by Amanda Milo
I’ve read as recently as yesterday that werewolves can hear heartbeats, and I wonder if he can hear mine racing. I don’t tip my head back to meet his eyes because I’ve got the sense that if I do, he’ll see it as an invitation to kiss me somewhere other than that tingling spot on my forehead.
And although that could lead to the stuff fairytales are made of—the gorgeous Irish businessman sweeps a waitress off her feet kind—I don’t trust it.
Because I don’t trust any guy anymore.
After finally ditching my ex-husband and his endless affairs, I’ve told myself that not every man lets women treat his dick like it’s a Meijer pony ride—
(For those of you who aren’t familiar with Meijer, there’s a mechanical pony in front of every store, and for a penny, you can ride it. Shoppers frequently leave spare pennies on the machine, covering it with change so that everyone who wants a go can have as many free rides as they like. Apparently, my former husband had limitless pennies and a long line of ladies waiting for a turn.)
—but no matter what my head logically tries to assure me, inside, I’m not just gun-shy. I’m broken.
My trust in the opposite gender’s ability to be a faithful, supportive partner is well and truly gone.
So I like Finn, sure. But so does every woman who meets him. And for me, that’s a problem.
Finnegan Cauley is on his own level of hot. And he’s also achieved an expert level of flirt. He’s every woman’s dream man—he’s got the million-dollar smile, the laughing eyes, and hair styled either intentionally or by activity (it always looks like some woman has just used it to hang the hell on; it’s a good look on him and it seems designed to signal sex to females on a primal level).
As if his looks weren’t enough of a gift to any one person, he seems like a genuinely great guy. He always says the nicest things and he has a great sense of humor. He’s… pretty perfect.
But there’s no way in hell I’d be able to trust that in two months, or three, or whenever the shine starts to wear off of a relationship (that’s if he even wants to commit to one; I don’t actually know because I’ve never asked), that he wouldn’t be too tempted to sample one of the women who come on to him every day at work.
And that’s just when he’s working, where I’ve seen women make plays for him. I have no doubt that he gets offers and endless attention everywhere he goes, where I’m not there to see.
Do you hear (or read, whatever) how crazy that statement sounds? I do. Ahhh, betrayal and its ugly scar tissue. I wish I could curb my crazy thoughts, but… I spent too many years in a marriage that chewed me up and spit me out.
That’s what taking a chance on love does to you.
And on the off chance that Finn is absolutely as wonderful of a guy in a relationship as he is a boss and work-friend-who-I-keep-at-a-distance, then he deserves so much better than me. He deserves to be with a woman who treats him like a beloved partner—not one who is constantly wondering if he's the werewolf equivalent of a whoring tomcat.
Something of my internal battle must be showing on my face, because Finn groans, drops the duffel bag to land with a heavy smack beside us on the sidewalk, and wraps his arms around me. “Sue,” he says against my hair. “If I ever see that melter you were married to, I will bust his teeth so crooked he’ll be able to eat an apple through a tennis racket.”
Despite myself, I snurf a laugh. I drop my head forward a fraction, only jumping a little when he leans in that much closer so that I’m resting against his chest.
Clearing my throat as I draw back, I share, “I think we’re about to learn some really unique phrases if Deek is anything like you.”
Finn rocks me side to side and scoffs. “No one is like me—and Deek was born here. He’s American. Not Irish.”
I stare up at him. I can’t help the silly disappointment that leaks out of the one word I manage in answer. “Oh.”
Finn’s snicker is a little evil, and he gives me a final squeeze before pulling back and holding me at arm’s length from him. “I knew you had a thing for this accent! You think I’d plant a pup in the gaff who could supplant me? Never.”
Smiling, I shake my head at him. “You don’t give up, do you?”
Finn’s face grows too serious. I feel my spine straighten—and I watch his eyes take note of my stiffened posture. He gives me a smile, but it isn’t one of his big genuine ones. It’s tight, and a little sad. “When I want something, I throw everything I’ve got at it. And Sue?”
Staring into his eyes, I breathe, “Yeah?”
