A Werewolf in Manhattan

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

She had an epiphany. God, she should have figured it out earlier. Aidan wasn’t all that different from Theo, the nineteen-year-old kid who’d e-mailed her. Aidan had read her sex scenes and was convinced she was hot stuff in bed.

  If only that were true. She was hardly a virgin, but she’d never experienced the kind of mindless ecstasy she wrote about. She wasn’t even positive it existed in the real world. She could tell him that she used her imagination for the sex in the books, too, but he might not believe her. He was a man carried away by a fantasy. A fantasy she’d created.

  But he had sense enough to know that they came from completely different worlds, and once the sex was over, whether it lived up to his expectations or not, they’d have nothing much in common. She wouldn’t feel at home in his world, and he wouldn’t want to scale down his lifestyle to fit into hers.

  Correction—he wouldn’t scale down his lifestyle, as evidenced by the fact they’d flown to Chicago first-class. True, he’d given up the corporate jet, but now he was in Chicago, a city full of luxury options. As she thought about that, she wondered whether he’d made any other changes.

  “I understand the media escort was canceled,” she said. “Did you book a rental car?”

  “A car and driver will meet us at the airport and take us wherever we need to go.”

  She should have guessed that he wouldn’t be driving her around in a subcompact from Hertz. “I forgot to ask about your accommodations while we’re here. Were you able to get a room at the hotel?”

  He looked wary. “We’ll be at the Palmer House instead.”

  She should have guessed that, too. The Palmer House was historic and would appeal to old money. “The penthouse?”

  “It was available.”

  “I’ll just bet it was.” She’d heard about it—eleven rooms of luxury—but had never expected to see it in person.

  “You can consider it research.”

  “Don’t worry, Aidan. That’s exactly what I’ll do.” No doubt about it, she’d be traveling in the pumpkin coach this weekend. She might as well relax and enjoy the ride.

  Chapter 7

  Aidan switched on his phone while they were still on the plane and called the car service. While the flight attendant helped Emma with her coat, he gave the driver quick instructions.

  Whatever it took, he wanted a single serving of chocolate cake from one of Chicago’s best bakeries to be waiting in the town car by the time he and Emma reached it. Yes, he was showing off, and yes, he should cut it out. But he couldn’t resist making this happen. He ended the call right as Emma turned around.

  “Just checking to make sure the car service is on time,” he said.

  “They wouldn’t dare be late, would they?”

  He had to smile. She was beginning to get the picture. The cake would blow her away. “No, but it doesn’t hurt to give them a nudge.”

  Getting off the plane took a while, and Aidan was grateful because the cake wasn’t going to be an easy trick. He expected one person to be waiting with a sign at the end of the concourse and another to be running down the cake request. In any event, a chauffeur holding a sign printed with the name WALLACE waited as they left the secure area of O’Hare.

  Aidan approached the man, who was a short, compact guy of about forty-five. He wore a navy blazer and no hat, but his most distinguishing feature was a long handlebar mustache.

  None of the werewolves Aidan knew sported facial hair. They usually got enough of that when they shifted. Aidan didn’t pick up any werewolf vibes from the chauffeur, so apparently Aidan’s secretary had gone outside the Were community for this service.

  Fortunately, Aidan hadn’t felt the presence of any Weres at all since getting off the plane. That meant Theo hadn’t somehow found out Emma’s flight information, which was a good thing. Maybe they’d be lucky and Theo wouldn’t show up all weekend, but Aidan doubted that.

  He approached the chauffeur and held out his hand. “I’m Aidan Wallace.”

  The chauffeur gave him a firm handshake. “Barry Dinsmore. Welcome to Chicago, Mr. Wallace.” He glanced over at Emma. “Ma’am, I’ll take your carry-on.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather keep it.” Emma clutched the handle of her rolling computer case as if it contained the secrets of the ages. Aidan had noticed her typing up a story idea on the plane, so in a way, the computer could be more valuable to her than gold.

