Werewolf in Manhattan (Wild About You Book 1)

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She perked up a little bit when they reached the rushing stream and Ralph activated the dam.

  “You operate the dam by remote control?” She stared at the quickly diminishing flow. “What if the water freezes? Come to think of it, shouldn’t the water be frozen now?”

  “Very perceptive.” Roarke sounded impressed by the question.

  That was a good thing in Aidan’s estimation. If Roarke came to respect Emma’s brain, then he’d be less likely to side with those who wanted to end her publishing career, so Emma would have another ally besides him.

  “So why isn’t it frozen?” Emma asked.

  “We heat the water in the wintertime,” Aidan said. “Not much, and we use a solar system to cut back on the environmental impact, but we have to keep it from freezing and wrecking the whole program.”

  “That’s amazing.” Emma peered out as Ralph took the SUV through the damp streambed. “Can we park on the other side so I can watch it come back?”

  “We always do, anyway,” Aidan said. “We never drive off and assume it’s working. This stream is one of the most important security features on the estate. We monitor it constantly. There’s a camera upstream that gives us a picture of what’s going on with the water.”

  Emma turned so she could look out the back window as the water came rushing back, giving it a flashflood effect. “I suppose you have cameras all over the place,” she said quietly.

  “Yes.” Aidan had installed an upgraded system two years ago after researching various options. The cameras were top-of-the-line, and one room in the mansion housed the screens that were monitored twenty-four-seven. A squirrel couldn’t climb a tree without getting its progress recorded.

  There would be no need to lock Emma in during her stay. She couldn’t go anywhere on the estate without being observed. The concept had to be intimidating for her, but there was no help for it. He’d do his best to make her stay short and sweet.

  That wouldn’t be the end of it, of course. Somebody from the Were world would be keeping track of her for a long time, maybe even the rest of her life. She was, unfortunately, a woman who knew too much. But that somebody watching her wouldn’t be him. He’d learned the hard way that he was not the werewolf for the job.

  The road leading to the mansion was filled with ruts, although anyone who drove it often enough could avoid all the really bad spots. Roarke had become an expert at steering his Ferrari around them without throwing his precious car out of alignment. Ralph knew the road well, too, but still a certain amount of bumping was unavoidable.

  One particular spot caused Aidan and Emma to jostle each other. Even that small contact sent a shiver of desire through him. When they’d had their discussion by the side of the road and he’d had to hold onto her to make sure she didn’t bolt, he’d wanted to carry her off into the woods.

  The closer they came to the mansion, the stronger the urge became. Life in the city tended to blunt his werewolf instincts, but he always felt a little wilder out here, a little more primitive. As the mansion came into view around a bend and through the trees, he smiled to himself. No one looking at the imposing stone façade would think of it as a wolf’s den, but that’s exactly what it was.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Emma said. “It’s huge.”

  “It needs to be for pack gatherings,” Aidan said. “You can’t see them from here, but there are stone cottages scattered all over the estate. That’s where the aunts, uncles, and cousins live. Some have places in the city and use the cottage for a vacation getaway. Others are here year-round.”

  Emma swallowed. “Am I…am I going to be brought in front of some kind of werewolf tribunal?”

  “God, no.” He realized that a person with her imagination could be coming up with a million scenarios. “We’re keeping this low-key. The only Weres you’ll be meeting at this point besides Ralph and my brother are my parents.”

  Roarke snorted. “The ’rents are scary enough.”

  “Hey.” Aidan glared at his brother. “She’s already nervous. You don’t have to make it worse.”

  “Yeah, but she shouldn’t be blindsided, either. FYI, Mom and Dad know that Nadia’s bailed on the Henderson-Wallace unification plan.”

  Aidan tensed. “And?”

  “Hard to tell how they feel about it. Dad didn’t say much although he’s not happy with anybody named Henderson these days, so that could help your cause. Mom looked sort of sad. She’s always been partial to Nadia.”

