A Werewolf in Manhattan

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  The Wallaces in action provided drama to burn. Once the runways were cleared, the Wallace corporate Learjet was dispatched from New York to collect Emma and Aidan. By midafternoon they were in Barry’s town car, flying the Wallace flag on the way to the airport. Emma smiled grimly to herself when she thought about that flag. No wonder it had wolves on it.

  Naturally, the town car took them straight out onto the tarmac, where the jet waited, stairs lowered. A broad-shouldered man in a topcoat stood beside the steps, his blond hair tossed by the winter wind. Emma recognized Roarke, who’d probably been sent to make sure Emma got on the plane.

  Aidan kept telling her she was a guest, not a prisoner, but Roarke’s forbidding expression indicated otherwise. She kept up her courage by thinking of this as more research. She tried to imagine what it would be like to live this way all the time, whisked around in town cars and private jets before being transported to a secret multimillion-dollar mansion.

  The werewolves in her books were loyal, decent creatures loaded with sex appeal, but it hadn’t occurred to her to give them piles of money. She had to admit that a wealthy werewolf added a whole other dimension to the fantasy.

  Thinking about that, she glanced at Aidan before Barry helped her out of the town car. “Got your watch?”

  He held up his wrist to display it in all its glory.

  She nodded. “Just checking that you didn’t leave it on the dresser. I figure we’re in enough trouble without adding a lost watch that cost more than an Ivy League education.”

  Aidan reached over and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “If that’s true, then what’s with Roarke? I’ve seen friendlier-looking guys on America’s Most Wanted.”

  “That’s his game face. He thinks it makes him look older and scarier.”

  “Well, he’s right. It does.” Emma climbed out of the car and tightened the belt on her trench coat. The wind was biting cold. If she’d been traveling commercial, she’d walk through a cozy Jetway that would protect her from the wind on the way to the plane.

  But before she took her first step, Aidan was beside her.

  “Damn, it’s cold.” He put a sheltering arm around her shoulders. “Stay close.”

  Okay, so maybe a Jetway wasn’t so great, after all. Being tucked in beside a warm hunk like Aidan had definite advantages.

  When they reached the steps, Roarke’s gaze remained chilly. He inclined his head. “Aidan. Emma.”

  Whoa. Emma wondered whether this would be her reception from everyone in the werewolf community. If so, she could be in for a tough few days.

  But instead of responding in kind, Aidan laughed. “You’re enjoying the hell out of this, aren’t you, bro?”

  Roarke’s mouth was set in a grim line as he stared at Aidan. “Yep.” Then his expression began to shift, until a wide grin transformed his handsome face. “It’s not every day I get to say, I told you so, to the big brother who always thinks he knows best.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable in that smug suit you’re wearing, Roarke. I intend to pull this one out of the fire.”

  “That I have to see, considering you’re in some serious shit. Now if we’re finished with verbal sparring, could we go inside? I’ve been out here doing the disapproval stance long enough to freeze my privates.”

  The tension in Emma’s stomach eased a little. Yes, she was about to visit a pack of werewolves, but in the final analysis, they were a family, with the normal dynamics of any family. As the oldest, Aidan was expected to do the right thing.

  When he screwed up, his brother grabbed the chance to gloat. If Aidan’s mother and father could be typical parents, Emma might not feel so out of place, after all. Then again, she wasn’t sure how typical the family could be when they all had the ability to shift into wolf form and race around in the woods.

  As she climbed the steps, she shivered.

  “You’ll be warm in a minute,” Aidan said as he climbed the steps behind her.

  “I know.” But her shivers had less to do with the cold wind and more to do with anticipation of what she’d find at the Wallace estate. And whether they intended to ever let her leave.

  Aidan could sense Emma’s nervousness despite her attempts to appear calm and in control. She took great interest in the plane’s white leather seats, which swiveled, reclined, and even folded flat for sleeping.

