by Tara Lain
“They make an exception for you and Paris. They just think I’m human, so I don’t count.” He stared down at his too-slim-for-a-werewolf body.
“They love you.”
He blew out his breath. “Like their maiden aunt. But it doesn’t get my cock sucked, so I need to get out of this water and get dressed.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
That meant Reassure me that you didn’t go biting the humans, that you didn’t violate the pack law that says no human can know about the existence of the wolves. “Sure.”
“Hey, it’s going to be fun, dammit.”
Lindsey laughed. “Right. Talk soon, darling.” He clicked off and returned the phone to the side table.
He stood, stepped out of the tub, and grabbed a towel from the heated rack.
He loved Cole like his own brother, but he didn’t tell him everything.
Thanks to their recent war against Eliazer and his thugs, Cole had discovered Lindsey had a few more dangerous talents than he’d suspected. Mostly, that he was good with a gun. But one important bit of data remained missing from Cole’s bio on Lindsey. Despite the fact that he was a pretty crappy werewolf, thanks to his human blood, Lindsey had this violent streak. It only came out when he was threatened or very excited sexually. If a guy really turned him on, it was bye-bye Mr. Nice Guy.
He shivered and wrapped the towel tighter. He could kill somebody. Plus, if the pack found out he threatened their anonymity with his wolfy hard-ons, who knew what they’d do to him?
He opened the drawer and ran the brush through his hair. Pretty enough.
This Westerberg would be just one more tepid human. Or at least, he better be.
Lindsey sat back in the lounge chair and sipped his martini. Nice. But not too nice.
He smiled at the handsome guy across from him at the cramped cocktail table. Tall, dressed in a blue blazer and tan trousers, with sleek dark hair and chiseled features, Bruce Westerberg qualified as “straight gay.” No one would get a clue—except maybe for the cosmopolitan he was drinking.
Bruce took a swallow of the pink drink. “Shall we get some dinner?”
“Ah, so I’ve passed the invisible blind date test.” Lindsey twirled his olive.
That got a grin. “Why wouldn’t you? You’re gorgeous.”
“Thank you, kind sir. You’re not so bad yourself.” He leveled his gaze. “I just thought you might find me a little too”—he smoothed his lavender ascot—“too.”
Bruce glanced down and then back to Lindsey’s face. “Actually, I like that you are who you are. Besides, I’ve heard you’re a killer in business, so I expect you have hidden depths.”
Interesting observation and right answer. “Killer, huh? Just be glad you’re not a rabbit.” He laughed and waved at the waiter. The man hurried over. “Mr. Westerberg and I will be having dinner. Can you put this on our bill, please, John?”
“Of course, Mr. Vanessen.”
Lindsey got up with Bruce beside him and left some bills on the table for the cocktail waiter. The country club was a comfortable venue for a first date, but he would have liked a gay bar better. Two men couldn’t dance here, or do much of anything else, for that matter, and Bruce seemed like a safe choice for “something else.”
He threaded between the tables, waving and shaking hands with people he knew. A couple of times he introduced Bruce.
James Lownstein, a former captain of industry, now retired, put a hand on his arm. “Lindsey, have you heard that Elmer Dalton’s son was kidnapped?”
Lindsey covered James’s hand with his own. “Yes, I know. It’s shocking. I’m so sorry to hear it. What do the police say?”
“I’ve only heard bits, but they think the kidnappers will bring the boy back if the Daltons pay. That’s what happened to the last victim. He got dropped off after the money was collected. It just makes me so damned mad. These criminals are victimizing all of us.”
“I agree, James. I do hope the police catch them soon.” He pressed a hand to his chest. Someone should sure as hell catch them.
He walked out of the cocktail lounge with Bruce and into the dining room.
“Good evening, Mr. Vanessen.” Peter, the very proper maître d’, stepped forward.
“Hello, Peter. Table for two, please.”
“This way, gentlemen.” He led them to a table in the corner next to the window. A candle flickered in the center of the white tablecloth, but otherwise the lighting was subdued. Outside, moonlight shone through the dense pines.