  “I know. Nadia’s great. She…” Aidan gazed at Roarke as a brilliant idea began to form. “Listen, she really is great. You two would get along. That would solve—”

  “That would solve nothing because it isn’t going to happen.”

  “Don’t reject it out of hand, Roarke.” Aidan was proud of his idea. “Nadia is gorgeous, intelligent, talented. Sure, she’s a couple of years older than you, but—”

  “Back off, big brother. I have no interest in getting hooked up with anyone, let alone allow myself to be tied down to some arranged deal to unite the two packs. I always thought that was bogus.”

  “See?” Emma nudged Aidan with her elbow. “Even your own brother thinks it’s a dumb idea.”

  “I do,” Roarke said, “but Mom and Dad have always been very high on it. They and the Hendersons had the whole mirror-image name thing going on. Thank God nobody tried that with me. Besides, my mirror-image sweetie would have to be named Ekraor, which just doesn’t work, does it?”

  Aidan sighed. “One brilliant idea, shot to hell.”

  “One crappy idea, relegated to the round file where it belongs.”

  “Then again, Nadia probably wouldn’t have you.” Aidan grinned at his brother. “She’s particular.”

  Roarke made a grab for him and Aidan ducked.

  Ralph cleared his throat. “Your parents are standing at the front door. You two might want to knock it off.”

  Aidan straightened and discovered that Ralph was correct. His mother and father, both wearing their warmest navy wool coats, stood outside the mansion’s massive front door much like diplomats waiting to greet visiting dignitaries. Obviously they’d been alerted by the security team that the SUV had arrived.

  His father stood like the imposing alpha he was, his back straight and his expression stoic. His mother had linked her arm through her husband’s as if needing some support for this meeting. She looked regal, as always, but even from this distance, Aidan detected anxiety in her expression.

  Their presence at the door underscored the importance of this moment for them. He was bringing a human into their midst, and that had never been done before. He reminded himself that they were the ones who’d demanded that Emma be brought here.

  “That’s weird,” Roarke said. “They don’t usually do the welcome committee routine.”

  “There’s nothing usual about this visit.” Aidan reached for Emma’s hand, which was ice-cold. He squeezed it and hoped that gave her some reassurance. Then again, maybe he was the one looking for reassurance.

  Until now he’d been the golden boy, the Were everyone expected to take over leadership of the pack when his father stepped down. He’d been groomed for that position his entire life. He’d looked forward to assuming his duties.

  Although he hadn’t always pleased his parents, he’d never given them any major problems…until now. Bringing a human to the estate was an issue of great magnitude. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that he hadn’t caused this breach in security, he still felt responsible for it.

  And yet, he knew that the real problem wasn’t the security breach. The real problem was the bond developing between him and Emma. Even he wasn’t certain how strong it had become. He was afraid to test it and find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Research, Emma repeated as a silent mantra as Aidan helped her out of the SUV. The cobblestone drive curved in front of the house, and as Emma walked along it toward the distinguished couple standing by the front door, she was remin
ded of a tour of Hollywood homes she’d taken while on a vacation in L.A. several years ago.

  This elegant two-story mansion would be suitable for any major movie star in the country. Or any head of state in any foreign country. Jane Austen would have loved this house, but a Regency home would have been surrounded by formal gardens. Instead the forest hovered all around the house, protecting it from prying eyes.

  For this place wasn’t owned by a head of state or a member of the English nobility. It was owned by a pack of werewolves and no human had seen it since they’d moved in. Unless she broke the trust Aidan had placed in her, no other human would ever see it besides her.

  Although she had to be careful not to behave like a reporter gathering information, she felt a certain responsibility to record every detail she could remember. She wouldn’t ever present it as fact, but she could certainly disguise it as fiction. She would get to write about this house and the werewolves who lived here, because Aidan had promised that her publishing career would continue. She was choosing to believe he’d make good on that promise.

