by Anne Marsh
“You brought a date.” Riley beams and throws her arms around me in an ambush hug.
I’m no hugger, but I force myself to relax and hug the other woman back. Why not try something new? “We’re—”
Yeah. What are we? Coworkers of a sort. Possibly interested, although I’ve done my best to ignore that possibility. Even if I hadn’t possibly entered into a Vegas quickie marriage, Luc and I still have a relationship we need to resolve before I start a new one.
Cruz steps into the breach easily. “Gianna here hasn’t decided yet if she’s going to give me the time of day. We’re not dating.”
Riley smacks his shoulder lightly. “But you could be. You’re thinking about it. Tell me you’re thinking about it.”
Humor lights up the eyes of Riley’s husband, making him seem more approachable. “Riley here believes that love is contagious.”
Riley mock scowls at her new husband. “You make feeling something sound like a disease.”
Dag’s answer is to sweep his bride up into his arms for a long kiss. With the meet and greet clearly over, I let Cruz tug me in the direction of the bar set up along the riverbank. He shoots me a rueful grin. “Should I be apologizin’?”
Okay. So I’ve tried on the fantasy of dating Cruz. He could be my new man. My treat to myself for finally taking care of my not-quite-marriage. Once I resolve this mess with Luc, I just might be interested.
“You want to see me?” I prefer being specific.
Cruz hands me a flute of champagne, his hand settling on the small of my back. “I’d love to get to know you better, boo. You tell me when and where.”
The low growl behind us makes me choke on the first bubbly swallow. Maybe I’m jumpy and paranoid after my run-in with the Baton Rouge wolves, but the noise sounds angry and terribly wolf-like.
Someone curses and tension sweeps noticeably through the assembled guests. As if they’ve all looked out the windows of their trailers only to spot the purple-black clouds of a tornado barreling down on them, that sound heralds nothing good. “Ah, hell. What’s got his back up?”
He?
A hard arm slides around my waist and draws me back against a familiar chest. Luc’s scent surrounds me. “She’s not available.”
Cruz stills. Danger radiates off him, his body shooting to DEFCON 3. “She tell you that?”
Right. Just what I need. Two dumbass males beating their chests. I expected better from Cruz, almost as much as Luc’s possessiveness surprises me. He left me alone for ten years, and that absence hardly qualifies him as having a prior claim. “Um. Excuse me. She has a voice.”
The wedding guests all turn to watch, forming a loose circle around us. Riley should sell tickets—she’d make more than enough to fund a honeymoon in the South Pacific.
“It’s not like I asked him if he wanted to fuck me right here on the floor,” I continue.
Collectively the guests freeze. Oops. I’ve put my foot in it. Their faces ping-pong between Luc and Cruz as if in expectation of a bloodbath. What the hell is it with people living out in the bayou?
“That’s where you draw the line?” Luc drawls while Cruz narrows his eyes as if he’s putting two and two together and doesn’t like the math at all. Too bad, so sad. I warned him that my life is complicated—and we’re not dating. In all truth, we barely know each other.
I pull hard, and this time, Luc lets me put a few inches of space between our bodies. Mighty generous of him, but I’ll teach him manners later. “What makes you think I’ve drawn a line?”
“Shug, you always have a line.”
Cruz decides it’s time to insert himself into our conversation. Being a wiser man than Luc, he starts with me. “You know this Breaux?”
“Is that a problem?” Is there a difference between Breauxs? And just how many of them are there?
“Gianna damn sure knows me,” Luc growls, angling his body between me and Cruz. The possessive move pisses me off more. Unfortunately my heels and the meadow aren’t on speaking terms. When I try to step away, my foot wobbles, the heel sinking deep into the ground.
“Gianna?” I can hear the concern in Cruz’s voice. Mr. Fix-It isn’t happy.
“Luc invited me,” I admit.
“Shit. You’re in a relationship with him.”
“I proposed to him, and it was temporary insanity,” I growl.
