“I can control myself if you can.”

She stilled, then sighed. “Well that’s just great.”

He let out a low, male sound that went right through her to all her good spots, and lifted her chin so he could look into her face. “You can’t control yourself?” he asked.

Of course she couldn’t control herself, not with him, a fact she’d proven over and over again.

“Emily,” he said, a bit strained now. “I shouldn’t know that.” He nudged her from him so she could rinse, during which time he soaped himself up as quickly and efficiently as he’d stripped them both, a fact that did nothing to lessen her sudden and desperate need for the oblivion he always brought her.

He turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel, and then grabbed one for around his hips, blocking her view. “Sleep,” he said firmly. “You’re going to sleep.”

And then he practically shoved her into her bed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see him leave.

“Shit,” she heard him say, and the sound of his towel hitting the floor spiked her pulse as he slid in next to her.

“Wyatt—”

“Shh.” He flipped her away from him and hauled her back to his front. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“We’re not going to . . .”

“What?” he asked.

He wanted her to say it? “Have sex,” she whispered. “Like the last time you slept over.”

“Besides the fact that we’re not doing that anymore, we didn’t have sex that night. Or any night here in this house.”

“Then what were we doing?” she asked.

It took him a moment to answer. “I’m going to let you wrestle with that one,” he finally said. “You let me know when you get it figured out.” He had a sinew-lined forearm snug against her belly, one of her bare br**sts cupped in the palm of his big hand. His mouth was resting at the nape of her neck to subdue her. When she tried to move, he gently sank his teeth into the crook of her neck. The move was incredibly intimate, a little protective, and a whole lot possessive.

And she wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but also arousing as hell.

Which wasn’t helping her cause. “If we’re not going there tonight,” she said, “you need to stop touching and biting my good parts.”

“Can’t help it that you’re one all-over sweet-as-hell good part. Go to sleep, Emily.”

“There’s something poking me in my butt.”

“It’s just the blankets,” he said. “Ignore it.”

She squirmed a little, trying to get comfortable, and from behind her came a rough groan as his hands tightened on her. “Stop wriggling,” he commanded.

She couldn’t help it. The “thing” poking her had gotten bigger. “That’s not the blanket, is it?”

“No, it’s not the blanket.” He ran his hand softly down her arm and took her hand in his. “Now stop talking.”

Wrestling with the fact that she’d done this, she’d put the whole leaving Sunshine in motion, she’d ended whatever it was they’d had, she tried to remember why.

Los Angeles was her home.

Her dad was there, and he needed her.

The life she’d always wanted was there.

None of that helped. Wyatt was right here with her and she already missed him like hell. “Wyatt?” she whispered.

He let out a long breath. The alpha male version of What the hell now?

“I’m sorry,” she said.

His arm tightened on her but he didn’t speak.

She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. But it took a long time.

Twenty-eight

Emily woke up in the predawn to a grumpy Q-Tip on her chest and her phone buzzing. Since she’d fallen asleep what felt like only a few minutes ago, she was groggy as hell, but one thing was obvious.

Wyatt was gone . . .

Her heart clenched painfully as she reached for her phone. “’Lo,” she answered without looking at the screen. “Who died?”

“Don’t get mad,” Sara said. “But I let Woodrow out the back door and he took off on me.”

Emily tossed off her covers and sat up. “Took off? He never takes off.”

“Exactly, but he did, and I didn’t have my shoes on so I couldn’t run after him. I thought he’d just go out and do his business and come back. Should have known better, men never do what they’re supposed to. It’s why I’m gay.”

“Where’s Woodrow now?”

“No friggin’ clue. By the time I got my shoes on and made it outside, he was gone. I’ve got to get to work. Can you send Wyatt out to help me?”

“Wyatt’s gone,” Emily said, reaching out with a hand to touch the indentation on the pillow where his head had been.

“Why?” Sara asked.

“Because we’re not a thing. He was here last night just to make sure I was okay.”

“Bullshit. You messed this up by running chicken.”

Emily sighed. “I simply moved up a situation that was going to happen anyway.”

“If this is the part where you tell me how many days are left, I’m never going to cook for you again.”

Emily stared up at the ceiling. “Go to work, Sara, I’ll get Woodrow.” She disconnected and pulled on the first item of clothing she came to, which was a pair of sweats she’d stolen from Wyatt. They dwarfed her, but they’d keep her warm in the morning chill. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed a jacket, and took off out the back door. “Woodrow!” she yelled.

Nothing.

She followed the route they always walked in the mornings, calling his name as she went, getting more concerned when she got no response.

Woodrow wasn’t a lone alpha type, he didn’t like to be alone.

A minute later she heard a bark coming from the one direction she really didn’t want to go—Big, Scary Neighbor Guy’s house.

Once again the ranch-style house was dark. And thankfully, there was no truck in the driveway. Emily pulled out her phone and called Sara. “I think he’s at Big, Scary Neighbor Guy’s house.”

“Don’t go in!”

“No kidding! I don’t think anyone’s home—”

Another bark. Definitely Woodrow.

“I heard that!” Sara said. “Sounds like him.”

“I’m calling Wyatt for backup.” Emily ended Sam’s call and tried Wyatt’s cell. When he answered, she told him what was going on.

“Go home,” he immediately said. “I’ll be right there.”

“But—”

But nothing, he’d ended the call. She shoved the phone in her pocket and turned to go home—and then heard a fierce bark.

Woodrow.