  He hoisted his computer case strap over his shoulder. “Then we’re off.”

  “Wait.” Emma stood rooted to the floor in the middle of the stream of passengers. “I have checked baggage.”

  “Just give Barry your claim-check. Someone will take care of it.”

  “Someone? But I don’t ...” She looked uncertain.

  “It’ll be fine, Emma. I promise you’ll get your luggage.” He flicked a glance in the chauffeur’s direction. “You can handle that, right?”

  “Absolutely, sir. All I need is the claim-check.”

  “Okay, although this seems very weird.” Emma rummaged through her purse and produced her ticket envelope with the claim-check stapled to it. “You can’t miss which one is mine. At least I don’t think you can. It’s orange, but I’ve written my name on the luggage tag in case there are two orange suitcases.”

  “Orange. Got it.”

  “And it’s about so big.” She measured out the size with her hands. “Oh, and I have a lime green ribbon tied on the handle to make it even easier to identify.”

  Aidan tried not to shudder. This was why he’d wanted to take the corporate jet, so they wouldn’t be dealing with the horrors of baggage claim and orange suitcases with green ribbons tied on the handle. Emma would no doubt call him a snob for those thoughts, so he kept them to himself.

  “I’ll remember that, ma’am,” the chauffeur said. “First I’ll settle you both in the car, and then I’ll fetch your luggage. If you’ll follow me.”

  Emma turned to Aidan as they trailed after the chauffeur. “What about you? Don’t you have luggage?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Probably not, but you might as well tell me. Are you buying a new wardrobe when we get to the hotel?”

  “No. I had my clothes delivered to the penthouse last night. They’re already hanging in the closet.”

  “Of course they are.” She threw up both hands. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Give yourself time.” Aidan was struggling not to laugh. “You’ll get the hang of this.”

  “No, I won’t. I’ll never get the hang of how the other half lives. It’s crazy.”

  “Here’s the thing, Emma. By traveling with me, you’ll be safer than you would be if you traveled by yourself. That’s part of the security service. The resources of Wallace Enterprises will create a protective barrier around you while you’re in Chicago, where this Theo character lives.”

  “All this for a nineteen-year-old. If he knew, he’d be so flattered.”

  “Trust me. He’ll know. One of the tactics will be letting him think you’re engaged to me.”

  “Hey! You can’t just spring something like that on me, Aidan. I should have something to say about it, don’t you think?”

  “If we were really engaged, you’d have everything to say about it. But this is a security measure that has nothing to do with reality. All you have to do is go along with me on it.”

  She walked in silence beside him, her back rigid.

  “Emma? Will you roll with this concept or not?”

  “You could have warned me. How long have you been planning to handle the weekend this way?”

  He hesitated to tell her that he’d come up with the idea before they’d left New York. He’d been trying to figure out how to tell her and had hoped he could do it over cake.

  “Not long,” he said. “Until just recently, I was still working out the details.”

  “How recently?”

  “This morning on the way to the airport.”

  She stopped so quickly a man behind
her almost ran over her. He muttered curses as he swerved around them. “Are you telling me you’re making this up as you go along?”

  “No! Look, I haven’t had a lot of time to work on the strategy, and I’m refining it as ideas come to me. At first I thought being your media escort would be the perfect cover, but then I realized Theo wouldn’t be put off by a media escort. A fiancé, though, is another story.”

  “As I’ve said before, Aidan, I don’t need all this fire-power. Chances are we won’t see Theo at all, but if I’m wrong and he shows up at the autograph table with a lewd suggestion, I’ll tell him to get lost. That should take care of it.”

  Barry turned around with a questioning glance. “Mr. Wallace? Will you and Ms. Gavin be coming with me, then?”

  “Yes.” Aidan cupped Emma’s elbow and guided her toward the exit. Touching her at all sent shivers of awareness through his system, but they needed to get moving. “We’ll talk more in the car.”