“Peter, you’re a romantic.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Lindsey laughed, pulled out Bruce’s chair, and let Peter help him into his own. Peter stepped back. “You’ll be wanting the sommelier, sir?”
“Do you like wine, Bruce?”
Bruce nodded.
“Yes, please, Peter.”
The maître d’ left. Bruce put his napkin on his lap and stared at it.
Lindsey cocked his head. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s the kidnappings. The whole topic is so upsetting.”
“Do you know any of the victims or their families?”
“No, but it feels so close to home. People like us.”
Not quite like Lindsey, but the point was made. “Yes. I wish we knew more about the progress of the investigation.”
Bruce’s eyes widened. “You do? I’d think you’d want to be as far from that awful situation as possible. My God, you could be next. Or me.”
Not bloody likely in his case. He’d bite them. “Yes, yes, of course. It’s horrible and terrifying. I simply meant it would be good to know they’d caught the people responsible.”
“So true.”
The sommelier arrived at that moment. Lindsey waved away the wine list. “Just bring us a good pinot, and tell the bartender we’re in need of another martini and cosmopolitan. Thanks so much.” When the man walked away, Lindsey smiled at Bruce. “I think we could use a bit more liquid courage, don’t you, darling?”
“Definitely.” Bruce finally sat back and sighed. “I feel like I’ve been rather protected at school, and now with these crimes, I got pushed in the deep end of life.”
The waiter brought their drinks. Lindsey raised his glass. “To being a champion swimmer.”
Bruce picked up his drink. “You are a charmer, you know?” They toasted. Bruce sipped. “How does your family feel about you being gay?”
Lindsey shrugged. “I’ve been very lucky. They’ve always accepted me. But then, they guessed I was gay somewhere around my third birthday, so it was no big surprise.” He carefully crossed his legs to show off his purple suede Gucci loafers to best advantage. “What about you?”
“I’m not quite so lucky. My father accepts it because he must, but he wishes I’d wake up tomorrow with a passionate desire for girls.”
“I think people who love us believe our lives would be easier if we were straight. They don’t mean it as a condemnation of who we are.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t look convinced.
“Ta, darling, if your father is reticent about your orientation, what did he think about you coming out with the likes of me? All puns intended.”
Bruce grinned. Nice dimples. “Hell, if I’ve got to be gay, it might as well be with the most eligible gay bachelor in the US.”
Lindsey fluttered his fingers. “You exaggerate. Only the second most eligible.” How he wished it was true.
The waiter came and Lindsey stared at the menu. Something lovely like a nice sole fit his personal style to a T. Sadly, wolves liked meat, and Lindsey was no exception. “The filet, please. Very rare.”
Bruce ordered the salmon, and they chatted their way through dinner. Lindsey quietly sucked the blood out of his meat and stared at Bruce as the guy shared his experiences in grad school.
Animated, funny, very attractive. What was missing? Sad to say, danger. Sex. Bruce had all the appeal of a Jehovah’s Witness standing on his doorstep. In other words, perfe
ct.
They both declined dessert, blaming their boyish figures. Actually, Lindsey hated sweets and burned off calories like a wild animal. But still, the excuse fit his image.
Lindsey waggled a hand at their waiter. “Carlo, will you just put it on my tab, please, with 25 percent for you?”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Vanessen.”
“Excellent service, as always.”
Bruce put a hand on Lindsey’s arm. “Please, let me pay at least half of it.”
“Actually, the company pays all my club bills, so I won’t even see the impact on my food budget.” He laughed.
“Oh, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position. Can’t I pay for it?”
“Ta, darling. Ours is just a little private company with no shareholders to answer to, so no worries.”
“A little private billion-dollar company?”
“Four, actually. But we’re the smallest of the Vanessen enterprises.” He grinned. “Sorry, I’m just being a showoff because I’m proud of our company. Next time, I’ll take you to some steamy gay bar and pay the tab myself. Then you can thank me. For everything.”
The dimples flashed. “I like the sound of that. I’m so pleased there will be a next time.” He smiled again and fluttered his lashes a little. “But I hope this time doesn’t have to end.”
