Actually, Shaya didn’t think she could. And that was also a huge problem in all this. She had discovered over the past three weeks that it wasn’t just her distrustfulness that held her back. It was her insecurities. She couldn’t help wondering if he would one day regret that she was his mate due to her submissive status. Most alphas preferred females whose strength matched their own. Shaya knew she had the inner strength to match his, but was that enough for him, or would he prefer someone like Amber?

Amber…Now that was a female she despised. The healer had been a big, fat pain in the padded ass since she arrived. The amount of times she had “coincidentally” turned up wherever Shaya and Nick were was truly unreal. Of course she always made a point of hugging him or touching him in some way, touching him with a familiarity that was way too intimate.

Then there were the times she turned up at Nick’s motor home—oh yeah, Shaya had noticed and watched carefully from her window. He never let Amber inside, always kept her on the doorstep as they briefly chatted. Whenever Shaya had asked Nick about it later, he’d told her that Amber liked to keep him updated on what was happening with Roni, but she got the feeling there was more to it.

Amber wasn’t mean to Shaya. No, she was something much worse—sickly sweet and friendly, and if Shaya hadn’t seen the occasional flash of jealousy and contempt in Amber’s eyes, she might have bought the act. Shaya would have preferred bitchiness, because then she could have said a few choice words to the female and insisted that she stay away from Nick. But while Amber was being friendly, Shaya would simply look unreasonable, mean, and even irrational if she began mouthing off at the healer…and maybe that was why Amber did it. This way, she got to be around Nick more.

When Paisley returned to the reception desk to answer the phone, Kent said, “Well, if you’re set on going on this date, you can at least tell me about him.”

“His name’s Simon. He’s a web designer.”

“Sounds boring.”

“All you’ve heard is his name and occupation.”

“Exactly. Already he sounds boring. Now, if he was a tall, ash-blond alpha male with an inner wolf—”

“Kent,” she groaned.

“Fine. So where are you going on this date?”

“We’re going to the Moroccan restaurant near your place.”

One of his brows lifted. “Oooh, maybe I’ll pop in then.”

“No. You’ll grill him like he’s being interrogated for a murder charge.”

“Yes, for your own good. For all you know, he could be a murderer. An ax murderer, even. There could be bodies hidden under his patio.”

She growled, “You’re a pain in my ass.”

He continued to be a pain in her ass all day—dedicated it to poking fun at a guy he hadn’t even met, calling him dull and wimpy as well as possibly homicidal. But she still made him give her a ride to the restaurant after work. She had changed clothes in the salon, ready for her date. Of course Kent wished her luck, despite his disapproval, but as he drove away from the restaurant, there was a strange glint in his eyes that she hadn’t liked—guilt, maybe?

Shrugging off the matter, she entered the restaurant to find that Simon was already there. He had politeness down to a tee—helping her remove her coat, pulling out her chair, letting her order first. Yes, this could work.

Nick was watching TV with Bruce when his cell phone rang. Derren. “Yup?”

“We have a situation. And you’re not going to like it.”

Instantly Nick was on his feet. There hadn’t been any panic in Derren’s tone, but there was anger there. “What is it?”

“I followed Shaya to make sure she got to Kent’s place safely, like you asked.” There was a short pause. “On the upside, none of the Nazi’s guys or the extremists are on her tail.”

“The downside?”

After another pause, Derren sighed. “She didn’t go to Kent’s place. She’s at a restaurant. According to Kent here—who had apparently noticed me following him and came straight to my SUV in the parking lot to ask me to call you—she’s on a date.”

“A date?” Nick bit out. Son of a bitch.

Again Shaya had to resist the urge to fiddle with her new violet-black skirt. It had been one of those love-at-first-sight purchases. She loved how the outer edges, running from her hips to just over mid-thigh, looked to be laced up—as if just a tug would have the whole thing on the floor. She also loved the feel of the black silk underskirt against her skin. Shame it hadn’t had some kind of warning label to alert her to the fact that whenever she sat down it was going to creep up her thighs.

She smiled at Simon as he poured more wine into her glass. The guy had been okay so far. The date, as a whole, had been okay so far too. Therein lay the problem: it was “okay.” There was no sexual tension, though he had given her compliments that indicated he would happily take over for her vibrator. There was no teasing between them or banter. He seemed to be too nervous to joke.

She had to give him credit where it was due, however—he was doing a fantastic job at not staring at her br**sts, despite that her top showed off her cle**age. Whenever his eyes did drift down to them, a blush would stain his cheeks and he would instantly look away. As she gazed at him now and took everything into account that she had learned about him, she realized something: He was exactly the librarian-type of guy Paisley had described as perfect for her.

But this was what Shaya wanted, wasn’t it? Someone sensitive whom she could rely on not to hurt her the way she had already been hurt enough times before. Yes, he was missing the dominant streak that her submissive nature craved, but sometimes people had to compromise. So he would never take control and make her wet with just a look the way a certain alpha wolf could, but so what? Anyway, for all she knew, Simon could be a real Casanova in the bedroom. He could. Given the chance, there could be real passion between the two of them. They could be explosive.

Or she could be living in a fantasy world.

Maybe she was just one of those women destined to go through life traveling from one bad relationship to another. If that was the case, maybe sticking to flings would be better—no emotions, no strings, no rules, no pressure. It was just something based around the primitive need for sex. But a lifetime of that seemed sort of…cold. Shaya wanted warm. No, she wanted hot.

Looking at Simon again, she acknowledged that there wasn’t going to be anything hot between them. But there could be warmth. If that was all she could have, maybe she should accept that, maybe—