  So she took in the butterscotch color of the stone, the steep pitch of the red slate roof dusted with snow, the twin chimneys rising high into the air, the multi-paned windows catching a stray beam from the setting sun, and the twin wrought-iron balconies at each end of the house. She wondered if she’d be given a bedroom with a balcony. The romantic in her had always yearned for one.

  As she neared the front door, Fiona Wallace stepped forward and held out her hand. “Welcome to our home, Emma Gavin.”

  Emma clasped Fiona’s hand and felt quiet strength there. Aidan’s mother had yellow-gold eyes very similar to her son’s, but Aidan had inherited his high cheekbones and square jaw from his father. After Emma shook hands with Fiona, Howard Wallace extended his hand to her.

  His grip spoke of power that was all the more intimidating because he didn’t flaunt it with a crushing handshake. Here was a man used to being in command, and she sensed that he didn’t like losing control of a situation the way he’d obviously lost control of this one.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said simply. His grey eyes seemed to see right through her.

  She doubted he missed much, so she’d be wise to be perfectly honest with him. “I don’t know that I had a choice.”

  His laugh was deep and infectious, rumbling upward from his barrel chest. “True enough. But now that you’re here, let’s get you inside and find some wine and a warm fire, shall we?”

  Emma could see why Aidan’s father was such a successful businessman. He operated on the assumption that everyone agreed with his plan, whatever that might be. In this case, Emma found herself ushered inside and guided along a marble hallway.

  Someone took her coat, and then seamlessly, she found herself in a cozy sitting room where a cheerful blaze crackled in a large stone fireplace. She chose what turned out to be an infinitely comfortable easy chair, sat down, and took stock of her surroundings. Fine art, predominantly landscapes, adorned the walls. The furniture looked very Ethan Allen, but Emma suspected it was far older than that.

  She couldn’t have scripted a gracious welcome any better if she’d written it herself. Someone, perhaps a butler of sorts, appeared at her elbow and asked whether she preferred red or white. She chose red, and shortly thereafter was sipping an exceptional wine as yet another person—female werewolf, probably—served some kind of wonderful pate on thin slices of rustic bread.

  Searching for Aidan, she found him leaning against the mantel, wineglass in hand, as he talked with his father and Roarke. Emma had been spared the burden of making any conversation for the time being, and she was grateful to be allowed to get her bearings. But such a period of calm couldn’t last.

  Fiona took a seat in the chair next to Emma’s, settled back with a sigh, and took a hefty swallow of her white wine. “How was your trip from Chicago?”

  A memory of the oral sex episode with Aidan flashed into Emma’s mind and she quickly squelched it. “Fascinating,” she said. “I’ve never flown in a private jet before.”

  “Aidan hates flying. When he was a little boy I used to sing nursery rhymes to him during the entire flight so he wouldn’t freak out.”

  Emma decided sharing her method for soothing a jumpy Aidan wouldn’t be a great idea. She angled herself so she could look squarely at Fiona, mother of Aidan, wife of Howard, matriarch of the Wallace pack.

  If Emma left out the last part of that description, she’d have no problem picturing the nursery-rhyme singing going on. But trying to imagine a werewolf mother singing “Ring Around the Rosie” blew her circuits.

  “You look dubious,” Fiona said.

  Being a vocabulary junkie, Emma appreciated the use of the word dubious. She might get along with Fiona, except she’d never get the chance. “I’ll admit I’m in over my head. I thought werewolves—you, basically—were imaginary.”

  “I’m sorry you discovered otherwise, Emma. It complicates things.”

  The wine on a somewhat empty stomach had apparently affected Emma’s good judgment, because she leaned toward Fiona and asked, quite clearly, “Will I be killed?”

  Fiona recoiled in obvious horror. “Good heavens, no. Did someone say that?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Aidan told me some pack members were suggesting that was the best way to handle the problem.”

  Fiona tsk-tsked and shook her head. “It’s certainly not. You’re a well-known author. There would be all kinds of media interest and police investigations if you turned up dead.”

