Untamed (9 page)

She stretched her arms over her head, loosening her sensitized body, and her mind went right to that crazy-ass kiss, which was all-consuming—and frightening. She had no desire to give any credence to this whole predestined mate nonsense. However, it was what he said that set her nerves on edge more than anything else. He wanted to shift with her in reality, and that would be just fine if she could actually figure out how to do it.

Layla swore under breath in frustration, feeling like nothing but a half-breed freak.

She haphazardly fixed the bedding, as Rosie always wanted her to, and fluffed the pillows more violently than necessary. She hated that she’d never been able to shapeshift outside the dream realm, because it made her feel defective, and reminded her time and again that she wasn’t normal in either world.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms as a cool breeze whisked into the room from the open window—at least she told herself it was from the wind. Layla rubbed her arms and hurried over to close it as she reminded herself that Rosie would tell her that being cold was her own damn fault for wearing hardly anything to bed. William didn’t seem to be bothered by it. An image of his desire-stamped gaze filled her mind, sending warmth flaring through her body hard and fast. He didn’t disguise his need for her; in fact, he’d been fairly open and seemingly honest with her so far. Guilt tugged at her as she realized she’d been anything but that with him. Maybe she wasn’t giving him a fair shot. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as appalled by her shortcomings as she was.

“Yeah, right,” she mumbled to the empty room.

Layla tugged the old window down with a thud, and as usual, white paint chips flaked off in the process. She reached up to draw the curtains, but her eye was caught by movement to the right. William and Rosie were walking along the edge of the horses’ corral and making their way up to the barn.

Rosie was talking in her usual animated manner, and William walked serenely next to her with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, clearly hanging on every syllable she uttered. Layla rested her forehead against the chilled glass. She could only imagine what tales Rosie was telling. She loved to tell stories—especially embarrassing ones.

Layla dressed quickly in a comfortable pair of old jeans and her faded RIT hoodie sweatshirt. She loved this old thing. She had gotten it her first day on campus, and it was broken in from so many years of wear. It wasn’t pretty, had some stains on it, and was frayed along the edges, but it was the most comfortable piece of clothing she owned, and right now, she could use all the comfortable she could get. She trotted down the steps quickly, eyeing the pictures along the wall of the staircase, and smiled because she had taken all of them. Rosie had hung her photos all over the house and would brag about her to anyone who would stand still and listen.

Layla came into the kitchen and found Raife seated at the table, scarfing down yet another piece of Rosie’s apple pie. He shoveled the last forkful into his mouth and chased it with a glass of milk. Layla couldn’t help but chuckle and swat him on the back of his head as she made her way to the fridge.

“You may be a part of the Wolf Clan, but you sure do eat like a pig,” she teased as she grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

Raife responded with a loud belch.

“I rest my case,” Layla said with satisfaction as she poured herself a glass of iced tea. She closed the door of the fridge with her foot and made her way to the table.

“Eating apple pie for breakfast?” She made a tsking sound and wagged a finger at him.

Raife let out a short laugh. “Breakfast? Check your watch.” He nodded toward the clock on the wall. “It’s after noon, sleepyhead.”

Layla’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my God! I haven’t slept this late in years. I must’ve been tired. I only meant take a nap before dinner last night, and I ended up sleeping for over twelve hours.”

Raife eyed her with suspicion over his glass of milk. “Uh-huh, wonder why that is?” he asked before downing the rest of his milk.

“Must be because I’m home,” she said quickly, knowing it was a lie. Layla gave a cursory glance out the window, but didn’t catch sight of Rosie or William.

“They’re up at the barn,” Raife said curtly.

Layla rolled her eyes and sat across from him. “I wasn’t looking for him,” she said in a tone that even she didn’t believe. She cringed at how transparent she had become when it came to William.

“Yeah, right.” Raife tossed his napkin onto the empty plate in front of him. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with a look of complete disbelief. “You haven’t been able to think about anything else since he showed up.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How was your little trip into town yesterday?”

“Actually,” she began slowly, “it was a bit off-putting.”

