My Sister Is a Werewolf (19 page)

“Jensen, you got yourself a beauty and a charmer in this one.” Granddad nodded his approval, then directed Elizabeth over to the counter.

Deciding his granddad had just stolen his woman, at least for a while, he settled down at the table to read the newspaper. Which turned out to be impossible. The interaction between his grandfather and Elizabeth was far too entertaining.

“Just break it into here?” Elizabeth held an egg as if she thought it might spontaneously explode in her hand. She waved it gently in the direction of a mixing bowl.

“Yes. Right in there.”

She hesitated, then tapped the shell delicately on the rim. The egg barely cracked. She tapped it again, this time with more force and the egg cracked totally, bits of shell going into the bowl with the yolk and white.

“Oh no,” she said, sounding so endearingly disheartened that Jensen had to smile.

“Not a problem,” Granddad said, his tone kind, just like he’d been with Jensen all through his childhood.

Granddad showed her how to pick out the shells and had her break another egg and another until Elizabeth could crack an egg like a pro.

Elizabeth smiled at Jensen as if she’d conquered the world. Jensen couldn’t help but grin back. He suddenly saw her right here every morning. The image should have scared him, but it simply felt—right.

Before long, Elizabeth was serving platters of pancakes and omelets and bacon.

“This looks great. I would say you’re a natural.” Jensen snagged a piece of bacon off the plate.

“Who knew?” she said with another triumphant grin.

She waited until Granddad joined them before she sat down.

Granddad passed Elizabeth the platter of pancakes. “Go ahead—taste how good your cooking is.”

She smiled and plunged a fork into the golden cakes, scooping up two. She added them to her plate, then moved to take some of the omelet and then some of the bacon. She topped all of that off with some hash browns.

Jensen watched her add a generous amount of real maple syrup to the pancakes.

She paused as she saw him watching her. Her cheeks colored a rosy pink as she self-consciously set the syrup down.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to cook, but I know how to eat.”

Jensen’s smile broadened even more. He really did find it refreshing to hear a woman say that. But rather than tell her that, he reached for the bottle of amber syrup.

“I like to eat, too.”

He doused his own pancakes with nearly as much as she’d used. Then he dug in, trying to show her that he had no problem with her eating habits.

She picked up her fork, toying briefly with the crispy edge of the pancake. Then she cut into it, scooping a small portion into her mouth. Her eyes closed with appreciation as she slowly chewed the food.

“Good, huh?” Granddad said, a slight curve to his lips as he also watched her. He looked nearly as entranced as Jensen.

She opened her eyes and nodded. “Delicious.”

“And you made them.”

“With your help,” she pointed out.

Granddad shrugged. “I just directed, you did the work.” He took a bite of the omelet. “And you did a damned fine job.”

Her smile broadened, but then she was lost to the lure of her food.

The conversation was easy and natural as they demolished the brunch, all of them doing their fair share to clean the plates.

Granddad leaned back, tossing his napkin onto the table. “I bet that is the most action this table has seen in years.”

Jensen nearly choked on a sip of coffee. Elizabeth shifted, again toying with her silverware and making no eye contact.

Granddad straightened, his far-too-observant gaze straying from Jensen to Elizabeth, then back to Jensen. He remained silent for a moment, obviously trying to decipher what had changed the comfortable atmosphere of the room. Finally he stood.

“Jensen, you haven’t showed Elizabeth around the house. Why don’t you do that, while I clean up.”

“I’ll clean up,” Jensen said. “You and Elizabeth cooked. I’ll do the dishes.”

Granddad shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got it. You two go find something fun to do.”

Jensen considered arguing further, but the set of his grandfather’s jaw told him it would be wasted breath.

He turned to Elizabeth. “Would you like to see the house?”

Elizabeth was sure that her face was still bright red from his grandfather’s table comment. She’d wanted to crawl under the table as images of what she and Jensen had done on that table flashed through her mind. She knew from Jensen’s startled look that his mind had gone in the exact same direction.

Fortunately, Jensen’s lovely grandfather had sensed the sudden tension and had given them an out.

“I’d love to see the rest of the house,” she said, managing to keep her voice even. Although she was starting to feel like, when things went well, something always happened to remind her of what she was. Of who she was. She just didn’t know how this could work.

Jensen stood and waited for her to rise as well. Then he steered her toward the kitchen door.

Elizabeth stopped and glanced at the older man. “Are you sure you don’t want some help?”

He shook his head, already rinsing bowls and placing them in the dishwasher. “I’ve got it. You two go.”

She nodded. “T
hank
you for the cooking lesson.”

“T
hank
you for getting my grandson to stop acting like a zombie.”

At that comment, Jensen caught her fingers and tugged her from the room.

She followed, but her mind was on that last comment.

“This is the living room, which I think you saw briefly the night you came over here.”

“Why were you acting like a zombie?”

Jensen laughed slightly, but the sound seemed strained to her ears. “My granddad has a strange sense of humor.”

Elizabeth hadn’t found his sense of humor odd. And the comment hadn’t been said as a joke. But it didn’t appear that she was going to get an answer from Jensen.

“This is the den.” He flipped on a light, and stepped back to let her peek inside. She got the vague impression of dark wood, books, and a marble fireplace.

“Nice,” she said, her thoughts still on why Jensen had been a zombie. What had happened to him? The idea that something had caused him to stop living, stop being the vivacious, happy person she knew, bothered her deeply.