  She allowed herself to be hustled along. “We can do that, but I really don’t like the fake engagement idea. I realize authors aren’t front-page news, but if there’s even the slightest chance word could get back to my mother, then—”

  “Does she know about the e-mails?”

  “No, and I don’t want her to. She has a tendency to be overprotective as it is. When I first moved out of her apartment and into my loft, she checked on me twice a day. That’s tapered off some, but if she thinks I have some cyberstalker on my trail, she’ll camp out in my living room for the duration. I love her to death, but she could make my life a living hell.”

  Aidan wondered what Betty Gavin would do if she discovered her daughter was about to spend the weekend at the Palmer House with a werewolf. “So that means she doesn’t know I tagged along for your Chicago leg of the book tour, either?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Just asking.” He broke the connection between them so they could each navigate the revolving door leading outside.

  “I didn’t tell her I broke up with Doug, either. The combination of that announcement and telling her I need you as a bodyguard on this trip would make her assume I got rid of Doug because you and I are lovers. What a disaster that would be.”

  “Oh?” That pricked his ego more than a little.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do.” He handed Barry his computer case, and the chauffeur loaded it and Emma’s case into the front seat of the town car.

  “I’m just saying that it would be bad enough if she thought we were lovers when we’re not. If she hears through the grapevine that we’re engaged when we’re not—well, I can’t even imagine the fallout.”

  “I can see the problem.” And he did. What had seemed like a brilliant plan during the plane ride now looked less than brilliant considering how Emma’s mother might react if she accidentally heard about any of this. Aidan understood the tricky nature of family dynamics. The Wallace pack had its share of issues.

  Barry held open the back door of the town car and helped Emma inside. Aidan followed her in and noted the interior of the car smelled like chocolate. This trip was becoming more complicated by the minute, so he hoped that at least the cake would be good.

  “I can’t believe this.” Emma stared at the silver tray Barry settled on her lap. In the center sat a large wedge of chocolate cake with dark chocolate frosting—topside up, no less—on a crystal plate. At least it looked like crystal. Considering how the trip had gone so far, she’d be willing to bet it was. An ornate silver fork lay on a linen napkin beside the plate.

  “Bon appétit,” Barry said as he closed the back door. “I’ll be right back with your luggage.”

  “That won’t work.” She glanced over at Aidan. “He can’t leave the car parked here while he gets the luggage. We’ll be ticketed.”

  “Trust me.We won’t be ticketed.”

  “What do you mean? Of course we will! Or worse yet, we’ll be hooked up to a tow truck and ...” She trailed off as Aidan simply smiled at her. “Did you bribe someone?”

  “Not necessary. Barry propped the sign with the Wallace name on it in the front window.”

  She looked at the front windshield, and sure enough, that placard was leaning against it. “So what, the Wallaces have diplomatic immunity or something?”

  “Or something. Aren’t you going to eat your cake?”

  She gazed at the piece of cake, which had those clever curls of shaved chocolate on the top layer of frosting and one perfect red strawberry nestled in the curls. A strawberry in February.

  Her tummy growled. “Yes, I’m going to eat this cake before Barry gets back, so I won’t end up with it in my lap when he starts going eighty on the Outer Drive.”

  “He won’t go eighty.”

  “Sure he will.” She picked up the fork and unfolded the napkin in the little strip of her lap that wasn’t covered by the tray. “I’m sure nobody will ticket him for speeding, either. I’m surprised there’s not a little Wallace family flag suction-cupped to the car.”

  “There is.”

  “No way. Where?”

  “It’s on the back fender. I guess you missed seeing it when we got in.”

  “I most certainly did.” Emma picked up the heavy silver tray and handed it to him. “Hold this. I have to see the flag.”

  Aidan obligingly took the tray while she unbuckled her shoulder harness and turned around so she could get on her knees and peer out the back window. “I’ll be damned.” She studied the purple flag, which was suitably small and tasteful at about nine square inches. Because there was no breeze, she couldn’t see the crest clearly, but it was definitely a family crest.