  Or ... they could be folded flat for other, more interesting activities. Aidan shocked himself by having X-rated thoughts about Emma naked at thirty thousand feet. He’d helped her off with her coat once they’d boarded, and for the first time today, he had the leisure to admire the fit of her soft white sweater and black slacks.

  He liked the way she looked in them, but he’d love the way she looked out of them. It wouldn’t be happening, even though they had a certain amount of privacy. Normally a flight attendant traveled with the jet, but apparently Roarke hadn’t thought it necessary for this trip.

  Roarke himself had immediately headed for the cockpit, obviously hoping to take the controls on the way home. Theoretically, Aidan and Emma were alone in the cabin, but that didn’t mean they could strip and have at it. In fact, sex with Emma might be a luxury he would never enjoy again, and he had to come to grips with that.

  In the next day or two, he needed to convince his parents that Emma could be placed on something resembling parole, where she’d be allowed the freedom to do her work and see her mother as she’d requested. Aidan had to assure his mother and father that Emma could be trusted not to compromise the pack. If his parents thought lust was clouding his judgment, they’d never go along with his recommendations.

  “I can see why you like flying this way.” Emma chose a seat and strapped herself in. “Even if you do have to duck your head when you move around in here.”

  “There’s still more of a feeling of space.” He chose the seat facing her and fastened his seat belt. A Lucite pedestal table separated them, but his knees came very close to touching hers. “I like space around me.”

  She settled back into the seat. “Is that a personal preference or a werewolf trait?”

  “Both, but the need seems to be stronger in me than most Weres. Roarke, for instance, drives a sports car and loves the cockpit of this plane. I’d hate both things. His tolerance for small spaces is obviously greater than mine.”

  “In other words, no two werewolves are created alike,” she said with a smile.

  “No.” That smile of hers could be his undoing. Now that he’d kissed her so thoroughly and often, her smile made him want to do it again.

  If he could kiss her now, he wouldn’t mind the dreaded takeoff so much. But they both needed to be belted in, and besides, kissing her would only begin a process he couldn’t finish, which might initiate a shift. He wasn’t about to give Roarke the satisfaction of witnessing an embarrassing episode like that.

  So he’d white-knuckle the takeoff. As the plane taxied down the runway and the familiar panic clawed at his insides, he closed his eyes and gripped the armrests.

  Then her scent enveloped him, and his eyes snapped open. She’d settled on his lap. “Emma, you should be—”

  “Right here. You hate the takeoff, and I can help. There’s no bossy flight attendant to make me buckle up, so why not?”

  He wrapped both arms around her because he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll tell you why not.” He gazed at her. “You sitting on my lap is a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “I think we have more control than that.”

  “I’m not sure. I’d no sooner demonstrated to you how the seats fold flat than I pictured you naked on one.”

  Her lips curved in a saucy smile. “So, I have totally corrupted you.”

  “’Fraid so.” He couldn’t resist that mouth, so he cupped her head and pulled her lips down to meet his. Ah. Kissing was one of the things he loved most about his human form. The missionary position was another. Call him sentimental, but he liked looki
ng into his partner’s eyes during sex. He specifically liked looking into Emma’s eyes.

  Kissing her sucked the panic right out of him and replaced it with good old-fashioned desire. His fear of flying had disappeared, but now he had another problem. The backs of his hands were starting to itch, and his tailbone ached. This was not good at thirty thousand feet.

  He’d never shifted midair, and he wasn’t about to now. But how he’d avoid doing so was somewhat of a challenge. If Emma had worn a skirt instead of slacks, they might have quietly accomplished the deed, but he didn’t relish having either of them take off articles of clothing with Roarke and the pilot not far away.

  Emma lifted her mouth from his. “I can feel your teeth growing.”

  “That would be a sign that we have a slight problem.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Emma, I’m not sure—”

  “Is anybody ever sure of anything?” Climbing out of his lap, she crawled under the Lucite table. “That’s the nature of life, isn’t it? Uncertainty.”