“Do the words blue moon mean anything to you?” Luc directs the words to Cruz. Yep. I definitely hate the way my bayou boys like to hold a conversation over my head.
Cruz swears. “If she don’ wan’ that pairin’…”
“We’re discussin’ it,” Luc snaps. “Back the hell off.”
Cruz hesitates.
“Okay,” he says finally. “But there are things you need to know. How much did she tell about that biker gang up in Baton Rouge?”
Okay? Cruz will disappear into the sunset that easily? I don’t want a fistfight or male posturing, but I also don’t want Cruz giving up on me that easily. Damn it. Confused doesn’t begin to cover my state of mind.
Someone turns the music up, and Riley begins urging everyone to dance. To pretend that whatever’s almost happened hasn’t, and that the tension between Cruz and Luc isn’t palpable.
“She told me enough. The Breed are huntin’ her. They’ve sent over a dozen wolves after her. You know much about them?”
“Enough.” Distaste is clear in Cruz’s voice. “They’ve been holdin’ themselves a membership drive and, last count, had almost sixty of the meanest patch-wearing motherfuckers signed to their motorcycle club. They’re responsible for at least half the drug sales in Baton Rouge, and they’re running weapons.”
“They’re goin’ to need a few more members,” Luc says, his voice cold as ice. Remembering the way he laid into the wolves attacking me, I shiver. Somewhere inside those wolves were men. I don’t want to know if he killed them.
“I don’ wan’ Gianna anywhere near them.”
Luc jerks his head. “We’re in agreement on that. She’s stayin’ here with me.”
Whoa. Rewind. Since when does Luc get to make decisions for me?
“Boo.” Cruz looks at me, and despite the full four feet of space separating us, I feel the tension radiating off Luc. What kind of relationship does he think the sheriff and I share?
“Use my name,” I snap. I’m not a pet. I don’t do cutesy.
Cruz nods as if I’m God handing down the ten commandments to Moses. “Gianna Lynn. If you need me, you call. I’ll come.”
“Anything Gianna needs, I’ll provide,” Luc counters.
And… definitely time to intervene. “She’ll be making her own decisions, taking care of her own business.”
Cruz ignores Luc. Hell, he ignores my feminist manifesto as well, and I honestly don’t know how to make either male stop and listen, although banging their heads together is starting to look like an appealing option. “You call. I come. Remember that.”
“Got it.” It would help if I knew what—who—I want. Tension thickens the air, as if I’ve been pitchforked into the middle of some kind of alpha male pissing contest and I’m the prize.
“Out here in the bayou is Luc’s territory. I own Port Leon.” What. The. Hell. Cruz explains the spatial division as if he’s laying out property lines. I’m pretty sure I’m still in the state of Louisiana and not some alternate universe or an Ilona Andrews novel. “You come back to town and you let me know what you want to do, okay? I’ll back you up. Or tell me to come for you, and I’ll be here with bells on.”
That offer earns him another growl from Luc. Maybe I need to have him checked for rabies. Or a muzzle.
“Stop it.” I slap Luc’s chest and stalk away. I’m not taking anyone up on any offer. That’s the truth, plain and simple.
Of course Luc follows. Not ready to face the wedding guests, I blaze a trail out into the garden. Please let me not have ruined Riley’s big day. I don’t know what the ethics code is for wedding guests, but spoiling the event
with a massive fight seems like definite bad form.
Five minutes of fast walking, and I can barely make out the tent tops. The bayou wanders by in a lazy curve. Someone parked a gazebo right by the water’s edge, screened by a heavy curtain of purple wisteria. Soft tendrils of vine and flower wave in the sultry air. Riley and Dag couldn’t have picked a prettier spot, although I’m pretty certain my present is nowhere near large enough to compensate for the shit storm I just rained down on their big day.
Luc pads up behind me. “You don’ wan’ him.”
I’ll make up my own mind about Cruz’s sexual attractiveness. “Maybe I do.”
“He’s a wolf too. I thought you’d sworn off wolves.”
He’s a wolf?