He leans in until our noses almost brush. “I want you.”
CHAPTER 3
SUSAN
Finn brings Deek’s duffel and leather case into the house and sets them at the basement door. Deek’s room will be downstairs, a former man-cave turned into an apartment, complete with a full-size bed, a mini-fridge, a hot plate and counter, a walk-in shower, and a toilet.
“He’ll have a nice space down there. The giant plasma screen went with my ex, but we’ll get Deek something else on my next paycheck,” I’m saying to Finn as I eye Deek still lying prone on the kitchen floor.
The wolf cracks open his eyes only to dart wild looks from me to each of the girls, with several pleading looks aimed at Finn.
Finn’s lips quirk up, and he tilts his head at the creature—erm, the man—sympathetically. To me, he says, “Don’t waste your money. He’s not into piped telly. But—shite, I almost forgot this. Sorry, Deek.” He inhales, and I look to Finn to find he’s waiting for my attention before he says, “Deek needs one day off a week to go to church.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to laugh… but he doesn’t. I blink rapidly. “Werewolves go to church?”
“Sure,” Finn says, and he sips the cranberry juice Maggie politely offered him which he very politely accepted. He bounces his eyebrows at me. “You’d be surprised at all the things we do like you.”
“Finn,” I chide. Because last year, when he started asking me out on dates, I very carefully declined. Being that he’s Pack, I was afraid for my job if things didn’t… well, if we didn’t work out. He understood the reason for my concern, and he was quick to promise me that dating or not dating him wouldn’t affect my employment in the slightest.
Thankfully, this has proven true. And lately, he’s upped his ask-out game and I’ve flat out told him I’m having a hard enough time finding sitters to cover day shifts—forget about date nights.
Now the Pack has loaned me a live-in babysitting wolf.
I wanted to say no… but like I’ve already said, it’s no easy feat to secure reliable child care. And again: the Internet says submissive wolves are wonderful with children. All children. Any children. Even human children. Werewolf nannies are all the rage with people who can actually afford a nanny.
Not in my wildest dreams did I think that would ever be us.
And although we’re providing room and board, the Pack is helping out where the boarding is concerned too. A delivery—meat, boxes and boxes of meat—arrived a few days before the werenanny himself, which stocked the mini-fridge in the basement as well as filling our freezer upstairs.
This was, so the delivery werewolf told me, being done so that our soon-to-arrive werenanny would stay ‘well fed.’”
I almost chickened out right then. But Finn gave me his word that the live-in wolf would be 100% safe, and he does not make promises lightly.
And when I sat down and figured the money I’d save if I didn’t have to pay out to a sitter…
I nearly cried.
My gaze refocuses to the present as Finn catches me by the elbows and draws me closer to him. Behind us, there’s a hush as both of my girls stare at my back, no doubt curious and maybe feeling lots of things as they watch me with the first man who is not their father touching me like he’s interested in me.
I stare up into Finn’s eyes. Green, I realize. I’ve looked at them, but never really noticed them before.
My sharpened attention is not missed.
Finn’s lips curl up in a victorious, sexy smirk. “You said my name. I feel like we’re finally getting somewhere, a stór.”
And with that, he pulls me in for a chaste kiss that has the girls sucking in their breath—with shock, or maybe disapproval.
I can’t turn off my brain from them to enjoy Finn’s kiss; it’s too brief and I’m too tense, and Finn has bumped up the intensity of his pursuit so much that I’m struggling on how to handle it.
Either sensing my hesitation or feeling like a bit of a spectacle himself, Finn runs his hands along my arms once and lets me go, walking backward. “I’ll see you at work on Monday.”
Jerkily, I nod. “Thanks again, Finn.”
His slash of a smile at me finally capitulating and using his first name is triumphant. “Oh, no need to thank me. Guess who is the Pack liaison for your nanny here?” He grins full-out. “I’ll be dropping by on a regular basis to check on how Deek’s doing. So I’ll be seeing you outside of work real soon, Sue.” He gives a puckish wave. “‘Til then, eh?”
