, gently pulling her into his arms, and she cried into his T-shirt as she battled the memory of Simon latched onto her neck; between her legs… Oh, god … how had it even happened? Oh, yeah … she had been undressing for that blond guy – Lawrence.

“I think, maybe, it was my fault…” she heaved out between her sobs.

“Jesus Christ, Lydia, tell me what happened.”

She huddled further into his chest, refusing to look up at him. “Simon attacked me. He tried to … you know.”

“The waiter?”

“The maître d’.”

“The wanker, you mean,” he belted out, his voice low with anger. “Did he…”

“No. Lawrence and Taylor were there. They stopped him. Turns out Lawrence owns the theatre.”

He kissed the top of her head.

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