Color me shocked. Jesus. “He’s Riley’s brother. Your brothers are here. Is it safe to infer that you invited me to a werewolf wedding?”
Luc’s slow smile transforms him. Heat sears through me. He’s sexy as hell when he’s pulling his alpha male crap, but smiling… he’s pure devastation.
“There are a few humans here,” he admits. “I’ll introduce you to my brothers. With the exception of Riley, their mates are human females.”
“Do you have any idea how bad that sounds?”
He shrugs as if he can’t be bothered by something so simple as the facts. “You wan’ me to lie to you, shug?”
“I wan’ you not to sound so damned condescending. So you have fur and a penis. Yay you. That doesn’t make you better—only different.”
He gives a bark of laughter. “What do you know about wolf packs?”
He steps a little closer, bracing his arm over my head against the pergola. His thighs brush mine. I’m dimly aware of wedding guests milling around and the happy beat of dance music. The smell of barbecue isn’t bad either. But no one comes near us, which undoubtedly has something to do with Luc’s growly mood and Cruz’s reluctant retreat.
“It’s been a long time since I watched National Geographic,” I admit. Like… never.
“You know what an Alpha is?” His mouth brushes my temple. I should protest. Should announce hands off and back off. But it’s been ten years since I let someone this close, and our couch time at my place reminded me what I’ve been missing.
Luc.
“The fearless leader?” I laugh in an attempt to defuse the situation. The garden smells good. He smells good. The sun’s making me warm and sleepy. That’s it. That’s the reason I want to melt into him.
“I’m Alpha for the Breauxs. I lead our pack. I make the decisions, and I keep everyone safe.”
“You should try democracy. It comes highly recommended.”
He groans. “Jesus, shug. The werewolf gang in Baton Rouge isn’t our only problem. We’ve got hunters riding our asses, the likes of which you’ve never seen outside your movies. Sometimes orders are the only thing there’s time for.”
I need someplace to put my hands. My heels put me almost on eye level with him. Maybe I could go to five inches. Six, if I can come to terms with Lucite and hooker territory. Since changing up my shoes won’t help me now, I settle for hooking my thumbs in the front pockets of his pants.
“I’m not part of your pack.”
“You’re my mate. That makes you the female Alpha.”
And… sucker punch. I inhale a honeysuckle-scented breath. “Instant hierarchy? Riley doesn’t want to rock-paper-scissors me for the job?”
He reaches out a hand, and I turn my cheek away. Letting him touch me right now is a bad idea. I’ll cave. “Riley would kick your ass if she thought it was in the best interest of her pack or if you ever made the mistake of threatening Dag. She’s in a hard spot right now. Dag is a Breaux. She’s a Jones. Somehow, she has to figure out how to balance the two.”
He slams his hand into the wooden post, and petals drift down around us. He sure doesn’t look happy.
“What’s wrong with being a Jones? Do you have a Montague-and-Capulet thing going on here that I should know about?”
“Cruz is the Alpha of the Jones pack.”
The sensation is like finding myself in an elevator when it drops two floors—or twenty. My stomach sinks like a rock before hope jerks me right back up. “He can’t be a werewolf.”
“Why not?” Luc leans in, sealing his thighs to mine. He’s going to wrinkle my dress.
“He’s the sheriff.”
My logic sounds stupid spoken out loud. Obviously werewolves have infiltrated law enforcement. Hell, maybe the state governor or the president is a werewolf. It could be a possibility. Luc slides a hand around my neck, warm, rough fingers stroking over sensitive skin. Anchoring me in this crazy, dizzy world.
“He’s a werewolf.” I try the words out loud. Just to test how crazy they sound.
“Uh-huh. You’re in the minority here.”
“Can you make me a werewolf?” Because that’s a big hell, no on my part.
Luc smiles, rubbing his thumb in a lazy circle over the base of my throat. “Not an option. We’re born, not bitten, although I’m happy to prove my point.”
And doesn’t that trigger the mother of all flashbacks? Luc biting. His teeth nipping at sensitive skin. I squirm. So help me, I wriggle against the damned pergola because it’s that or rub up against him.
