“It’s good to be back, Sylvester. This is Emma Gavin. She writes—”
“The werewolf books.” Sylvester eyed her with obvious curiosity. “This is indeed a pleasure. I’ve read them all.”
“Really?”
“I find them fascinating,” Sylvester said. “So detailed.”
“Fortunately I was blessed with a good imagination.”
“You certainly were.” Sylvester exchanged a glance with Aidan. “Table for two?”
“Please.” Aidan helped her off with her coat.
His touch produced the same electric charge as when he’d helped her put it on. She would have to get over that. While Sylvester hung their coats on a rack behind the desk, she gave herself a talking to.
Her self-talk continued as she followed Sylvester through an arched doorway. Having a drink with Aidan was a one-time deal, and she…whoa. Had they somehow wandered into an alternate universe? The club seemed to be nestled in a forest, a forest on the second floor of a brick building in the middle of Manhattan.
She couldn’t help staring. “Wow.”
“I thought you’d like it.” Aidan sounded pleased.
“I love it.” She wasn’t sure how the owners had managed the effect, but the trees arching over the small dance floor seemed real, as did the ones scattered around the perimeter of the room.
Tiny white lights winked like fireflies in branches that curved to create intimate bowers for each rough-hewn table. To her right, a live jazz trio played on a moss-covered knoll.
Sylvester led them to a table near the back of the room and held Emma’s chair.
“Thank you, Sylvester.” She glanced back at him. “This is quite a place.”
He smiled at her. “A waiter will be over soon to take your order. Enjoy.” He laid an affectionate hand on Aidan’s shoulder before leaving them.
Awwww. Emma didn’t need more reasons to admire Aidan, but she was getting them, anyway. He obviously inspired friendship and respect among his associates. “Thank you for sharing this place with me,” she said. “I thought we’d just find a little tavern somewhere, but this is breathtakingly beautiful.”
“There’s more. Look up.”
She did, and was dazzled by the night sky, complete with stars, peeking through the foliage. The effect was so real she would swear someone had slid the roof back, except they were in the heart of the city where the lights blocked out the stars completely.
Aidan settled into the chair across from her. “What would you like to drink?”
She continued to gaze upward as she tried to figure out how they’d created the effect. “Chardonnay is fine.”
“That’s it? Nothing more exotic?”
She met his gaze. She always ordered Chardonnay, and if she intended to break out of her rut, she should experiment with a different drink. “Any suggestions?”
“The bartender makes great coffee martinis.”
“Omigod, I have to have one. I love coffee.”
“I know.”
“How would you know that?”
He blinked. “Uh, don’t all writers drink coffee?”
“Not necessarily. Some guzzle gallons of tea, and others survive on Coke. The clichés aren’t always true.” But she thought it was cute that he had such a definite idea of how a writer should behave.
Aidan signaled a waiter and ordered them each a coffee martini.
“This is wonderful.” Emma was grateful for her interesting surroundings because without them she was likely to stare at Aidan the whole time. “It’s like a movie set.”
“We called in some film people to help with the staging.”
“We? Oh, wait, I should have guessed that right away. Private club, your favorite hangout. Of course it belongs to Wallace Enterprises.”
“Yeah, it does. I—” He stopped speaking and glanced toward the arched entryway as a tall blond guy with a build similar to Aidan’s walked into the club. “Looks like you’re about to meet my little brother, Roarke.”
“Is he in security, too?”
“No. Roarke’s an anthropology professor at NYU.”
Emma studied the man who was headed straight toward their table. None of her professors in college had looked like that. Roarke might be younger than Aidan, but he wasn’t little in any sense of the word. She could see the family resemblance in his square jaw and strong nose. “No slackers in the Wallace family, are there?”
“Not so you’d notice.” Aidan rose from the table to greet his brother. “This is a surprise.”
Roarke didn’t smile. “I know.” Barely disguised tension radiated from his powerful frame.
Aidan didn’t seem to notice. “I’d like you to meet Emma Gavin, the author of the werewolf books.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’ve heard plenty about your books.” Roarke still looked grim.
“Good things, I hope.” She wasn’t sure what to make of Roarke’s stern behavior.
“Very good. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to see Aidan for a minute in the foyer.”
Something was wrong. Maybe some security issue had come up, something only Aidan could handle. And yet, Roarke had sent her a wary glance before leaving with Aidan. Crazy as it sounded, she had the feeling that she was part of the problem.
Roarke spun around to face Aidan the moment they were out of the room. “What the hell are you doing?”
At the challenge in Roarke’s voice, the hairs on the back of Aidan’s neck rose and he fought back a snarl. Reacting like a wolf wouldn’t help matters any. He kept his response mild. “What I was assigned to do.”
“You were assigned to watch her, not bring her into our private club! I counted at least six Weres in that room.” He turned to Sylvester, who leaned casually against the reception desk, arms crossed. “Sylvester makes seven.”
“So? We’re allowed to bring business contacts in here. We’ve always done that.”
“She’s not a business contact. She’s a threat to our survival.”
Aidan worked to control his temper. “If Dad would wait for my report instead of sending you over to chew my ass, he’d discover that Emma is no danger to us. She doesn’t believe in werewolves.”
