“Yeah, I remember having dinner with you, and you racing off toward the parking garage.” Pickaxes stabbed through her brain as she fought to remember the rest of the night. “I remember a black car pulling up to the curb and someone calling my name…and that’s it.” Everything else was blank. “How’d I get here?”
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions and I’ll tell you everything you need to know, but how about we do this downstairs.” He motioned toward the hall. “If you’re feeling up for it, I made coffee. And pancakes. Secret family recipe.”
The Adonis cooked, too?
That must’ve been how he swept all the ladies off their feet.
“I love pancakes. To be honest, I’d eat anything right now. I’m starving.”
“That’s normal,” he said, and backed into the hall.
Normal for what?
“There’s a robe on the back of the door if you’d feel more comfortable,” he said. “Meet me when you’re ready.”
Food was more important than a robe, so she followed him down.
The colors of his home were cool and calming, grays and light blues and off-whites. Plants were everywhere—to her surprise—leafy and green and lush. With the ocean and forest outside the lengthy windows, the décor inside made the place the ultimate beach home.
Except it was small. No bigger than her apartment.
Not what she expected from someone like Hayden, who made it a point to be over-the-top in every aspect of his life.
When they reached the first floor, Hayden disappeared into a room off the kitchen, and a faucet started. A few seconds later he reemerged, looking cool and refreshed. As she took a seat at a table near the window, he jumped into the role of chef seamlessly, flipping pancakes from a warming container onto a plate. He dropped a heaping plate of heaven in front of her, along with a steaming cup of coffee.
“If this is the treatment you give every woman who comes here, it’s no wonder you’re such a heartbreaker.” She stabbed a chunk of pancake and shoved it into her mouth. It was rich and warm and syrupy and—ZOMG, there were blueberries mixed in. Her favorite treat from childhood. “I bet every woman falls in love with you after this.”
It’d be easy to, if she’d let herself. Which she wouldn’t.
“You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here, actually,” he said, sliding back behind the island.
She nearly choked. “Really? Why’s that?”
“This is the only place that’s truly mine. The one place I can go to be alone…to be me. The real me, not the one everyone thinks they know. I bought it using my mother’s maiden name so no one even knows I own it. I’ve got the relaxing sound of the ocean with the privacy of the trees if I ever want to shift—” He cleared his throat again. Did he have allergies or something? “—gears,” he finished quickly. “If I ever want to shift gears and head off into the mountains to hike, it’s there.”
“Where is here, exactly?” she asked between bites.
“Moss Beach. About forty-five minutes south of the city.”
She’d never been in this area before, but from the current view, she’d say it was downright blissful. If this was the real Hayden, she had to admit she liked it better. And it fit him, too.
As she continued to quench the fire in her middle with the best pancakes she’d ever tasted, she said, “If this place is so special that you’ve never brought anyone before now, why me?”
“Under the circumstances, your place wasn’t safe. I couldn’t let you go back there.” He poured his own cup and sat across from her. “And I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there before, and I know you wouldn’t want to be in the city right now.”
Something wasn’t adding up. He was answering her questions, but in a roundabout way, without actually answering anything.
She did the mental math. Her place wasn’t safe. Unexplainable memory loss. Tender spots on her neck. Hayden bringing her to his private sanctuary because “he’d been there before.”
“What happened after you left me at the pier?” she blurted, chasing the pancake with steaming coffee. “Did I get hit over the head?”
He frowned as if he didn’t understand.
“It would explain the amnesia,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Isn’t that usually the cause when someone can’t remember something? Unless you roofied my drink at the restaurant.”
“I didn’t roofie you, and you don’t have amnesia.” He swallowed hard. “Your body is adjusting to the transition.”
“Transition?”
“Whatever happens, you need to know you’re safe here.” He leaned over the table, and for a second, Melina thought he was reaching for her. But then he clasped his hands together and sighed. “You’re the same person now that you were last week. Whatever happens, remember that. You’re Melina Rae, pain in my ass and columnist for Celeb Crush. You’re no different than you were yesterday.”