“Why?” he asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Layla shook her head quickly and sat across the table from him. “No, no. It wasn’t William. He’s been…well, he’s been a perfect gentleman, actually.”

He had been. He hadn’t tried to force himself on her or drag her off like the caveman Raife accused him of being, or she expected him to be. He’d been a gentleman, even in the dream realm. He’d only stolen that one, knee-buckling kiss, and that one didn’t really count.

Dream kisses didn’t count, did they?

She made a face and took a sip of her iced tea. She frowned as she realized it was a much more disappointing fact than she’d expected it to be. Layla pulled her feet onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. She hadn’t felt this unsure of herself since she was a kid.

“Good.” Raife relaxed his posture and sat back again in his chair. “He better be, or I’m going to kick his feathered ass.”

Layla gave him a doubtful look. “Whatever.” She took another sip of her drink. “We went to the grocery and saw Ralph and Ginny yesterday afternoon. Ginny mentioned something about Rosie selling the farm to Frank Clark. Can you imagine? I mean, I totally freaked out and practically ripped Ginny’s head off for suggesting such a thing.” She rubbed her chin on her denim-clad knees. “Actually, William was the one who calmed me down.” Her brow knit together in concentration. “He used his energy to soothe me. Just like you, me, and Tati have done for each other for years.” She shrugged as if she had to explain his kindness. “I guess it’s a pretty common Amoveo thing.”

Raife stayed stone still and kept his blue eyes on his sister. It dawned on her that he didn’t seem surprised at all by what Ginny suggested about the sale of the farm. A sick feeling settled in the pit of Layla’s stomach.

It was true. Rosie was selling the farm.

“Raife,” she said hesitantly. “It’s not true, is it? Rosie isn’t selling the farm… is she?”

Raife looked away from her. His jaw clenched, and he let out a long, slow breath. “She’s been thinking about it,” he said quietly.

“What?” Layla sat up, and her feet hit the floor hard. “She can’t sell this place, Raife. This is our home.” Her voice rose and sounded an awful lot like that scared little girl she swore she’d never be again.

Raife’s nostrils flared and anger carved deeply into his features. “You think I don’t feel the same way? I still live here, Red. This is my home. I don’t just come back and visit once a year like you and Tati,” he said with a sharp wave of his hand.

Anger and frustration rippled off him as his words stung with the sharp twang of truth. He was right. She and Tatiana only came home to visit once or twice a year, but Raife lived and worked here. She was being a selfish brat and hadn’t considered his feelings or Rosie’s at all.

Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” She was quiet for a moment, wanting to choose her words carefully. “Is it final? I mean, has she signed anything yet?”

Raife shook his head. “No. She’s met with Frank a couple of times at his office in town. He’s offering her a crazy amount of money for the property.”

“Thank God,” Layla breathed. “So there’s still a chance we can talk her out of this?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed loudly and ran his hands over his face. “I can’t blame her, Red.” He rested his elbows on the table. “This place isn’t cheap to run, and most months we barely break even. Rosie’s been renting out the extra bedrooms from time to time to help make ends meet. I even got a gig bartending a couple nights a week at the Rustic Inn.”

“Really? Well, I’m going to talk to Rosie about this. There’s got to be something we can do.” Layla was quiet for a moment as she regarded her brother carefully. She felt the need to change the subject. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Raife more than she already had. “Guess who else we ran into yesterday?” She wrinkled her nose.

Raife shrugged. “I dunno know. Who?”

“Your ex-fiancée, Sylvia Clark,” she said with clear disdain. “She’s still phony.”

A big smile cracked Raife’s face and created the two familiar dimples that he was famous for. The girls loved his dimples. “Did you deck her again?”

Layla threw her head back and laughed loudly at the memory of when she’d hauled off and slugged her at Tyler’s party. The bitch had been toying with Raife off and on for years, but the last straw came when she called off their engagement a month before their wedding and instead ran off with David Garrity—who became ex-husband number one.

Layla’s smile faded when she recalled the broken look on Raife’s face when he’d told her what happened. Sylvia didn’t even have the decency to do it herself, but instead, let her father do it. Good old Frank Clark happily told him that Sylvia had gone on a weekend excursion with a young man of her social caliber and would not be marrying some
farmhand
.