I’m ten kinds of stupid to be standing here with him. He’s a werewolf who runs a territory in the Louisiana bayou. I’m a law-abiding lawyer with an excellent practice in Baton Rouge. It’s no Romeo-and-Juliet story, but it isn’t going to work either.
“I should leave,” I say.
His face gives nothing away. “Is that really why you came here? To tell me you weren’t interested in pursuing our relationship?”
“You bet.” I glare at him, even though the inconsistency is obvious.
“Because I’m not thinkin’ you want me to leave.”
LUC
I head deeper into the garden. For the things I want to do to my mate, privacy is the best bet. I have no problem touching and kissing her in front of the others, but I’m betting she’s shy about that. For now, I’ll deep-six my desire to show Cruz Jones exactly what the other male can’t have. And yet there was that spark of interest in Gianna’s eyes… she might not object to touching the other Alpha.
Damn it.
Is Cruz really who she wants? Have I already lost her?
She follows me, like I hoped she would. My wolf herds her, getting her to myself. Riley chose to have her reception on the grounds of an old plantation. The original house is closed up now, peacefully falling into ruins, but the gardens are lush and rampant, overgrown and bursting with color and glimpses of the bayou through the spanish moss overgrowing the trees. The place has been here almost as long as I have, which makes it older than shit. A veritable antique.
There.
I pick my spot—some kind of garden shed or former outbuilding—and have her up against the wall in a heartbeat. She makes that squeak I like so much, her mouth hanging open as she tries to figure out which way to tell me off first. While she lines up her words, she tries to punch a hole in my foot with her heel. Wrapping my palm around her knee, I tug gently up and strip her shoe off. Toss it over my shoulder just to make a point and then go for the other foot.
“Play nice,” I growl.
“You play by the fucking rules,” she counters. But she sounds breathy and I scent sweet female cream. She may be mad at me—but she’s also aroused. And all I need is one yes.
I hold her caged against the wall. “I don’ let go.”
She gives me the Look. The one that makes me want to rumple her from head to foot, concentrating on all my favorite bits between. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what I want.”
Is she comparing me to Cruz? The other man cleans up good and he plays at being civilized. Underneath the good-looking exterior though, the man is all wolf. Is that what my little mate truly wants?
“And what do you wan’?”
“To be free of you.” She slaps a palm agai
nst my chest, clearly not intimidated by my size or by our isolation.
“Too late for that, but I’ll make you a deal. Stay with me here in the bayou. Give me a week. Seven nights.”
“To do what?”
“To change your mind. To give us a chance.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” She eyes me suspiciously. Negotiating might be easier if the blue moon had picked a less intelligent mate for me. It wouldn’t be as much fun though.
“Seven days. Seven nights. You let me do whatever I wan’.”
“I’m not playing sex-slave games.”
There are so many other ways to give up control. I don’t need her to call me master, not when I like the sound of my name on her lips. I also don’t need collars, whips, or chains. Those are fun toys for some people, but I prefer my sex straight up.
“I don’ wan’ to hurt or humiliate you.”
She looks at me. My face. My shoulders. My hands. My dick. I have no idea what proof she expects to find in any of those places, but she nods like everything is settled.
“Seven nights,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll give you the nights. The days are off-limits.”
“Why?” Yeah, well, I have no problem with sex any hour of the day. I want her in my arms right now, and I’m starting to care a whole lot less about our public venue.
She shrugs. “Seven nights to get you out of my system, but I keep the daylight hours because I’ve got a life too.”
The exact meaning of her words eludes me, but the gist hurts. I’m sex on the side. Our mating is a roadblock, and the chemistry between us is something to use up. Fine. She can try. I won’t let her walk away from me that easily, and seven nights with her are seven nights more than I’ve ever had before.
“Deal.”
She stares at me, and I’m pretty certain those are a whole lot of nerves I see in her eyes. Good. My Gianna’s too used to being in control. I’ll keep her off balance, sneak under her guard, and get close before she knows it.