Oh really? Lindsey stared at the handsome and slightly boring man. No boiling blood or throbbing cock. Good. “Would you like to come to my place for, uh, drinks?”
Bruce smiled. “Drinks sound wonderful.”
Lindsey nodded. “I’m driving a Tesla sedan. I parked it myself.”
“I used the valet.”
Lindsey motioned to the maître d’. “Peter, will you arrange for Mr. Westerberg’s car right away, please?”
“Yes, sir. Immediately.”
Lindsey looked at Bruce. “I’ll pull in to the portico and you can follow me.”
Bruce covered Lindsey’s hand with his. “I think having drinks with you will be very exciting.”
As long as it wasn’t too exciting. “I must tell you, I won’t be able to ask you to stay. I have an early morning. Does that suit?”
“Perfectly. I’m still at my parents’ home for another week, and I’m not sure they’re ready for me to stay out all night, what with the kidnappings and everything.” He glanced at his watch. “But it’s still early, so we have lots of time.”
Lindsey didn’t need lots of time. He stood and Bruce followed.
They both collected coats from the checkroom. Early spring in Connecticut was wildly unpredictable in the weather department, and the night was downright chilly. They walked out the front entrance of the stately club. Old Connecticut society had started this club over a hundred years before and maintained its genteel exclusivity to the present.
Bruce wrapped his coat tighter and shivered. Hmm. Invitation? Lindsey, who pushed six foot two, circled Bruce’s shoulders with his arm. He was small for a werewolf but tall by human standards, so it made for a good snuggle position. Bruce took full advantage and rested his head on Lindsey’s shoulder. A couple of passing businessmen glanced up but, while the club was traditional, Connecticut politics and standards tended toward the liberal. Plus, Lindsey didn’t apologize for much.
A cold breeze blew. What? Lindsey raised his head and sniffed.
Bruce looked up. “Something the matter?”
“No, not at all.” He ran his hand rapidly up and down Bruce’s arm to try and warm him, but he looked over Bruce’s head. Where was that delicious smell coming from?
While a lot of his werewolf senses were muted, his ability to smell wasn’t too bad. Still, the scent usually had to be powerfully sensory. This smell was like—what? Sex. Musky, sweet, and delicious. He controlled the growl rumbling in his chest—barely. “Your car will be here any second. Let me run and grab the Tesla so I can pull around front.”
“Who-who will keep me warm?”
Lindsey glanced around. No one else was on the front porch for the moment, since the valet had run for Bruce’s car. He leaned over and planted a hot kiss on Bruce. His cock got frisky, but not from Bruce’s mouth. That awe-inspiring smell still seeped into Lindsey’s nose and dove straight for his testicles.
At first Bruce startled, but in one second he moaned and started climbing Lindsey like he would a tree. Maybe a bit more enthusiasm than was called for. Lindsey pulled back, and Bruce’s eyes opened slowly. Lindsey winked. “That should keep you warm for a few minutes.”
Bruce sighed. “Oh my. Sorry. I got a little carried away.”
“Darling, you can carry me away anytime.” He motioned toward the parking lot. “I’ll drive around.”
Lindsey bounded off the grand porch and down the steps to the gravel drive. He glanced around. Didn’t want to be obvious, but he had to know the source of that smell.
He followed his nose past the first row of cars, the second. Wait. There. In the third row of parked cars, three men stood talking under the streetlamp. Two were “suits” of the first order. Gray single-breasted, striped ties, short-cropped hair. But they were background noise. Holy blessed Hades. The other man reeked of danger of the very best kind. Tall—probably taller than Lindsey, with shoulders that strained the black leather jacket he wore. Tight, denim-encased, hard leg muscles. What would those feel like wrapped around his butt? The human’s hair looked like six different colors, all curls, and the mane had been restrained at his neck with some kind of band, but riots of tendrils escaped.
Lindsey’s hands were shaking and his cock danced a tango. A rumbling growl filled his chest. Dear God, he needed to get away. This was the very type of man he should avoid at all costs.