  “I’m certain this is a really bad idea.” He knew exactly what she had in mind, and while he was wildly excited at the prospect, he could think of a thousand ways it could backfire.

  “It’s a great idea. You’re facing the cockpit, so you can warn me if anyone shows up, but we’re still climbing, so there’s no chance either of those guys will wander back until we reach altitude.”

  “You must have flown a lot if you know these things.”

  “I have, but never in a Learjet. And never while giving someone a blowjob.” She unzipped his slacks.

  His heart hammered against his ribs. “I should tell you to stop.”

  “If I stop, you grow fur. Am I right?”

  “Yes, damn it.”

  “Then relax and leave the driving to me.” She freed his penis and drew it into her mouth.

  His eyes rolled back in his head. The vibration of the plane combined with her attention to his cock produced a surreal buzz of excitement that traveled from his toes to the roots of his hair. On the plus side, the backs of his hands didn’t itch anymore. On the other plus side, he’d found a way to enjoy the experience of flight.

  Contrary to her seductively lazy method the previous night, she got right down to business. He understood. She had limited time before the plane leveled off and someone, either the pilot or Roarke, might wander back to the cabin for a chat.

  Between the novelty of the experience and Emma’s dedication to her task, Aidan knew he wouldn’t last long anyway. Then he realized that the Lucite table allowed him to view exactly what was going on, and the visual of Emma with her sweet mouth working his dick put him over the top. Somehow he clenched his jaw tight enough to muffle his groan of pleasure when he came.

  His acute hearing picked up the sound of her soft swallow. If he hadn’t pledged his honor and his life to her before, he would have done it then as she carefully adjusted his briefs and closed his zipper. As it was, he could pledge only his undying gratitude.

  The woman had heart and spirit. His werewolf soul rejoiced in that. In the natural order of things, Emma would mate with her own kind and Aidan would do the same. But his entire being rebelled at the thought.

  Easing out from under the table, she stood and balanced in the aisle as the plane swooped upward.

  “Emma, that was ...”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “Wasn’t it?”

  He took in her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Did you come?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. One of those spontaneous things because I was so excited for you.” She stretched. “I’m not nearly as tense and worried about meeting your parents.” She returned to her seat and buckled herself in.

  “Don’t worry about my parents.” He was worried enough for both of them.

  “You could help by telling me something about them. I’ve heard a little about your dad, but I know nothing about your mom. What’s she like?”

  “Fierce.” Her look of dismay had him scrambling to modify that word. “I mean fiercely protective.” No, that wasn’t any better. “She’s very loving,” he said at last, hoping that would help.

  “I’m sure she is”—Emma looked pale, but she met his gaze—“to those she cares about.”

  Aidan wanted his mother to care about Emma, but that might be a tall order. Emma held the key to their destruction, and in addition to that, she was a human. She’d also been the catalyst that had ended any hope that he’d marry Nadia. He wondered whether that news had filtered over to the Wallace camp yet.

  “Let’s back up,” Emma said. “I’m a visual person, and I need a mental picture. Tell me your mom’s name and what she looks like.”

  “Her name’s Fiona, and she has dark hair that’s short and curly. In human form she’s five-seven, and I think she looks fine, but she’s always complaining that she needs to lose ten pounds.”

  “Do werewolves go gray?”

  “Sometimes, when we’re very old. My mom’s forty-seven, and she doesn’t have a single gray hair.”

  Emma sighed. “So much to learn. I had my werewolves going gray like people do, but that’s wrong.”

  “Maybe it’s better if your books have a few mistakes in them.” Aidan’s mind leaped ahead. Limited freedom for Emma would mean she could keep publishing, but the Were community might think of her as a time bomb ready to go off at any moment. If her books were less accurate, that might help alleviate the concern.

