the first place?” Great. Now he was feeling guilty about giving Miles what he deserved. Trust Stacey to ruin a great prank.
“I thought you and Juneau were an item. Or is it Reggie you’re catting around with lately?”
At least she wasn’t worried about Miles, which meant he hadn’t screwed up their chance to nab investors. He frowned. “Juneau and I dated over a year ago. Reggie’s a nice girl. A friend. You have a problem with her?” He left the dirt road leading to the ranch and headed into town.
“Not at all. It’s not the poor girl’s fault she’s been tempted by the town slut. The women around here have pitifully little to work with.”
He gritted his teeth and clenched the wheel. He reminded himself she was under the pride’s protection, that the skirmish in Miami wasn’t quite over, and that danger could be stalking her just around the corner. But damn, it was hard to remember all that with her smug expression daring him to give her a taste of her own medicine.
At the word
He pulled into the parking lot of the crowding diner, turned off the engine and faced her with a forced smile. “Sweetheart, if I’d known how interested you were in my love life, I’d have made sure to save you a night.” He leaned closer, entranced by the lingering smell of her perfume and by the heady scent of anger roiling from her pores. “I can pencil you in on a Sunday afternoon if you’d like.” He trailed a finger down her forearm to her hand and did his best to ignore the heat licking through his body.
He thought for a moment her pupils dilated, that he caught the spike of arousal in the air. Until she gave him one of her trademark sneers, which annoyed him to no end, because even her disgust turned him on.
“You could only be so lucky.” Stacey left the truck with the grace of a feline in her prime. After shutting the door, she leaned in through the window and gave him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage framed by a blue lace bra. “Sorry,
A Love Worth Biting For
Amber Paulson’s wolf has chosen a mate for her, but Amber is not amused with its pick. Jake Meyers might look amazing in a wet T-shirt and have the cheekbones and strong jaw that artists drool over. Too bad he is missing a pulse.
Jake is a vampire, well, mostly. Then a tall, curvy redhead pops up on his radar and something awakens in him. Even though he tries to stay away, Amber gets under his skin, and his vampire/werewolf heritage starts to become more bark and less bite. For the first time, he feels the call of the moon, and he knows it’s all because of Amber Paulson.
Amber’s trying to stay away, and Jake’s trying to not turn furry. They both fail miserably—and with a lot of sweaty and enjoyable property destruction.
By giving in to her mating call, Amber finds out more than she ever wanted to know about herself, her family, and the rogue wolf who took so much from her so long ago. As her past comes back to bite her, she’ll have to decide what she’s willing to give up for her mate. Her home? Her pack? Her…heartbeat?
I wasn’t prepared for it. That’s what everybody says when they meet the love of their lives. But I’m not everybody. Hell, most of the time I’m nobody, or at least I try to be. I was given the name Amber Paulson for crying out loud. A name like that does not a rock career make. Daddy always told me that the urge to mate is something you can’t control. That you would just find yourself smacked upside the head one day. If you were lucky.
I didn’t know anyone in my Pack who was mated. That’s not to say we are virgins.
Anyway, I was walking through the latest campus we had moved to. It was some little rinky-dink town in Indiana of all places. Land-locked, but lots of places just outside the city for a wolf to run. Big enough to get lost in, small enough to get away from everybody when you needed to. The campus was walkable, and I took my time, because if I hurried, I could outrun an Olympic medalist. And I still had plenty of time until my next class.
Mary called and reminded me not to be late. Mary Fields was my best friend these days. I liked humans, but I loved Mary most. I met her on my first day of orientation, and somehow she puts up with me. I threw her a quick text to let her know I’d see her in class.
Did you know the average werewolf lives for four hundred years after turning? I’ve been around for fifty as my wolfy self, so the American History class was one I have repeated often. From the complete lack of effort needed this time through, either I was radically expanding my brainpower or society was expecting less and less intelligence from the general student body. Which brings me back to me not being prepared. I was walking slowly to class, when one student body in particular caught my attention.
There always seems to be an impromptu game of football being played on the practice field outside the cafeteria that involves guys taking their shirts off and trying to impress the co-eds in hopes of getting the chicks’ shirts off later. Personally, unless you’re taking down a twelve-point buck with your shirt off—while covered in hair—I am not usually impressed.
That day was different. For some reason, my feet stopped moving when they hit the spray-painted white line on the field. Guys and girls chased the pigskin in the sunshine. The temperature was a degree below fried eggs, and not a cloud was in the sky. I heard a bottle pop open, and what should have been a glance turned into full-on ogling. He still had his shirt on, but had begun pouring the open bottle of water across his chest in an effort to cool off.
My increased hearing picked up the sighs and elevated heart rates from the women around me as the thin fabric of his shirt clung to his body and drops of water cascaded down. Deep tan skin began to peek through. His chocolate-brown nipples puckered. The water must have been cold. Thank you Jesus for whoever had those puppies in a cooler.
I could see a slight smattering of chest hair sandwiched between his skin and tee. Then he pulled up the shirt to wring it out, and I caught the brief glimpse of his six-pack and a trail of body hair that drew my attention down to his black shorts. I swear it was like an arrow directing me where to go. Boy, did I want to follow it.
The healthy dose of yum shook the water from his head and hands. The shirt fell, and I pulled my jaw up off the ground just in time to not have my tongue loll out the side like a freaking German Shepherd.
He looked up and waved. My hand waved back on instinct. When his eyebrows drew together and he began jogging back toward the game, I looked around to see a petite blonde behind me, with her hand also up in greeting. I gave her the “I’m an idiot, never mind me” salute and started off toward campus. What the hell was wrong with me? He wasn’t even Pack. Why was I ogling him like I was headed into my first heat?
“Hey! Wait up!” A feminine voice called from behind me.
I slowed my pace to about half my pulse rate. I had learned that to step below my pulse rate was a great way to appear more human. The fact that I was still speeding through campus told me my pulse was hammering like a hippie playing bongos.
“Sorry, I…oh. Were you talking to me?”
The blonde from the practice field jogged to catch up with me. Her little perky boobs bobbed with her ponytail, but nothing else on her jiggled. I hated her instantly.