“Okkaaay. Do me a favor, would you?” Her heart raced as disorientation rooted deep. “Take a deep breath and spit out the truth. I don’t digest bullshit well, and I know when someone’s softening me up for the big blow. Why am I here? What’s with the big mystery and—”
“You were kidnapped by a pack of rogue wolves who’ve split from the San Francisco Wolf Pack,” he said on a single exhale. “They were trying to use you to get to me. I don’t know how you managed to do it, but you escaped. You only had one bite here”—he reached out for her neck, and then pulled back his hand— “but I had to bite you again to save your life. Good news is you’re alive and well. Bad news is the two bites will force you into transition and you’ll become one of us. I brought you here to walk you through the basics. Rest assured, you’ll be safer with me than anyone else.”
The clock on the kitchen wall ticked loudly, matching the pulsing of Melina’s heart.
“Wow, that’s quite the mouthful. No wonder you were dancing around it,” she said, swallowing down a hysteric laugh. “So let me see if I have the basics here. There are wolves roaming around the streets of San Francisco.”
“Not just wolves.” He nodded as if to drive the point home. “Werewolves.”
“And you’re one of them.”
He drank his coffee, eyeing her over the rim of his mug. When he set it down, he paused, wringing his hands together. “Yes,” he said, his voice shaking with uncertainty. “I’m a werewolf.”
Actually sounded as if he believed it to be true.
“But you’re not like the rogues who kidnapped me.” Her lips twitched. Damn, she loved teasing him. “You’re different.”
“I am, yes, but there are many others like me. The rogue wolves who kidnapped you are the minority. There aren’t many roaming around the city. Most of the werewolves are governed by a single Alpha and follow a set of pack rules. We’re not monsters. The werewolves in the city are…civilized.”
“Of course they are.” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t they be? I mean, how would werewolves be expected to make a decent living otherwise?” She giggled into a snort. “I suppose they could sell their fur online. There must be werewolf online retailers for that. I’d certainly buy a fur coat from a werewolf if they were open to selling it.”
“You’re taking this remarkably well,” he said, refilling her cup. “Better than any turned wolf I’ve ever met.”
And he was taking the joke far. He didn’t break from the role easily, and he spoke as if he wholeheartedly believed what he was saying. He must’ve been a comedian who was deeply rooted in his story.
That’d definitely be a new and interesting spin for her article…
Hayden Dean: Comedian Behind the Scenes.
“Keep the pancakes stackin’,” she said, swirling her fork around, “and tell me more about this secret society of werewolves. You said there are ‘turned’ wolves. Are there other varieties?
“Werewolves can be born or turned.” Straight-faced, Hayden heaped additional pancakes on her plate and continued on. “Born wolves are shifter
s born from werewolf parents, and usually experience their first shift during adolescence. They’re rumored to be stronger and faster, much like thoroughbreds in horse racing, though there are exceptions to every rule. Born wolves can shift at whim, and have more control over their primal reactions. Turned wolves, like you and me, are non-shifters who were bitten by werewolves. We can only shift during the full moon. We have control over it, but if we deny the urges too long, we start to go a little crazy. That last part is true for both turned and born wolves.”
“Boy, you’ve really thought this through.”
Her mind went wild with possibilities. Forget the comedic act. Hayden could sell this story to Hollywood. Become a writer and publish his paranormal work online.
Future headlines shifted and melted together in her head: From Comedian to Creative Genius…Hayden Dean’s Werewolf Tales.
She’d been searching for something different. A new slant to recreate his image. Who knew he’d have this kind of depth? Changing the public’s perception of him might’ve been easier than she thought.
“So because I was bitten twice,” she said, going along with the tale, “I’ll be able to shift into a wolf at the full moon?”