  “But if I know how the world actually functions, I’ll want to write it that way.”

  Aidan blew out a breath. “One of your conditions was continuing with your writing career, right?”

  “Absolutely. If the werewolf community wants to muzzle me, you might as well put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.”

  “What’s your definition of muzzling?”

  “Just what you’d think. Preventing me from writing, obviously, but censoring what I write would be almost as bad.”

  Aidan’s head began to ache. If he could convince his parents to allow Emma to continue her career, he could almost guarantee that his father would demand to read every word she wrote before she sent it to her publisher.

  “You think your parents are going to want censorship privileges, don’t you?”

  Leaning both forearms on the table, he met her gaze. “Yes.”

  “Haven’t they ever heard of the First Amendment?”

  “They answer to a law older than the Bill of Rights, Emma. That document was created for humans. You’re not dealing with humans.”

  “I understand that, but if you think I’m going to be intimidated into giving up my right to free expression, you’ve misjudged me, Aidan.”

  He didn’t think for a minute he’d misjudged her. He’d always known she was an independent, headstrong woman. Despite being alone in the midst of an alien population, she planned to stick up for herself and her Constitutional rights, even if no one around her gave a flip for those things. He didn’t look forward to mediating the coming confrontation between Emma Gavin and his parents.

  Chapter 24

  Emma talked a good game, but maintaining a courageous front became increasingly difficult after the Learjet landed and an imposing black SUV picked them up for the trip to the Wallace estate.

  She recognized Ralph, Aidan’s driver, who greeted her with a reserved smile. He must have known she was now considered a bona fide security risk, to be handled with care. Roarke took the front passenger seat while Aidan and Emma took the back.

  Once Emma’s orange suitcase and laptop were stowed and they were on the highway headed north, she had the uneasy feeling this could be the road of no return. Aidan had promised her that wouldn’t be the case, but she still suffered an attack of nerves.

  Gathering research was the only antidote she could think of, so she tapped the window next to her. “Is this bulletproof?”

  Aidan’s eyebrows lifted. “Why? Are you worried about getting shot?”

  “No
. I’ve never been in a bulletproof car before, and if any vehicle ever looked like it should be bulletproof, this thing does. So I’m asking. For research.”

  “Yes, it’s bulletproof,” Aidan said. “It’s a precaution many wealthy people take, not because we expect to be shot, but to foil kidnappers.”

  “Oh.” Emma thought about that for a while. “I pity the unsuspecting kidnapper who snatched one of you guys. Panic City.”

  “It’s really more for the kids.”

  “Right. Because they can’t shift.” She leaned forward. “Ralph, are you trained in defensive driving?”

  “Yes.” Ralph glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “All the drivers are.”

  “Wow. I’d love to see you in action.”

  “When we get on the two-lane, I could show you some moves.”

  “Or not.” Roarke sent the driver a quelling glance.

  Ralph shrugged. “Or not.”

  Roarke turned in his seat and glanced back at Emma. “Here’s a tip for when you meet the ’rents, Emma. You might want to put a lid on the curious questions.”

  “But—”

  “Roarke has a point,” Aidan said. “The goal is to calm their fears that you’re going to run out and tell everything you know to the Enquirer.”

  Along with her nerves, Emma’s patience was being stretched. “That would be the act of a terminally stupid person. The humans would accuse me of either being crazy or on drugs, and the Weres would be howling for my blood. Why would I want to risk bringing all that down on myself?”

  “That sounds like a logical argument,” Roarke said, “but if you’d somehow collected evidence, you might convince somebody to listen, and the rodeo would begin. Which reminds me. Aidan, do you have her BlackBerry?”

  Emma clutched her purse to her chest. “No, he doesn’t, and he’s not getting it.” That cell phone was her emergency weapon, a way to contact the outside world and arrange for her escape if the Wallaces tried to keep her at the estate.

  Roarke glanced at his brother. “She’s gotta give it up.”