He led her to the stairs.

“Just ignore the walls here.”

“Why?” she asked, then realized the answer. The wall, all the way up the staircase, was scattered with pictures. Mostly of Jensen. From a baby to... a picture that looked like it may have been taken fairly recently. A picture of him with his grandfather, both of them in thigh-high wading boots, holding up a large fish.

But what captured her attention were the pictures of him as a child. She stopped in front of each one, taking in the way his cocky smile was already established, even at four years old. Of course, it grew more handsome, more irresistible with each passing year.

“Look at you in this one,” she exclaimed, leaning in to study a picture of him at about nine years old, dressed in a white lab coat with a surgeon’s mask tied around his neck along with a stethoscope, and a plastic toy doctor’s bag in his hand.

“Were you already practicing to be a vet?”

Jensen stared at the picture for a moment, then offered her a lopsided smile that, while it contained his usual charm, didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Yes. Although I think I was already practicing my plan to get all the girls to play doctor.”

She turned to face him, cocking an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Mm—hmm. Want to come to my bedroom and play?” He leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, his tongue darting out to taste the sensitive skin.

She pulled in a hitched breath, desire zipping through every nerve-ending of her body.

“Jensen,” she managed to murmur. “Your granddad.”

He lifted his head, listening. “I can hear him in the kitchen.” His lips returned to her neck, then moved up to nip her earlobe.

Again another zing of need whizzed through her, and again she breathed out brokenly.

“Come on,” he said, his soft words tickling her ear. “I’ll show you my bedroom.”

She smiled. “You are bad.”

“Only with you.”

For some reason, his words gave her pause—a feeling she couldn’t quite place blotted out some of her desire. Fear, maybe, or worry. Was she making him bad? Was her past somehow affecting him? Making him not act like the person he really was?

Jensen didn’t give her much of a chance to consider that idea. He led her right to one of the doorways along the upstairs hallway. Once inside, he closed it soundly behind them and pulled her back into his arms. This time, his lips captured hers fully, the supple softness of them brushing and teasing until she lost all thoughts but opening for him and tasting him back.

“This is my room,” he finally murmured against her lips.

“It’s nice,” she said, her lips curving against him. He kissed her again.

She wasn’t even aware that Jensen was walking her backward until her thighs hit something and she sat down on his bed. She laughed up at him, feeling quite naughty herself. He grinned back, then followed her down, his lips tasting her again as his weight pinned her down.

They lay on the bed, kissing, their hands exploring each other over their clothes.

“You know,” he said, pulling back to look at her, “this bed has seen a lot less action than the kitchen table.”

“Really?” She tried not to laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I was thinking you could rectify that for me.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Jensen, your grandfather is right downstairs.”

“Yes. But I happen to know that he’s going golfing in... ” He glanced at the digital alarm clock shaped like a football on the nightstand. “About ten minutes. So if we are just quiet... ”

He started to kiss her again, but this time she placed a hand in the center of his chest to stop him. “I don’t know.”

He smiled in that way she found utterly irresistible. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She laughed. “I have no doubt about that.” She couldn’t help wiggling against him. God, he made her so hot. He truly was the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

He tensed against her wiggle, and she expected him to kiss her again, but instead he pushed off the bed and headed to the door. He turned the lock, then strode back to where she lay sprawled on the bed.

“There. I think we’re safe.”

She didn’t know about that, and she was still rather embarrassed that Jensen’s sweet granddad was probably very aware of what they were doing up here, but then, he was also aware that she and Jensen had spent the night together. And she didn’t think the older man thought they’d just been talking then, either.

He started to crawl back onto the bed, when there was a sharp rap on the newly locked door. Both of them froze, even though they were completely clad, and not even in the process of doing something sexual.

“Jensen?” It was his grandfather.

Jensen glanced at Elizabeth, then climbed off the bed. Elizabeth sat up and straightened her clothes. Jensen smoothed down several tangled locks of her hair, then went to the door.

When he opened it, it was his granddad who looked decidedly awkward. He held out the cordless phone.

“A horse emergency,” he explained quietly.

Jensen accepted the phone. “I’ll be right back,” he told Elizabeth.

She nodded and waved for him to go.

Jensen stepped out of the room, saying hello.

Granddad gave Elizabeth a smile that still looked as if he felt a tad uncomfortable interrupting them.

“Did you want help now with the kitchen?” she asked, hoping to dispel the awkwardness of the moment.

“All done,” he assured her. “I’m actually meeting a friend for golf. Will you be all right waiting for Jensen?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. Have a good time.”

He nodded in return. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

“Yes.”

After he left, and she heard him climbing down the stairs, she rose from the bed. For the first time, she really looked at Jensen’s bedroom, the bedroom that he obviously had during his childhood. And from the looks of it, not much had changed. The walls were covered with pennants from sporting teams. A baseball bat and mitt sat beside his bureau, probably untouched since his high-school days.

She wandered over to the bookcase near the windows, seeing college textbooks mixed in with books he probably read in high school.
Heart of Darkness
,
Billy Budd
,
Collected Works of Shakespeare. The Hardy Boys
.

She smiled, imagining him lying in that bed at all of eleven or twelve reading about Joe and Frank Hardy.

She picked up one of the books, flipping the pages, the scent of old paper wafting out from the covers. She put it back.