“That’s right. You were bitten on two pulse points, which kick-starts transition. One bite and you would’ve died. Two bites on the same pulse point, and you would’ve met the same fate. The wolf who attacked you bit your carotid artery, and I bit your radial.” He paused. “Melina, are you sure you’re okay?” His hand found hers. “Do you feel faint? Tired? Insanely hungry? That’s what you should be feeling right now.”
Seconds ago, she had felt faint and tired and hungry, but the moment his hand touched hers, everything disappeared. The confusion, the humor in his tale, and the wall she’d put up to defend herself against his charm evaporated with his touch.
His hand enveloped hers in a warm, comforting grip, yet there was raw, scorching heat in his palm. She shuddered long and deep, relishing the sizzle and desire flooding her middle. Hayden took back his hand, though the heat remained in her chest.
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his thumb in circles over his palm. “I guess that was a bit much. We can dive into that later.”
“Dive into what, exactly?”
“Our connection.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
Maybe this was how Hayden sweet-talked all the women in his little black book—not that she’d ever seen it. He was into role-playing…sexual fantasies about werewolves, to be specific.
Intriguing.
Under normal circumstances, she might’ve told Hayden to go fetch a bone and find another woman to play his little game. But nothing about the way her body was reacting to Hayden or his fantasy was normal. Her thighs quivered, her mouth watered, and her toes curled from the dirty thoughts saturating her mind.
She’d do anything to satiate the ravenous craving in her middle.
“Our connection…I like the sound of that.” She leaned over the table, and couldn’t help but brush her thighs together. She trembled deep inside, right down to the bone. If she wasn’t mistaken, he shuddered, too. “Tell me more.”
His Adam’s apple jumped and a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re handling this as if you’ve been prepped for it your entire life. But we need to slow down.” He opened the window next to the table and sat back in the chair as a cool draft of ocean breeze swept into the kitchen. “Your senses will be heightened during transition. Your system should fluctuate between hot and cold on a whim. You’ll have insatiable hunger for, well, everything, for at least a month. Sex, food, and violence, specifically. You’ll want it all. And you’ll have it.”
As he stretched his arms behind his head and leaned the chair on its two back legs, an image popped into her mind. Hayden in the chair, the way he was now. Her legs straddling his lap. Her tank top pulled down beneath her breasts. The breeze in her hair, cooling their bodies as they pounded against one another.
Did Hayden kick up the thermostat?
“Are you offering?” she asked, nearly panting the words.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Sex. Are you in or out?” She purred. “Please say both.”
“Good God.” His pupils widened. “You’re a vixen.”
Oh yeah, she had him right where she wanted him.
He could pretend to be a werewolf, vampire, ghost, witch, or the freaking Dalai Lama, if that’s what rocked his socks. All that mattered was getting up close and personal with the sex god on the other side of the table.
Flames of lust licked through Melina’s body, from the juncture between her legs to the crease in her breasts. She squirmed in her seat, going damp as her gaze honed on Hayden’s supple mouth.
If she didn’t kiss him, she’d burst through her skin.
The lights in the kitchen dimmed, the sounds of the ocean quieted, and the sugary-sweet smell of the pancakes dwindled. Suddenly and unexplainably, Melina picked up the chestnut highlights streaking through Hayden’s hair. His heart thumped in his chest, wild and hurried, and the smell of his aftershave, fresh and crisp, hit her nose.
Every nerve seemed heightened. Frayed and jittery. She’d never done drugs, but she’d bought Chanel at auction, and thought at the time, that the occasion probably came close to getting high. Nothing could have prepared her for this.
Nothing.
She was so in tune with him, paired to his frequency, linked to his every intake and exhale of breath. She wanted that mouth on her, sliding up her body, his tongue darting in and out of her warmth.