  Emma blinked. So it was fear of reprisal that kept her from ending up in a shallow grave on the Wallace estate. She supposed that was some comfort.

  “Emma, I have to know…” Fiona lowered her voice. “I have to know exactly how you feel about my son.”

  Emma decided to hedge on that one. “What do you mean?” She still might not be out of the woods, so to speak.

  If she admitted to having a major crush on Aidan, she might be wiped out on the grounds of sheer audacity. She’d figured out from the fact that no humans had set foot in this house that humans shouldn’t be jonesing on a werewolf. It just wasn’t done.

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Fiona said. “And I’ve seen the way you look at him. Unless my instincts are off, which is always possible now that I’m going through menopause, you two have forged a bond.”

  “Not exactly.” Better to diffuse this potential bomb. “Aidan needs to find a werewolf mate and I would never want to interfere with that in any way.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Emma Gavin, you’re crazy in love with my son, and if you could figure out a way to be with him permanently, you’d grab it. Am I right?”

  “Oh, God.” Emma drained her wineglass.

  “Am I right?”

  Emma turned her head to discover Fiona watching her the way a hawk watches a rabbit. “Yes, you’re right. But I’m not an idiot. I realize Aidan is the crown prince of the Wallace pack. Hooking up with me gets him absolutely nowhere. In fact, it causes him an untold amount of problems. So all I want is to disappear from his life so he can get on with finding the perfect she-wolf, or whatever it is you call his mate.”

  Fiona nodded. “That would indeed be wonderful and a great solution to the sticky situation we’re in, except for one thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “My son is crazy in love with you.”

  Everything in Emma rebelled at that idea. She shook her head violently. “No, no, he’s not. That would be a disaster.” I will protect you with my life. But that was duty, not love. Wasn’t it?

  “I completely agree it’s a disaster,” Fiona said. “You’re miles away from the daughter-in-law I had in mind. Nadia is the daughter-in-law of my dreams.”

  Emma didn’t like that any better than the concept of Aidan being crazy in love with her. “He doesn’t love Nadia, at least not in the way a man should love a woman he plans to marry a
nd spend his life with. I’d go so far as to say he never will love Nadia that way. To think of him marrying Nadia would be a tragedy.”

  “Hm.” Fiona sipped her wine. “So what’s he supposed to do, be a lone wolf with nobody to keep him warm at night?”

  “Of course not. There are plenty of fish in the sea. Or werewolves in the woods. I’m sure there’s a perfect mate out there waiting for him, once he no longer has the responsibility of Nadia hanging like an albatross around his neck.”

  “Hm,” Fiona said again. She finished her wine and signaled to someone on the other side of the room. “I don’t think you understand the werewolf way, my dear.”

  “No, but I’d like to. Roarke warned me not to ask too many questions, but I’m a writer. I’m all about the questions.” She accepted another glass of wine from the butler-type person who arrived with red for her and white for Fiona.

  “Then let me tell you how a werewolf chooses a mate.” Fiona took another hefty swallow of her wine.

  “Fiona, are we going to have dinner soon? Because I haven’t had a lot to eat today and this wine is potent stuff.”

  “We’ll have dinner in about fifteen minutes. Drink up.”

  “Okay.” Emma took another sip. She didn’t want to waste wine that tasted so good she wouldn’t be surprised if it was several hundred dollars a bottle.

  Fiona raised a finger. “Werewolf Mate Selection 101.”

  “I’m listening.” Emma chalked this up as the absolute weirdest evening she’d ever had in her life. But it made for great research.

  “The first thing is the smell.”

  “Oh.” Emma couldn’t ignore all the references Aidan had made to her scent.

  “Howard chose me on scent alone. He also liked the way I looked, fortunately, because that has a bearing on how the children will turn out, but my scent is what closed the deal.”

  That got her attention. “You and Howard didn’t marry for political expediency?”

  “No, we married for lust and love and pheromones. Why do you ask?”