Chapter 145 145
Jacqueline woke with exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs. Sleep had barely touched her. Each time she drifted off, she startled awake in a cold sweat, heart racing, breath uneven. After the third time, she gave up trying altogether.
She showered, letting the water run over her aching body longer than necessary, then slipped back into the same clothes of his she had worn since yesterday. There was no first-aid kit here, no ointment to soothe her wounds. The skin across her back felt stretched too tight, raw and tender, every small movement a reminder of it.
Quietly, she made her way downstairs and padded toward Mathieu’s room. She pushed the door open just enough to see him fast asleep, chest rising and falling peacefully. Relief softened her features.
Her gaze flickered toward the door next to his. The urge to check if Damien was there tugged at her, but she resisted it. Instead, she turned and walked toward the kitchen.
It was barely dawn. Pale light filtered through the windows, painting everything in soft gray. She had a strange feeling he hadn’t come back last night. Almost without meaning to, she glanced toward the main door.
His boots were neatly placed beneath the bench.
He had returned.
A small, unconscious smile curved her lips.
She opened the refrigerator, then the cabinets, gathering what she needed to prepare breakfast. After tying her damp hair into a messy bun, she washed her hands and began working.
—
Damien yawned, stretching his arms wide as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. He had returned late close to four in the morning. The moment he stepped into the packhouse, his mother, Charlotte, and Eugénie had practically trapped him in the living room.
Sofía had fussed over him endlessly, promising to cook all his favorite meals and confessing how much she had missed him. Eugénie animatedly shared stories of her small adventures, while Charlotte sat quietly, smiling, soaking in every second.
They had been so happy.
And through it all, guilt had gnawed at him. He hadn’t meant to hurt them, but he had. Distance, even when necessary, still left bruises.
Sofía had refused to let him out of her sight. She had even tried convincing Fernando to allow Damien’s guest to stay in the packhouse. Fernando had handled her gently, patiently explaining why that wasn’t possible.
Only after much persuasion had Sofía agreed to let him leave on the condition that he return the next day.
Damien changed into a pair of sweats and stepped out of his room only to be met with the rich, mouthwatering aroma of food.
His feet carried him toward the kitchen before he consciously decided to go.
And then he stopped.
Jacqueline stood there, completely absorbed in what she was doing.
She was still wearing his clothes. The oversized shirt hung loosely on her frame, making her look… adorable.
Adorable?
What the hell was wrong with him?
Her hair was piled into a messy bun, still damp from her shower, a few stray strands clinging to her cheeks. His gaze dropped to the slender curve of her neck. The collar of the shirt slipped slightly, exposing one creamy shoulder.
His jaw tightened.
What would her skin feel like beneath his rough palms?
The shirt concealed everything, but her bare legs were visible. She hummed softly to herself, swaying absentmindedly as she worked.
He cursed under his breath. His wolf stirred restlessly. His thoughts betrayed him dark, possessive, inappropriate. Images flashed unbidden through his mind: gripping her nape, bending her over the kitchen island, claiming her until she trembled beneath him.
The vividness of it made his body respond instantly.
Fuck.
What was happening to him?
He shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. But it felt as though instinct had taken control, dragging him forward. He moved quietly until he stood directly behind her. Her soft, floral scent wrapped around him, intoxicating. His wolf pressed close to the surface.
He clenched his fists at his sides.
She barely reached his shoulder in height.
Still unaware of him, she turned and collided with his chest.
She gasped and stumbled back, but there was nowhere to go.
Her head snapped up. Wide doe eyes met his. Her full lips parted in shock.
He needed to step away. Now.
Jacqueline stared at him, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. He was so close she could smell his cologne rich, masculine, intoxicating. It had quickly become her favorite scent, though she would never admit it. It was, after all, a man’s perfume.
“Uh… hi,” she murmured softly, unsure what else to say.
“Did you… need something?” she asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze dropped to his chest; she couldn’t hold eye contact when he looked at her like that.
She tried to slide past him.
He stepped closer instead.
Her breath hitched violently. Her heart began pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. As he leaned in further, she instinctively rose onto her toes, retreating by inches.
His warm breath brushed her forehead.
Had he hit his head somewhere?
What was wrong with him?
Despite the fear, something else fluttered in her stomach nervous excitement, anticipation, confusion. Her palms grew damp.
“W-what are y-you doing?” she stammered.
Abruptly, Damien stepped back.
He leaned against the kitchen island, crossing his arms casually over his chest. In his hand was an apple. He lifted it and took a slow bite.
Jacqueline blinked at the apple, then glanced over her shoulder at the fruit basket behind her.
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
Oh.
So embarrassing.
She turned sharply and focused on chopping vegetables, though her pulse still thudded wildly.
God, she could swear he hadn’t been there just for that damned apple.
“Just grabbing an apple,” he said with a lazy shrug. “What did you think?”
Her face burned hotter. His nonchalance made her feel ridiculous.
He was just getting an apple.
And she had thought…
She shook her head and kept cutting.
“Oh my God, Damien!”
A high-pitched feminine voice rang out from the direction of the main door, snapping both their heads toward the sound.