Roarke’s green eyes glittered. “I suppose she told you that.”
“She did.”
“And you, despite your obscenely high IQ, believed her.”
“I did. I do.”
Roarke blew out a breath in disbelief. “Come on, Aidan. She can’t be making all that up.”
“Just because you and I aren’t that creative doesn’t mean she isn’t. But the problem goes beyond that. It’s possible a rogue has contacted her by email and plans to confront her in person.”
“Did you consider that she contacted him?”
“No. We’ve kept a close eye on all her Internet activity. This is something new, and if it is a rogue, I’ll make sure she never meets him.”
Aidan could have said we’ll make sure she never meets him, but he was no longer willing to share responsibility for Emma’s safety. He would be in charge, which was the only way he could guarantee she’d be all right and the pack’s anonymity would be protected.
Roarke’s belligerence faded. “Have you seen the email?”
“Not yet, but I will. In fact, now that you’ve brought that up, let me take care of something.” Pulling out his phone, he sent a brief message so his tech crew would start the reverse trace.
As he put the phone away, he glanced at Roarke. “Tell Dad I’m here tonight because I’m trying to win her confidence. I’ll know soon what we’re dealing with, and depending on what I find out, Dad might need to get me assigned as her bodyguard for the book tour.”
“Aidan!” Roarke sighed. “Talk about your potential train wreck!”
Aidan’s jaw tightened. “Why?”
“You’re not the one to do this.”
“Of course I am. I’m the most highly trained security specialist we have.”
“And you want her.”
/> Aidan tried to stare his brother down, but it was no use. Roarke’s senses were as finely tuned as his, and they were brothers, only nineteen months apart. The minute Roarke had walked into the club, he’d known.
So Aidan said the only thing he could. “I’ll control it.”
“What, your johnson?”
That brought a snort from Sylvester.
Usually Aidan rolled with his brother’s cracks, but tonight he wasn’t amused. “The situation, Roarke. I’ll control the situation.”
“You know that’s easier said than done. Having sex with a human is risky in any context, but it’s especially dangerous with this author chick.”
Aidan’s lips curled back from his teeth. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
Roarke groaned. “Damn. You’ve gone alpha. Next you’ll be marking her front door with your scent.”
“Bite me.”
“I’m tempted. Look, Aidan, don’t go on this book tour, okay? If she has to be watched, send somebody else.”
“I don’t trust anyone else to handle it.”
Roarke threw up his hands. “I see my little intervention came way too late. Dad should never have assigned you to this gig. I’ll bet he hasn’t ever cracked one of her books, has he?”
“I doubt it, but what’s that got to do with anything?”
“She writes good sex.”
“That’s not—”
“Sure it is, Aidan. I picked up a copy of Night Shift today and flipped through it. The woman knows her stuff. On top of that, the studly hero is…wait for it…a werewolf. You’re Emma’s dream guy. Who wouldn’t get sucked in by that ego trip?”
Clearing his throat, Sylvester stepped from behind the reception desk. “I think Roarke has a point. I’ve read all her books, and if I were twenty years younger…”
Aidan knew then that he was in big trouble. Sylvester was a beloved uncle. Yet Aidan had the urge to go for his throat simply because the older man had indicated a sexual appreciation of Emma’s work.
He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re both right. I need to take myself off this assignment. And I will, after we trace the email. Maybe it’s just a kook. Any of the guys can handle a garden-variety kook.”
“Then my work here is done.” Clapping Aidan on the shoulder, Roarke headed for the stairs. “I knew you’d come to your senses, bro,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re too smart to let a woman screw up everything.”
Aidan wasn’t so sure about that. His genius IQ made him very good at his job, but it didn’t seem to be helping him overcome his gut reaction to Emma. And because he couldn’t seem to overcome it, he’d have to assign someone else to guard her. He wondered if he’d be able to do that.
Chapter Three
Their drinks had arrived, and at first Emma wondered if she should take a sip. But the frothy martini decorated with three coffee beans called to her. Depending on the problem Aidan had with Roarke, she might not get to stay, and she wanted to know what this new drink tasted like.
Not surprisingly, it tasted like heaven. She was definitely Googling the recipe when she got back to her loft. Or maybe Aidan, who owned the joint, could get her the exact recipe, because she didn’t want a variation of a coffee martini. She wanted this one.
She took a longer sip. Chances were slim she’d get to come here again. If she told Doug about it—and she would tell Doug, she vowed for about the third time—she could predict the result. Because he was a man with manly instincts, although they were sometimes obscured by a preoccupation with the tax code, Doug would show up at her next signing so he could meet Aidan Wallace.
That could be interesting. The two men were about the same height, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Aidan had the body of a star quarterback. Doug had the body of a star…bridge player. She admired Doug for his mind, which was a perfect left-brain complement to her overly active right brain. But she’d never kidded herself that his body was a wonder to behold. It was okay—not fat or skinny—just sort of there. Functional.
Until tonight, she’d considered herself more evolved these days because she no longer required sculpted muscles in order to date a man. She took another sip of her drink as Aidan walked back toward their table. Apparently she was regressing to her teen years, because watching Aidan move gave her goosebumps.