  “What’s on it, a pile of gold bullion?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked over at him. “That was snarky, and you don’t deserve snarky when you went to all the trouble of getting me that cake.”

  “Which I’m patiently holding for you. And Barry will be back any minute.”

  “You’re right.” She slid back down to her seat and re-fastened the shoulder harness. “Thanks for holding my cake.” She took the tray and felt the brush of his fingers against hers. Zing. She was aware of him all over again. But she’d have to make do with cake.

  She picked up the ornate fork, which looked as if it came out of an antique set of silverware. “Eating in front of you feels very rude.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not a chocoholic.”

  She sliced down through the moist layers. “Are you implying that I am?”

  “You sure reacted like one when I mentioned rich chocolate cake.”

  “Then I might as well confess. Coffee and chocolate are my two favorite vices.” She took the first bite and moaned happily.

  “Good?”

  “Mmm.” She savored the taste and decided it might be the best chocolate cake she’d ever had in her life.

  “Rich?”

  That made her laugh. “Yes, and moist and decadent, too. It’s a crime to eat a dessert like this fast. A person should take her time and draw out the pleasure. I hate to just wolf it down.”

  He glanced out the window, as if searching the sidewalk for Barry and her suitcase. “Then don’t. Even if Barry does eighty, we won’t get to the interview for a while.”

  “Yes, but I’d like to get to the interview without chocolate smeared all over myself.”

  Aidan made a funny little noise in the back of his throat.

  She glanced over at him. “Is anything wrong? Are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine.”

  But he didn’t look fine to her. He looked sort of feverish. And the backs of his hands—had they always been that hairy? Maybe she’d been so fixated on the watch she hadn’t noticed. He was a manly guy who probably had lots of healthy hair on his chest and his legs. He might even have hair on his back, although she hoped not. That was a turn off.

  As if that mattered. She wasn’t going to be seeing his naked back, so whethe
r he had hair growing there was a moot point.

  About that time, Barry arrived pulling her orange suitcase. When she’d bought it, she hadn’t been worried about whether the suitcase was stylish. Her goal was to own a suitcase that didn’t look like every other one circling the belt in baggage claim.

  She’d succeeded in that goal. Neon orange with little pink hearts on it, the suitcase could put your eyes out. She hadn’t wanted to mention the little pink hearts when she’d described the suitcase to Barry earlier, and after all, the predominant color was orange. Very orange.

  “Your luggage is here,” Aidan said.

  “Kind of hard to miss seeing that.” She took another big bite of cake. “I’m afraid I left my Louis Vuitton at home.”

  He turned to her and smiled. Fortunately, his eyes had lost that feverish look. “You don’t have any Louis Vuitton.”

  “No, but I had to say that and see if you were paying attention.” As Barry loaded her suitcase in the trunk, she scarfed down some more cake. It was a darned shame to gobble a cake this fine, but she didn’t trust herself not to make a mess.

  Barry climbed behind the wheel. “All set. Ready to roll back there?”

  “I still have cake, Barry. If you can avoid quick lane changes while I’m finishing it, I’d be most appreciative.”

  “I’ll do my best, Ms. Gavin.” He pulled away from the curb slowly.

  “Barry, are you going to be our driver for the entire weekend?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “Then please call me Emma. I have a feeling we’ll be old friends by Sunday.”

  Barry’s smile was reflected in the rearview mirror. “That would be nice. I’ve only met a couple of live authors before.”

  “Met any dead ones?”

  Barry chuckled. “Good comeback. No, I haven’t met any dead ones, but I have a friend down in New Orleans who swears he has.”

  “I like New Orleans. It’s a great town.” She looked over at Aidan, thinking to include him in the conversation she’d started with Barry. “Have you been there?” She took another good-sized bite of cake.

  “No. Wallace Enterprises contributed quite a bit to the rebuilding effort after Hurricane Katrina, but I’ve never been there.”