Four Weddings and a Werewolf

“Yeah, I did.”

Veronica threw up her hands. “You could’ve said something!”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” He patted the dog’s head and scratched under its neck. “But you were so busy cashing in on your offer for your free shoes that I couldn’t fit a word in.”

She sucked in a clipped breath and fought the urge to charge him, and then smack him on his gorgeous face. Instead, she marched into the middle of the street. “So you just plan to live there until after the wedding?”

“That’s the plan.”

“What then? For how long?”

He shrugged. “Who knows?”

Oh, God, Logan was going to live across the street. Within reach. Within get- tipsy-and-storm-across-the-street-to-bang-on-his-door-in-the-middle-of-the-lonely-night distance. He probably slept in the nude, sprawled across his bed. Well damn it, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep, now. Not with mental images of Logan, buck naked and tangled in sheets, flashing through her head.

Feeling the blood drain from her face, Veronica backed away, closer to her side of the street, to sanctuary. “And we’re finished. That’s it? Jerk.” She tried not to sound disappointed, but damn it, her tone gave her feelings away.

He stopped giving attention to the scruffy animal at his feet and looked up. His body was hard and stoic as he stood and crossed his arms over his chest, a stark contrast to the way he’d been a few minutes ago. “Knowing Jake, I shouldn’t have let it go as far as I did. You’re right. I’m a jerk.”

He paused, waiting for her to say something. But what more was there to say? It’s not like Veronica could beg him to come back inside…although she totally would if she could somehow manage to keep some shred of dignity.

“Fine.” She walked across her lawn, hoping against hope that Logan would slip behind her, scoop her into his arms, and apologize for leaving so quickly.

What was wrong with her? She had to be a glutton for punishment. What kind of girl would want a man to make love to her, when he clearly didn’t want to finish the act himself?

A desperate girl.

A girl she refused to be for one second longer.

She locked the door, marched into the kitchen, and snatched her cell phone off the counter. She wasn’t sure if her sister would be awake, and didn’t want to startle her by causing her phone to ring, so Veronica texted:

What do you know about Logan Black?

Logan was the best man in their wedding. If he was a werewolf and Leah didn’t tell her, she was going to kick her ass.

Veronica wandered around, looking for her Siamese cat, Cocoa. She opened the door leading to the garage and the cat bolted inside, then curled herself around Veronica’s legs. She bent down and gave her favorite cat a scratch.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. It was Leah:

Jake sleeping. I’ll call tomorrow. Logan was in Marines with Jake. Best friends. Loyal. Hot, yes?

“Pssh,” Veronica said, heading down the hall. Saying Logan was hot was the understatement of the century. He’d nearly scorched the clothes off her body. She texted back:

Did you know he moved in across the street?

Veronica slunk out of her dress and tossed it into the washer on the way to her bedroom. She pulled on a nightgown and got into bed, pulling the covers over her head. She was so confused about the night. She was weak in the best way, blissfully numb from the waist down. But she couldn’t wrap her head around what happened. Logan had tried to be cold. He’d tried to brush her off. But something felt off about it. As though he was separating himself from her, despite himself.

Leah texted back:

Didn’t know. I’ll ask Jake if he set him up with the digs, but at least now you have a great view. ;-)

Veronica rolled her eyes and buried herself farther beneath the covers. It made sense that Leah would think having a hot neighbor wasn’t a problem, because things always came so easily for her. She’d probably walk across the street with a plate of cookies, get to talking, and her neighbor would be proposing by the end of the night, offering her everything she’d ever dreamed.

Veronica sighed and texted back:

Not funny.

The worst part of all was that Logan had seen Veronica at her most vulnerable. He’d pulled away. He hadn’t shared the same level of vulnerability with her. And now she’d have to get his measurements for his tuxedo for the wedding. She’d have to see him at the rehearsal dinner, and at the wedding itself.

“Ugh,” Veronica moaned, curling into a ball. “I shouldn’t have done that…I really shouldn’t have done that.”

No wonder she’d always set her sights on having a relationship that led to something serious. She wasn’t cut out for this laid-back, one-night stand crap.

As Cocoa jumped onto her bed and curled up behind Veronica’s leg, she realized that this was as good as it was going to get. She would be the cat lady who died alone in bed. The one walking around Seattle with furballs stuck to her pants like lint sheets and cans of Fancy Feast tucked away in her purse. You know, in case of emergencies.

Her first—and last—one-night stand had been a complete disaster.

Well, she corrected, peeking out from the covers. At least she’d had an orgasm. Three, to be exact.

That had to count for something.

…

Logan hadn’t slept a wink last night, so he’d beaten the shit out of the punching bag hanging from the center of his garage instead. He’d blocked out everything—her taste, her smell, the curves of her body—and had taken out all his aggression on the bag. It’d helped. Until his knuckles started to bleed through the tape and his shoulders cramped.

When the alarm clock went off at 6 a.m., Logan hit the shower and cranked the water handle toward cold. He had to shake this Veronica haze. He couldn’t stop thinking about the softness of her skin when he dressed in a gray polo shirt and dark-washed jeans, or when he slipped boots on his feet. And every time he blinked, he saw Veronica’s body sprawled on the floor, her dress hiked up to her waist.

He didn’t want to complete the intimate bonding process—the werewolf’s equivalent of marriage—with anyone, let alone a human. That kind of life wasn’t in the cards for him. He was a hit man, for Christ’s sake. If there was a stable woman in his life, what would he do when he came home from work? “Honey, I’m home! Work was great. I slammed Butch’s face against a Dumpster behind Cosmo’s and finished the hit once I dragged him into the bed of my truck. Don’t worry, I’ll scrub the bloodstains out later. What’s for dinner?” So not happening.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been eating until his spoon slipped from his hand and flopped into his Grape Nuts, splashing milk all over his shirt. Fang looked up from the floor and whimpered.

“Damn it.” Snatching a towel hanging from the stove, Logan tried to scrape the wet drops away. It smeared the wetness into a funky blob. “Son of a—”

A loud, single-blaring honk sounded from outside.

He pushed back the chair and hauled ass to the front window. A taxi had pulled up in front of Veronica’s house, directly behind his truck. He was used to hearing her garage door open signaling her exit, but with her car in the shop, she must’ve called a cab.

“Damn it.” No chance to finish breakfast or wipe the mess off his shirt. “Where’s she going now?”

Veronica bolted down her walkway and hopped into the taxi. Once the cab pulled away from the curb, Logan snatched his keys off their hook and barreled out the door. His truck started up with a roar, and he peeled out to follow the fading yellow blur.

He wasn’t going to be able to protect her this way. Because he couldn’t keep his hands off, as Jake had