He walked toward the Tesla, but his feet dragged. They so wanted to run across the parking lot and let his body dive on that sex-drenched human. Fuck him into the gravel and then what—eat him? In Lindsey’s case, he feared that might mean more than a blow job.
He opened the door of the sedan. Prickles tingled up his neck. Slowly he turned and looked back. The man in the black leather jacket stared straight at him. That was one unreadable expression. Lindsey couldn’t look away. What color are those eyes?
One side of the man’s mouth cocked in the barest hint of a smile. Oh God, the smell. Like cinnamon and lust. Lindsey’s nostrils flared and quivered.
The human on the man’s left leaned into him, and Mr. Delicious’s eyes flicked to the guy, back to Lindsey for a second, then he shifted his attention and said something to his companion. Lindsey let out his breath.
Who was this man? He shouldn’t find out. He wouldn’t. With a slam, he closed the car door and started it quietly.
He drove the Tesla through the portico, and Bruce’s black Mercedes pulled up behind him.
On the short drive home, his penis bounced. Confused appendage. Yes, it was happy to be about to have sex with anyone. Hell, it had been weeks. At twenty-four, Lindsey wasn’t about to become a monk. But he kept smelling that scent from the black-leather guy. It seemed to have stuck on the inside of his nostrils, and every nerve ending tingled.
He pulled through the gates at his home and Bruce followed. Lindsey waved a hand for Bruce to park in the guest area off the circular drive while he drove on to the garage. Even for sex, he wouldn’t leave his baby out all night.
He parked, walked in through the house to the front door, and opened it for Bruce.
Bruce still wrapped his coat tightly. “Wow. What a great place.”
“I’ve been to your house once. It’s very lovely as well.” If a touch stuffy.
Bruce stared up at the contemporary paintings in the entry. “Not like this.”
“Come on up. I have some champagne, if that suits?”
“Down to the ground, as they say.”
Bruce followed Lindsey up the grand staircase to his suite of rooms. Bruce whispered, “Your parents don’t mind that I’m here?”
“What? Oh no, dear, I’m twenty-four. They like me to live at home, but the k
ey word is live. They’re quite happy for me to have a life.”
Bruce frowned. “Wish I could say the same.”
Lindsey opened the door and directed Bruce into the sitting room/bedroom combination. “You suggested that you’re leaving the nest soon.”
“Yes, I’m looking for a place.”
“Good. Then you’ll feel more at ease.”
Bruce stood in the middle of the room and turned. “Wow. This is beautiful.”
“Not too feminine for your taste?”
He grinned. “I probably wouldn’t pick it for me, but it suits you.”
The maids had already pulled the drapes over the two-story, floor-to-ceiling windows. Good. “I’ll get us drinks as promised.” Lindsey walked into the butler’s pantry off the sitting room, pulled out a bottle of champagne, and popped the cork.
Bruce’s voice came from the other room. “I don’t mind having drinks—too.” He laughed. “Mind if I explore?”
“No, go right ahead.” Good thing he’d hidden his wig and dress. He pulled down two flutes and filled each with champagne, then carried them back to the sitting room just as Bruce yelled, “Holy crap, is this your closet?” He came out through the closet door.
Lindsey chuckled and handed him the champagne. “What else would it be?”
“New York Fashion Week?”
“I do enjoy my styles, darling.” He sipped.
“I better up my fashion game.”
“No need. I drive only myself to sartorial splendor.”
“Well, you do succeed.”
“Come sit.” He walked to the long, comfortable couch in front of the fireplace. He cozied into the corner and Bruce sat beside him. Lindsey clinked their glasses. “To—”
“Us.”
“Yes.” He smiled. Sadly, “us” was an underused word in his vocabulary.
Bruce leaned on Lindsey’s shoulder and sipped champagne. “So, uh, do you have supplies?”
“My, my, we are eager.”
He shrugged and grinned. “Yeah. Sorry, don’t mean to be pushy or rush the romance.”
Lindsey took the glass from Bruce’s hand and set both flutes on the coffee table. “Darling, you can’t be too pushy for me.”