“Hey, in there. I’m going to open the door. Don’t even think about taking me down.” As if he could. If she knew he was her mate, she assumed he could sense that she was his. And a male would never hurt his mate. Although if he wanted to take her down and sex her senseless she wouldn’t oppose him.

Pull it together, Margie! How can you think of sex at a time like this?

She shook her head-who would have thought meeting her mate would cause sexual thoughts to overwhelm her common sense-and rapped on the door. “Do you hear me?”

“I do. Why am I locked in?”

She liked his voice. Maybe she could get him to speak more just to hear the melodious rumble as it crossed her skin. By the saints, what was she thinking? Hello, Margie, pull your head out of your hormones and channel your inner alpha.

After she pushed the code into the keypad, she turned the knob and pushed open the door. Spilled soup lay in twisting rivulets across the floor, flowing from the broken bowl. The tray lay behind the mess. Zane stood in front of the bed, arms crossed, completely naked with the exception of a silver torc around his neck. Oh yeah, she could get used to the eye candy. It was impressive.

Eye contact, Margie, eye contact.

Like meeting his eyes helped. Black brows and thick lashes framed amber eyes that gleamed with questions. Sleep-tussled black hair shot through with silver and tan hung in waves to his shoulders. Above a white bandage wrapped around his middle, tight curls dusted his chest and below the bandage the curls led in a trail from his navel to...

Eyes, Margie, eyes.