The memory of it still made her blood boil, but was also tinged with guilt. Layla had sensed Sylvia’s less than honest feelings in some photos she’d taken for their engagement, and she’d tried to tell Raife that she was hiding something, but he wouldn’t listen. Layla always thought she should’ve tried harder to convince him.

“No. I try not to go around decking other women, but believe me, I wanted to knock her lights out,” she said firmly. “She’s still as cold as ever. How many husbands is she up to, anyway?”

“She just divorced dummy number three.”

“I figured as much.” Layla reached over and grabbed Raife’s fork. She peeled back the saran wrap and scooped up some of what was left in the pie plate in the middle of the table. “He was probably a rich dummy though.”

“Not anymore,” Raife said with a satisfied smile.

“You seem happy that she took yet another man for all his dough.” She ate the sugary goodness in one bite.

Raife shrugged. “Hey, if they’re stupid enough to marry her, then they deserve whatever they get. I’m sick and tired of rich, entitled assholes getting everything they want, and the little guy getting screwed.”

“Agreed.” Layla nodded and swallowed her mouthful of pie. “Which is just one of many reasons we need to keep Rosie from selling this farm.
Especially
to Frank Clark,” she said, pointing her fork at him.

“Speaking of rich, entitled assholes… what does William do for a living?” Raife asked as he stood and gathered his dishes from the table.

Layla had to bite her tongue to keep from coming to William’s defense. He was rich. At least he seemed to be. The man pulled out a huge wad of cash at Epstein’s yesterday and didn’t blink at the bill, but he wasn’t an entitled asshole like Frank Clark. The very idea of comparing William to a man like Frank was ridiculous, because the man she was getting to know was not a selfish asshole.

Bossy and pushy? Yes.

She smiled at the drink in her hand. But selfish? Not that she’d seen, at least not yet. The chivalrous way he came to her aid and his sole concern for her well-being… these were not the makings of a heartless jerk.

She cleared her throat and flicked her gaze back up to her brother. She wasn’t going to defend him to Raife, at least not yet. “Well, if you must know,” she said reluctantly, “he’s a lawyer.”

“Ha!” Raife tossed the dishes in the sink. “Even worse than I thought.”

Layla smirked and drained the rest of her iced tea. She knew her brother wasn’t going to give William an inch. She watched him as he rinsed his dishes in the sink. For all his stubbornness, her brother was the kindest man she’d ever known, and he had a heart of gold. Any woman who landed him would be treated like a queen—she glanced at the sink with a smile—and have really clean dishes.

“Oh, I should mention one more thing about William,” Layla said tentatively.

Raife didn’t turn around. He just kept washing his dishes and putting them in the drying rack. “Yeah? What’s that?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “He can hear our conversations,” she said a bit too quickly, bracing herself for his reaction.

The telepathic communication between the three siblings had always been something sacred, and she worried that this latest development would just piss him off more. The dish clattering in the sink ceased, and the rush of the water seemed louder than ever. Layla cracked open one eye and saw Raife standing perfectly still, his body stiff with tension.

“Raife? Did you hear what I said?”

Raife shut off the water and grabbed a dish towel from the counter. He turned slowly to face her as he dried his hands. “I heard you,” he said in a voice tinged with sadness. “Look, I know that there are others like us, and I’m well aware that William is your mate.” He made a loud sound of disgust. “Shit, the sexual chemistry between you two is palpable, and to be quite honest, it grosses me out because you’re my sister.”

Layla opened her mouth to protest, but he shot her a look that kept her quiet. Her face burned with embarrassment at the mention of the chemistry between her and William.
Awkward.

“Listen, Red. I want to learn as much about him and the rest of the Amoveo as I can. Look, until yesterday, as far as we knew, there weren’t any others around.” He tossed the dish towel back on the counter and leaned against the sink. “Shit. I’d even half-convinced myself that they were extinct, and we were the only ones left. So you’ll forgive me if I’m a little uncomfortable with all of this.”