“Sorry about that.” Aidan returned to his seat. “Family stuff.” He seemed quiet.
“Do we need to leave? I mean, if there’s something you should take care of, I certainly understand.”
“No, no. Roarke just had some things to tell me.” Yet he definitely seemed subdued by the conversation.
She was curious, but she couldn’t start quizzing him. She didn’t know him well, and didn’t know his family at all. “I’m afraid I started without you. The coffee martini’s great.”
His smile returned. “Glad you like it.” He took a drink of his and nodded. “Frederick does a good job at the bar.”
“Does Frederick ever give out his recipes?”
Aidan shook his head. “No recipes. The guy mixes drinks instinctively now, and he probably couldn’t tell you how to make this even if he wanted to.”
“Then it’s Google time for me, but guaranteed it won’t be the same.”
“Sorry.”
The silence that followed that single-word response told her all she needed to know. That would have been his cue to mention bringing her back again sometime, and he hadn’t said a word. She knew about Doug, but he didn’t, so something else was stopping him from pursuing the relationship.
Imagining what that might be was too depressing, so she wouldn’t think about it. “The music’s nice, too.”
He studied her for a moment. “Would you like to dance?”
The question startled her, especially after she’d concluded that he had no interest in her whatsoever other than her writing ability. “I wasn’t hinting. You invited me for a drink, and that’s what we’re having. Please don’t feel obligated to dance with me because I mentioned the music.”
“I didn’t ask because I feel obligated.”
She checked his expression for sincerity. His light brown eyes were warm, and that cute little half-smile had reappeared. Talk about your mixed signals. Now he did seem interested.
She had a horrible thought. What if he was the kind of man who was into conquests? She knew absolutely nothing about his personal life or his track record with women. He certainly had the physique and charisma to be a Don Juan. What if he planned to seduce her tonight and then mark her off a master list he kept in his head? Bestselling author, check.
Well, she had a built-in braking system for that kind of man. “I’m seeing someone.”
“I figured you must be.” His eyes glowed with good humor.
Now she felt gauche and unsophisticated. People danced all the time without heading straight for a bedroom afterward. He did have beautiful eyes. “Not that I think you meant anything by asking me to dance. I just thought you should know.”
“So you don’t want to dance?”
That was the problem. She’d love to dance with this man who might or might not be trying to take advantage of her. If he had sex in mind, she wouldn’t let things go that far. And it was only a dance.
And yet telling Doug that she’d had a drink with a fan after the signing was one thing. She wouldn’t even have to mention that the fan was male, actually. But if she admitted that she’d also danced with said fan, the man-fan thing would become known and the incident would begin to look suspicious.
But the evening would never be repeated, either. She knew that because he hadn’t offered to bring her back sometime for another coffee martini. So this would be her one and only opportunity to have a close encounter of the rhythmic kind with Aidan Wallace. Chickening out might make her feel less guilty about Doug, but she’d regret missing the experience of dancing with this hot guy.
Research. She’d nearly forgotten that she’d decided to make tonight all about rese
arch. What if the heroine in her next book decided to go dancing with the hunky hero? Sure, Emma could put her imagination to work as to how that would feel, but first-hand knowledge would definitely help.
“I’d love to dance,” she said.
“Good.” Standing, he took off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He was even more magnificent without the jacket, which had somewhat disguised his pecs. The grey silk dress shirt, open at the collar, fit him like a dream.
She gulped a little more of her martini for courage before standing and walking ahead of him to the dance floor. Once there she turned, prepared to be swept into his strong arms.
Or not. The band switched numbers, launching into a tune with a fast, driving beat. Emma glanced at Aidan, who shrugged and smiled. Then he stepped onto the floor and initiated the sexiest hip action she’d seen outside of Dancing with the Stars.
Adrenaline pumped through her system as she followed suit with a grin of delight. She had a few moves of her own, and recently they’d been confined to the privacy of her apartment. Back in the day she’d enjoyed the club scene, but her intense career didn’t give her the time to party. Besides, she didn’t have the right partner. Doug was willing to dance, but his sense of timing left something to be desired.
Aidan had the rhythm of a born athlete. If he made love the way he danced…uh-oh, better not go there, girl. She quickly pulled herself back from the edge of that perilous cliff of supposition. Instead of picturing Aidan naked in tangled sheets, which she would not do, she channeled her sexual energy into her dancing.
It was a decent plan, but ultimately a flawed one. She couldn’t dance without watching Aidan or she was liable to bump into him. She already felt less coordinated than he was, and turning the dance floor into a mosh pit wouldn’t be cool.
Therefore she became aware of each swivel of his hips, each thrust of his pelvis. She found herself mirroring him in the same way she might if they were horizontal on an innerspring. They weren’t touching, and yet she felt his heat burning all the way to the forbidden zone, the place she was supposed to keep safe and warm for Doug.
Nothing was safe from a man like Aidan. She’d naively thought she could control the situation tonight. Fat chance. If this kept up, somebody would have to turn a fire hose on them.
Werewolf in Manhattan (Wild About You Book 1) Page 3