“Temper, temper.” A finger tapping her nose. “Play nice or I won’t give you the pecan-and-nougat candy bar
In spite of the pain wracking her insides, it was impossible not to smile at this man who’d claimed her as a sister, who’d laughed, tricked, and teased his way into her life. “I thought you were in Arizona with the falcons.”
“Got back a couple of hours ago.” He slid the candy bar into her pocket.
Leaning into him, she sniffed, loud and obvious. “Hmm, freshly showered. What did you do when you got back?”
Drew gave her a wicked, wicked smile that creased his cheeks with lean male dimples. “Well now, I’ll just leave that to your imagination, Ms. Sienna Lauren.”
Laughter bubbled out of her, pumping through the giant bruise that was her heart. “You like being mated.” He’d always been one of the most easygoing people in the den, but there was a fierce happiness to him now, his adoration of Indigo open.
“Yep.” He lifted a finger to his lips when a little girl poked her head around the bush where she was hiding. She ducked back. “I’ve come to give you some sage advice, being as I’m so much older and wiser.”
“Says the man who once stole Indigo’s phone and recorded himself howling her name as the ringtone.”
His responding words were unexpectedly serious. “I had the same problem as you.”
Sienna went to snap back a reply but closed her mouth partway. “Yes . . . you did.” Drew was only four years younger than Indigo, but he didn’t occupy the same place in the hierarchy. It had made his courtship of the lieutenant difficult.
“I didn’t give up.”
Stung, she pulled away. “I’m not giving up.” She’d
“I dunno, sweetheart.” Drew rubbed his jaw, his gaze astute for all that his comment was a lazy drawl. “From where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like you’re giving Rosalie and Hawke the green light.”
Cold fire licked at her fingertips. Smothering it in her palm, she checked to make sure the kids were happy in their game before hissing a response under her breath. “I’d like to point out that you had a more powerful platform.” Drew might not be a lieutenant, but Sienna had seen the way Hawke and the others listened to him.
“Yeah, that does kinda suck for you.”
“You make me want to throw things at you.”
He hugged her again, before she could put some distance between them. Then the most sneaky wolf in the den lowered his voice and whispered, “But you’ve got an advantage, sweetheart. You’re already in his head. And you know how to mess with it.”
HAVING spent the day buried in strategy and preparation sessions for a war that seemed inevitable, Hawke didn’t get outside until after night had fallen in a lush black blanket. He was at the lake nearest the den, staring at the gentle lap of water when Rosalie appeared out of the trees to make her way across the pebbled shore. Her walk was that of a woman confident in her sensuality—the complete opposite of the cardinal Psy who watched him with an unstudied hunger that had almost broken his resolve last night.
A single touch and he would’ve had her naked in the silver kiss of the moonlight, her back cushioned by the softness of the lush green grass, her hair a ruby red flame over the wildflowers. So vivid was the image that the wolf growled, wanting to take control, to go hunting its favorite prey.
“That is not,” Rosalie said, fitting her tall, voluptuous body to his side, “the look of a man who can’t wait to get me into bed.”
He played his fingers through her hair, and though the thick, mahogany waves were beautiful, his mind kept circling back to the dark fall of silk he’d seen under the moon last night. “You’re too good for me, Rosa.”
A husky laugh. “Of course I am.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw, her breasts brushing his chest as she shifted to face him. “I can feel your wolf tugging at the reins.”
Hawke hated that he was being pushed into this by the physical needs of his changeling nature. But that had nothing to do with Rosalie. “I’m a bastard.”
“That you are,” she agreed, linking her arms around his neck.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Wow, talk about alpha. Makes me want to say ‘yes, please and again.’ ” Tracing his lips with her fingertip, she gave him a solemn look from those thickly lashed eyes of deepest green. “You know this, us, it’s freely given? No strings.”
Instead of lunging at the invitation as he’d half expected, Hawke’s wolf sat sullen, though it was being torn apart by the most savage sexual need. “I know.”
She tipped her head to the side, her hair cascading over her shoulder. “Then why aren’t you ripping my clothes off?” There was no judgment in the words, only the concern of a friend.
Reaching up, he brushed his fingers over her cheekbone. The wolf found her sensual, beautiful, intelligent. The man agreed. There was just one problem. “Indigo was right”—a realization that tilted his world on its axis—“it won’t satisfy my hunger.” The need that ravaged him was hotly specific, targeted to only one woman.
“You mean,” Rosalie said, hands on her hips, “you’re blowing me off after getting me all hot and bothered?”
“You mad?” He nuzzled at her, because the wolf didn’t want to hurt her.
Rosalie laughed, and it was a big, sensual sound from a woman who lived her life with a generosity of spirit that didn’t allow her to hold grudges. “It’s not exactly a surprise, sweetie.” Still smiling, she kissed him full on the mouth. “I came to you because we’re friends—you needed touch, and I figured you were too stubborn to go after her. I didn’t realize it had gotten to this point between you two.”
Hawke growled at the implied conclusion in her statement. “Just because I realize the need, doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it.”
“Let me make sure I have this right.” Rosalie poked him in the chest. “You want her so bad I can all but taste your arousal—and damn, but it’s sexy—but you’re not hunting her down?”
Hawke thought of how young Sienna was, how untried.
He was no lover for a virgin, especially now, with his control so ragged it was in fucking shreds. Hell, he’d probably scare her so bad she’d never want to have sex again. “It’s complicated.”
“Huh.” Rosalie didn’t sound convinced, but his sat phone rang before she could grill him any further.
Answering it, he was surprised to hear José’s voice. “It’s Luc’s turn,” he said curtly, in no mood to babysit packmates who should know better. If they got into shit tonight, he’d let them cool their heels in jail.
The bar owner blew out a breath. “I’m thinking you don’t want another man handling your girl.”
Hawke’s claws sliced out. “Anyone touches her, they’re dead.”
“She’s fine—if you don’t count the amount of alcohol she’s slugging back . . . or the cat keeping her warm.”
Hawke’s growl rolled up out of his chest to color the air. “Make damn sure she doesn’t leave with him.” Stabbing the End button, he looked up to find Rosalie grinning from ear to ear. “Quiet.”
“Hey, I’m just an innocent bystander.” She raised her hands. “Though you might want to take off your mean face before you go get her.”
“She can bloody well deal with it.” It was a snarl.
SIENNA surreptitiously passed “her” sixth shot to Kit.
He made a face. “Did you have to order this girly shit?”
“I am a girl, in case you failed to notice.” The vodkas she’d ordered earlier had been easier to get rid of—the colorless liquid blended in with the empty or ice cube–filled glasses the wait staff cleared away on a regular basis. The shots, on the other hand, would stick out.
Shuddering, Kit made quick work of the butterscotch liqueur and slid the glass over before anyone was the wiser as to who had taken the actual shot.
“Dear God that was foul.” He gulped his beer. “That’s the last one I’m doing for you.”