He sees himself out, which is good, because I’m frozen in place for a few beats longer than I needed to be in order to get the door for him myself.
And when he’s gone, it’s like the tension increases by a thousand. I turn, feeling a strong, strong sense of dread—and I realize, it’s not my own. As my gaze lands on the werewolf still lying on the floor, he shivers and slams his eyes shut and turns his head so that he’s not directly looking at me anymore.
My girls (and by ‘girls’ I mean Maggie) are being surprisingly self-controlled. They’re standing where the carpet turns into tile, right at the midline between the living room and the kitchen, which is giving the clearly terrified wolf some space, but it still allows them to stare at this new and interesting creature.
Not sure what to do, I glance at them, then drop to a crouch and clear my throat to get the werewolf’s attention. “Um, Mr. Deek?”
(Yes, I know what Finn said about not referring to him as ‘mister.’ But it just seems so impolite.)
Miserably, Deek arches his neck enough that his eyes are raised—but he keeps his nose between his paws, almost like he can’t help but hide his face. He doesn’t look at me directly, but he is looking in my direction.
“I’m going to open the basement door,” I tell him. “And you’re welcome to head downstairs and settle in. We’ll try to be quiet up here. You’ve got the rest of tonight and all of tomorrow to yourself. Ah, since it’ll be Sunday, I can drive you to church if you’d like. I can drive you wherever if you need. Just say where and when. I’d like to go over a few things with you before I leave for work on Monday, but until then, just… settle in,” I finish lamely, and try for a smile.
The wolf makes a despairing sort of chuff, and jerks his chin down, which makes it look like there’s a wolf bobbing its head in answer in my kitchen.
What a crazy sight.
I get up, cross to the basement door—and I barely have it open when the forest brown wolf darts past me and flies down the stairs.
Quietly, biting my lips and feeling serious concern, I close the basement door and turn to face the girls. “Nobody opens this door. Leave the werewolf alone when he’s in the basement, okay?”
The chorus of “Yes, Mom,” comes easily, even from Maggie—mostly I think because Deek has proven to be a bit of a disappointment for her. Instead of being an exciting playmate/pet like she was hoping, he’s more like a broken, beaten dog.
I frown, uncomfortable with the thought that the Pack might be mistreating its submissive members. Thoughtfully, feeling troubled, my gaze travels to the basement door, where our new werewolf stays completely silent.
CHAPTER 4
SUSAN
It’s just after 10 p.m. when I’m heating up water for tea. The girls are in bed, and I’m getting ready to nod off myself. We haven’t heard a peep from our new guest. Not one sound. It’s not that I’ve forgotten he’s with us so much as it is that I’m not expecting him—so when I turn around with my steaming hot mug and find Deek as a human man, I nearly jump out of my skin.
Nearly-boiling teawater slaps me, making me gasp in pain to follow my gasp of shock.
“Sorry!” Deek yelps.
A sound that is unsettlingly more like the bark of a startled dog than the cry of a human man.
His eyes are wide. “I’m so sorry!” His hands come up like he might help, but then he cringes back.
“It’s fine—this is no big deal,” I assure him, peeling the fabric of my nightshirt away from my stomach. My skin feels more steamed than a lobster, but I don’t peek at it to see how bad the burn is. I just head for the freezer and pull out… a beef ribeye, or so the plastic shroud says.
Shrugging, I smack it to my front and sigh at the immediate relief.
“Are you okay?” Deek asks from behind me, voice strained. Then lower, I think I hear him mutter, “The only dinosaur who loved drinking tea was the tea-rex?”
To my surprise, he laughs softly.
I glance at my coffee mug display, with all of their funny, snarky faces visible thanks to the graduated hanging rack—where yes, a punny mug with a T-Rex shows the tiny words.
Werewolves must have great eyesight.
“Yep, I’m fine,” I tell him, turning around and trying on a smile. “And… hi. Are you hungry?”
He keeps his eyes studiously averted and his lips peel back from his teeth—the cuspids of which are oddly prominent and excessively pointy. “Yes,” he breathes.