Heart in her throat, she eyed the house. Still dark. Still no sign of life. She walked around the back, where she found three pens, no animals in any of them. There was also a barn and a shed, both open. From the barn came noises that were all too familiar—the yipping and barking and howling she’d sometimes heard late at night.

“Hello?” she called out. She wasn’t anxious to run into anyone, nor did she want to be caught trespassing. With no one in sight, she poked her head in the barn and froze.

It wasn’t filled with what she’d expected, which would have been horses and the equipment that went along with said horses. Pens lined both long walls. Dog pens filled with dogs of all shapes and sizes. In the center of the barn was an arena, like a fighting pen. “Oh, God,” she said and quickly searched the locked pens for Woodrow.

He wasn’t here.

She stepped back into the sunlight and heard his bark coming from behind her. His bark was immediately followed by a growl.

And then another.

She ran over to the shed and peeked in to find Woodrow huddled, cornered by two dogs, who were showing their teeth. “Hey,” she yelled. “Back off!”

They turned to her, and when they did, Woodrow scurried around them, getting right in front of Emily. After that first night when he’d growled at Wyatt, she’d never seen him show an ounce of aggression, but he showed it now. His fur stood up along the length of his neck and back, and he was in a fighting stance.

Her heart went to her throat. He was healing, but there was no way he’d win a fight with these two. “Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s everyone just take a nice, deep breath and—”

“What the fuck.”

She craned her neck, and oh shit, felt a new wave of panic. Mr. Big, Scary Neighbor Guy was back, a big shadow standing in the doorway blocking her exit.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My dog trespassed, but your dogs cornered him—” She broke off when he didn’t move, didn’t do anything but just stare at her.

She bent and scooped up Woodrow. “We’ll just go now.”

Not even an eye flicker.

“I don’t care what you’re doing out here,” she said. A big fat lie, of course. She cared to her bones, but she thought keeping that a secret until she got the police out here was a real good idea. “If you could just move aside,” she said.

He did, slowly, and she slid out of the shed.

He followed, right on her heels, and suddenly it wasn’t just Woodrow whose hackles rose. Every hair on her body stood up. She whirled around just as he was reaching for her. Heart in her throat, she danced back and yanked out her phone. “I’m going to call the police.”

“No need. I’m right here.”

Again she whirled and faced a man who’d stepped out from behind from the barn.

Evan.

“Dr. Pretty,” he said.

She stared at him as he moved closer. Uh-oh. This wasn’t good. “We were just leaving,” she said, squeezing Woodrow close.

“You shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” Big, Scary Neighbor Guy growled, and took another step toward her.

“Bud,” Evan said, his voice a low warning.

Bud stopped, and though his big, beefy arms hung loose at his sides, his fists clenched.

Evan looked at Emily. “You were asked to stay away,” he said conversationally, still smiling a little bit, which she tried like hell to take as a good sign.

“I tried,” she said. “Believe me. But I’m going now, and I’ll stay away this time. Really. I promise.”

“You promise,” he repeated, sounding amused.

She nodded like a bobble head. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you,” Evan said. “You’re curious as hell. And you’re smart. You know what we’re doing here.”

“Killing dogs.”

“No,” he said. “Making big bucks.”

“It’s a felony to have dog fights,” she said. “To gamble on dogs fights. To have spectators watching the dog fights.”

“Actually, that part’s only a misdemeanor,” he said, still laid back and casual-like.

“Fascinating,” she said. “Well . . . I really should be going now.” She took a step, and Bud took another toward her. Woodrow growled, leapt out of her arms, and lunged at Bud.

“No!” Emily cried when he pulled his gun. “No, don’t shoot him—”

A sharp whistle pierced the air. Emily glanced up and saw with shock and horror Wyatt coming around the back of the house.

Unarmed.

At his whistle, Woodrow sat on the spot, but he kept his sharp gaze on Bud.

So did Wyatt. “Emily,” he said. “Come here.”

She didn’t hesitate, she ran to him. He grabbed her hand when she got close and pulled her in, gaze never wavering off the two men in front of them. He lifted his cell phone to his ear. “Got her,” he said. “In the back.”

Evan pulled his gun and pointed it at Bud. “Drop your weapon.”

Bud stared at him. “What the fuck, dude?”

“Drop it, now.”

Bud’s mouth fell open. “You fucker. You think you’re going to double-cross me?”

Kel and a handful of others suddenly swarmed the yard, and in less than twenty seconds, Bud had been forced to his belly in the dirt, hands behind his head.

Evan and Kel were in a standoff.

“Be smart,” Kel said. “Down on the ground.”

“I’m not the bad guy here,” Evan said, not moving. “I was working undercover, trying to—”

“Bullshit!” Bud yelled, lifting his face out of the dirt. “This is your operation!”

“Shut up,” Evan told him.

“Hell no, I’m not taking the fall for this—”

“Evan,” Kel said. “One last warning. Drop your weapon.”

He hesitated, and Woodrow—who’d run to Wyatt and Emily and was sitting on her foot—growled low in his throat.

Evan’s gaze went to the dog, and in that split second Kel grabbed Evan’s gun. The other cops moved in close and took him down to the ground.

Emily dropped to her knees and hugged Woodrow to her chest. “Good boy,” she said, and he licked her chin.

Wyatt hauled her upright, gave her a quick once-over. “You okay?” he asked, voice low but utter steel.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

“No one touched you?”

“No. I’m fine—” That was the last word she got out before he crushed her to him. She pressed her face into his shirt, and breathed him in. He was warm and strong, and she burrowed in and held on, wanting nothing more than to never let go.