Captain Wolf's Surrogate

CHAPTER 6: SHAME

LYALL

The girls' expressions shifted in unison, beginning with surprise and progressing to confusion. They exchanged glances.

“Which friend?” Teagan's friend whose name I didn't care for asked, tilting her head.

“The one with the green eyes,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “Reddish-brown hair? She was with you in the stands during practice.”

Another look passed between them before again, Teagan’s friend spoke first. “Oh. He’s asking about Margaret. You know, the maid.”

Teagan nodded quickly. “Oh, yeah. She’s back at home.”

I frowned. “She’s not a student?”

Teagan's friend jumped in again. “She is. She's the help at Teagan's house, and Teagan's mom pays for her education as part of that arrangement.”

I hadn't asked that, and I was thrown by how evasive they were. All I wanted to know was whether she was at Stanford. I wasn’t a very patient man, especially not tonight.

“So she’s at Stanford?” I cut in, my voice sharper than I intended. And Teagan responded. “Yes, she goes to Stanford.”

I nodded once, irritation building beneath my skin. These two, particularly Teagan's friend, exuded mean-girl vibes. I had had enough.

“Excuse me,” I said, standing up. “I need to head out.” Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re leaving already?”

“Yes.” I didn’t hide the edge in my voice this time, irked by her question. I wished them a great night and stepped away from the table, motioning for Louis to join me outside the VIP area.

“Everything good, Captain?” Louis asked, glancing back toward the table.

“Yeah. Please ensure the guys return to the hotel on time. I’m heading in early.”

He said he would, and I wished him a good night before heading toward the car waiting out front.

The drive back to the Sheraton Palo Alto was quiet, but my mind was anything but. By the time I reached the hotel, I barely remembered the drive, and I headed straight up to my suite, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed onto the bed, hoping exhaustion would finally pull me under.

It didn’t, however. I tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around my legs as images of her face refused to fade. I eventually grabbed my phone and called Sable. She answered on the third ring, her voice sluggish.

“Hey, babe. Everything okay?”

“I’m sorry for waking you,” I murmured, lying back against the pillows. “Just needed to hear your voice.”

We talked for a long time, and her laughter soothed some of the tension in my chest, the way it always had. But when her words started slowing and she yawned, I knew she was barely hanging on.

“Go back to sleep. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she whispered before the line went quiet.

Even that familiar comfort didn’t work tonight. Four hours later, I still couldn't sleep, and before I knew it, I was up and changing into training gear. Perhaps a late-night workout at Santa Clara's 24-hour gym would help to expend some of this restless energy. It had to.

I took the matte-black Mercedes, and the engine roared to life with a deep, satisfying growl as I drove out of the Sheraton. The thoughts returned even louder, almost mocking me as I accelerated onto the campus loop to avoid the midnight construction on El Camino Real.

Who is she? Why does she smell like home? My wife means the world to me. Why can’t I shake this?

I pressed the accelerator down the long, dark stretch of Serra Street, the twin-turbo V8 engine responding instantly as the powerful vehicle devoured the empty road.

But then a figure appeared out of nowhere in front of me. I slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching in protest as the heavy G-Wagon fishtailed, rubber burning against the asphalt. The world shrank to the single moment of panic, the headlights piercing the darkness, illuminating the person too late.

The car came to a screeching halt, and my heart pounded violently against my ribs as I realized I had hit them.

What the f**k!

I threw open the door and leaped out, legs moving before my brain could catch up. Rounding the front of the car, dread pooled in my stomach, and there she was, sprawled out onto the road.

“Goddess! I'm so sor—” I began, but the words died in my throat the moment she looked up. It was her... it was the green eyed girl.... Margaret.

****

MINUTES EARLIER

RAVEN

The movie credits finally rolled, and I stretched on the sofa, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. It had been a long, emotionally draining day, and I was exhausted. I decided right then that I wouldn't be going through any medical notes tonight. Sleep was calling. I turned off the TV, grabbed the empty popcorn bowl, and went to my bedroom.

I'd just pulled back the covers and was about to climb in when I heard a sharp knock at the front door.

Had Teagan forgotten her key? I thought as I walked barefoot toward the entrance. I reached for the handle but then decided to look through the peephole. Teagan wouldn't be back yet.