“I happen to be thawing some steak right now,” I say, injecting a smile into my voice since he won’t look at my face. “Want some?”
He winces. “I am sorry.” He swallows. “That you got hurt, I mean.” He darts a look and manages to glance at my chin before averting his eyes. I still have no idea what his eyes look like or even what color they are. But I bet they’re kind. He seems… He just gives off a gentle vibe. Along with a deeply uncomfortable one, but still. He’s almost calming to be around, if he could just relax a little bit.
“You shaved,” I blurt. Because his beard is sort of gone. I mean, yes, technically it could only be one or the other—he has a beard or he doesn’t—except that his cheeks are heavily stubbled and growing more stubble right before my very eyes.
Deek ducks, and his wide shoulders fight not to hunch. “I tried,” he admits. “In the den, I stay shaved, but here…”
“You grow it when you’re stressed?” I guess.
His head jerks in a nod.
“No big deal as far as we’re concerned,” I assure him. “Nobody’s gonna care, and you’ll settle in.”
“Yeah...”
In one word, he’s interjected all the despair he’s rapidly approaching on that front.
I move for a kitchen stool and plop myself down with my tea and my ribeye. “Can I pry?”
Not expecting me to move, he flinches when I go for the stool and takes a huge step back before he realizes I’ve only sat down, not hauled out a barbed-wire wrapped baseball bat or whatever equally frightening thing he must have been expecting. Eyes only making it as far as my mug of tea, he’s all wariness as he asks, “About Finn?”
“Finn?” I blink. “No. I mean, we can talk about him if you’d rather. But I’d like to know a bit about you.”
This does not relax him. In fact, this prospect seems like it’s akin to skinning him alive with a paring knife. The dull one that’s still swimming around in the drawer even though nobody ever uses it. “Finn says you’re the alpha here. Ask me whatever you want and I’ll answer you.”
His response troubles me.
I decide my stomach feels fine—it wasn’t a bad burn, really. I set the ribeye on the counter and push to my feet, being mindful not to glance in Deek’s direction as I take down my cast iron pan and get it heating on the stove.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” Deek starts, being so polite.
“Eh, I’m up and you’re still a guest until Monday, so let me make you supper.
You like garlic?”
“Garlic?” Deek asks—and he sounds so thrown that his voice isn’t hesitant at all.
I almost turn to look at him, to make eye contact, but I catch myself just in time. I keep my gaze firmly on my hands as I grab garlic and retrieve butter from the fridge. “Yep. Ever had pan-seared butter steak?”
“No.”
“It will make you see heaven. Want to try it?”
I feel like I’ve won something when I catch the sound of a smile in Deek’s reply. “Okay. Thanks… Susan.”
It seems like the quiet is becoming more soothing than tense as I prep the ingredients. Absently, I murmur, “Want broccoli or potatoes?”
“Can… May I have both?”
“Sure thing.” I grab a lemon to change the recipe to lemon garlic butter. It’ll go great with the potatoes, but it will change his world when it’s coating the broccoli.
The sound of the meat frying is food-music to my ears, and the smell makes my stomach perk up. But I never eat this late. And a meal this heavy? If I wolf down—
...Ha.
If I wolf down any, I’ll regret it.
But it really does smell divine. It isn’t long before Deek asks raggedly, “Why does that smell so good?”
Privately, I smile. “That nutty flavor?”
“Yes,” he agrees with feeling.
“It’s browned butter. When it heats, it turns to magic. Plus the lemon and garlic and you’ve got—”
“I’m going to eat the whole pan. Iron included,” he declares.
I laugh at that, and flip his steak. I keep flipping it, doing it often enough that a crust forms, which will keep the meat nice and moist inside. “How done do you want it to be?” I ask.
“Anything,” he says. Then he amends, “I prefer well-done, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Although… can I make a comment without coming off as insensitive or rude?”
“I don’t think you’re rude,” he says with a surprising amount of conviction. “Or insensitive.”
“In popular media, werewolves… eat food raw,” I start carefully. “Is it normal to eat meat well-done then, or…?” Hurriedly, I add, “And you can tell me to mind my own business.”