“Melina, you have to calm down,” Hayden said, breathing hard. “I can feel what’s going on inside you right now and I’m barely holding on to a thread here myself. Believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to give you what you need, but with the connection between us, we have to be careful not to—”
A shockwave of delicious ecstasy rocked Melina out of her seat, cutting his words short. All that mattered was the insatiable need clawing at her insides and the desire to lick his rock-hard body until her mouth went numb. She had to touch him and feel the pressure of his body over hers.
She’d never been this hot over a guy. Not ever.
If he wanted a werewolf fantasy, she’d give it to him.
Bow-chica.
Bow-wow.
Chapter Eighteen
Easy. Take it slow.
He’d meant to say the words, he really had. Really.
But the words “easy” and “slow” disappeared from his vocab. He’d been holding back from her since they arrived here last night, since he had to strip the blood-stained peacock dress from her glorious body. He hadn’t peeked. Other than what was necessary to dress her, of course. She was officially the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in booty shorts and a shimmery top.
It was a miracle and true testament to his willpower that he’d stayed away from her this long.
As she rounded the corner of the table, he could feel her desire—it fed his own. The scent of her arousal, fragrant and sweet, beckoned him closer. He wanted Melina like he’d never wanted anyone before.
He caught her in his arms and pulled her over his lap. Finally. He groaned as their lips met, and her arms flew around his neck. The kiss was fierce and wild, awakening his hunger to claim her as his own. As her tongue shot past his lips, every muscle in his body went on edge. He pulled her against him, closer, couldn’t be close enough. She clung to his shoulders and tilted her head to deepen the kiss.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you,” she said, flicking her tongue out over his lips. “But what I feel for you now is beyond want. It’s thirst—no that’s not it either.” She swirled her hips over his lap, searching out her own pleasure. “It’s starvation. I feel like I’ll die if I don’t get you inside me.”
Holy shit.
His cock twitched under his shorts, giving its own eager response. Hayden knew Melina would be craz
ed with need—newly transitioned werewolves usually were—but this was beyond his wildest fantasy. Hearing the naughty words escape those succulent lips nearly did him in. And he hadn’t even touched her flesh to flesh.
Yet.
She opened her mouth to say more, but he swallowed her words with a crushing kiss. He had to taste, consume, and pleasure her until she was dizzy and exhausted. Her shirt crept up. He grasped the bottom and fisted the springy material.
“Get it off,” she breathed.
Gone were the issues awaiting them on the horizon—the problems with the rogues could wait. All that mattered was getting her clothes off and burying himself deep, so deep, inside her.
With a swipe of his arm, the breakfast spread crashed to the floor. Dishes and mugs scattered over the tile, making a mess he didn’t give a rip about. Frantic with his own rising lust, he gripped Melina by the waist and lifted her onto the table. She clawed at his shoulders, lunged for his mouth, and moaned when their lips collided. Jerking her to the very edge of the table, he skated a greedy hand up her thigh and used it to coil her legs around his waist.
He devoured her, sweeping his tongue along hers with fevered strokes, as he peeled her shirt from her body. Her breasts were a staggering vision. Tight and round with pink temples he longed to tease with his tongue. He wanted to skate his hands over her body, study every soft curve and every delicious flavor on her skin.
As lust stirred in his belly, Hayden stripped out of his sweatshirt, his T-shirt, and then had the realization he’d recently finished a five-mile run. He should shower, clean up, and dab on some aftershave or cologne. He should pull back the sheets on the bed, light some candles, and turn on some mood music. At least that’s what he usually did. Wasn’t that the image of romance every woman had painted in her mind?
“I should clean up,” he said, pulling back. “Give me five.”
“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, her hands sliding up and down his bare back. Her eyes hazed with lust. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“But—”
It was all he got out before she snatched his hand and shoved it down the rim of her shorts. A moan erupted from his throat, low and raspy, as he plunged his fingers through her heat. He claimed her mouth, worked her sensitive flesh, and groaned as she began to tremble.
The Werewolf Wears Prada (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) Page 13