My heart stopped. It wasn’t Teagan. Lyall Kingsley stood in the hallway, looking devastatingly handsome under the overhead lights.

How? My thoughts began to spiral. How was he here? At my door? I freaked out for a split second, frantically smoothing my hair and wiping my mouth for any remaining popcorn crumbs. I kicked myself for not going to the mirror first. But that would take far too long. Perhaps he was lost and looking for someone, and I might finally be able to get an autograph.

I opened the door anyway, pulse thundering. “Lyall, what are you—”

He didn’t let me finish. In one smooth motion, he stepped inside, cupped my face with both hands, and kissed me.

The world swayed, completely stunned, but it was like something took over.

I returned the kiss, clumsy and inexperienced. I'd never actually kissed anyone before. I was a virgin who had never even had a casual relationship.

My hands fluttered nervously against his broad chest as his tongue traced my lower lip, coaxing my mouth open. The kiss deepened, sending sparks of heat racing down my spine, and we stumbled backward together.

We fell onto the sofa, his ripped body pressing me into the soft cushions. The heat emanating from him soaked right through my thin pajamas, and Lyall drew back just enough to look at me, golden eyes burning with hunger.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, his voice rough with want. “All day. All night.”

Before I could confess that I had not stopped thinking about him, his lips were back on mine.

Lyall worshipped my body like I was something sacred as his hands slid under my top, strong fingertips grazing my bare skin and leaving trails of fire in their wake. He slowly peeled away the fabric, exposing me to the cool air of the room, before his mouth followed, hot and wet kisses trailing down my neck to my collarbone, then lower.

I gasped sharply as his tongue circled one sensitive peak, the wet heat and gentle suction making my back arch off the cushions. His cologne, wild and masculine, filled my senses, and my fingers tangled in his thick hair as he moved further down, kissing along my stomach, nipping lightly at my hips.

Every touch sent electricity shivering through my nerves, and a strangled, desperate gasp escaped my lips as he reached my thighs and slowly spread them, his breath ghosting hot over my p***y.

I was already wet and aching, the cool air from my exposure contrasting with the warmth of his mouth as he leaned in.

“Lyall—” I moaned loudly, unrestrained, hips lifting toward him as his tongue—

“Raven!” A woman’s voice cut through the haze. “Raven, wake up!”

My eyes opened to see Teagan and her friend hovering over my bed, staring down at me with wide eyes. I was tangled in my sheets, my heart racing, my skin flushed, and my legs stretched out. The room was dim, but their faces were clear, and I realized I had gone to bed after the movie and had been dreaming.

“Did you just moan out Lyall’s name?” Teagan's friend asked incredulously. “And were you... writhing?”

Horror crashed over me like ice water, and I sat up quickly, pulling the blanket to my chest. “W-what? No, I—I was just… dreaming. It was nothing.”

But they burst out laughing, loud as they doubled over, clutching their stomachs. The sound was sharp and mean, and before I could even process it, two guys I didn’t recognize stumbled into my bedroom behind them, clearly drunk and part of whatever after-party they’d brought back.

“Guys, you have to hear this,” Teagan's friend announced between gasps. “Raven here was having a full-on wet dream about Lyall Kingsley!”

The room exploded with raucous, drunk, merciless laughter. One of the guys pulled out his phone and took a picture of me sitting there, mortified in my pajamas, while Teagan's friend continued, recounting what they had walked into, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Aren’t you just a ball of embarrassment? God, you’re so weird.”

One of the guys leaned against the doorframe, grinning. “Wait, I have a question. Is Lyall really packing like he looks? You know—” He made a crude gesture with his hands toward his d**k, and that was it. I couldn't take it any more, and humiliation burned through every inch of my body as I jumped out of bed, shoving past them.

I didn’t grab shoes, didn’t grab a jacket, nothing. I just ran. I burst out of the apartment and continued running blindly, tears streaming down my cheeks. I had no idea where I was going as campus paths blurred together. All I could hear was their laughter, and all I felt was shame choking me. Until suddenly, headlights cut across my field of vision.

I looked up just in time to see a black car barreling toward me at the intersection, and my eyes widened in terror.

There was no time to react, and a terrified scream ripped through my throat, my legs giving out beneath me as I braced for the impact.