She accepts the deflection with grace, closing her laptop. "Fair point. Your secret tax deductions are safe with me."
Crisis averted, for now. But Ruby is too observant, too intelligent to keep in the dark for long. Especially if she stays another night, with the full moon drawing closer and my control growing thinner.
I serve the pasta, setting a plate before her. We eat in silence for a few minutes, the tension easing. This feels so natural. Sharing a meal, sharing space. If circumstances were different, if I were just a man and she just a woman...
"Tell me about Atlanta," I say, genuinely curious about her life beyond the crisis that brought her here.
She twirls pasta around her fork. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Your home, your work. What you do when you're not saving businesses from the IRS."
Ruby considers this, head tilted slightly. "My apartment overlooks Piedmont Park. It's small but has great light for my plants, which are the only living things I can reliably keep alive."
"You have trouble with pets?" I ask, amused.
"My last goldfish committed suicide. Jumped right out of the bowl when I was at work." She grins. "I'm better with numbers than nurturing."
"I doubt that." The words come out more intensely than intended.
Her eyes flick to mine, something vulnerable crossing her features before she continues. "Work keeps me busy. Crisis accounting means I'm always on call, always traveling to thenext emergency. It's exciting but not exactly conducive to putting down roots."
"No family nearby?"
"Parents in Phoenix. Younger brother in grad school in Boston." She takes a sip of water. "You?"
"No one since Dad passed." I rarely discuss my family, but with Ruby, the words come easier. "Mom died when I was twelve. Cancer. Dad raised me alone after that."
"That must have been hard," she says, compassion softening her features. "For both of you."
I nod, remembering those dark years—a grieving father trying to teach his young shifter son how to control his abilities without a mother's gentler guidance. "He did his best."
"He taught you well," Ruby observes. "You built this beautiful home, run a successful business."
"He taught me responsibility. Discipline." Control, I add silently. Above all, control.
"Important lessons." She finishes her pasta, setting her fork down. "Thank you for dinner. It was delicious."
"Least I could do." I stand, collecting our plates. "More work tonight?"
She stretches, and I try not to stare at the way her sweater rises slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. "A couple more hours, I think. Then I'll need sleep if we're going to finish tomorrow."
Tomorrow. The day before the full moon, when my bear will be nearly impossible to contain. When every instinct will scream at me to claim my mate.
"I'll clean up here," I say. "You get back to the numbers."
Ruby stands, and for a moment she's close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, smell the subtle vanilla scent of her skin. My bear rises, urging me to reach out, to touch her, to pull her close.
I step back, putting safe distance between us. "If you need anything—"
"I know where to find you." She smiles, and something inside me both settles and ignites at once. "Thanks again for dinner."
I watch her walk back to the office, her movements slow and confident. When she's out of sight, I grip the edge of the sink, knuckles white, and draw a shaky breath.
One more day. One more night. Then the audit, and she'll leave, returning to her life in Atlanta. The thought makes my bear howl in protest, but what choice do I have? To tell her the truth would be to risk everything.
My secret, my business, any chance of her seeing me as something other than a monster.
I wash the dishes, listening to the sound of her typing in the other room, the occasional rustle of papers. Domestic sounds that make this cabin feel more like a home than it has in years.
