Bad Wolf (A Breed MC Book Book 5) Page 3

  “You draw?” Her breath tickles my cheek—she’s real close and it’s awesome. She’s not touching me, not directly, but I can feel the heat from her body and the scent of her skin drives me fucking nuts. Something vanilla and warm overlays the sweeter, muskier scent of Rain, like she’s a cookie I can’t wait to devour.

  “Nothing much.” I’ve made bank on my drawings, but there’s no accounting for taste. I mean, just look at Keelie Sue. She picked Jace when she could have had me. I look down at Were. He’s a big, dark, muscled bastard, which I guess is the appeal. I draw dark and dirty, and humans like that. These lines are just scraps, though, and not ready for prime time. I don’t want Rain looking at anything but my best.

  “Doodles,” I growl.

  Back the fuck off.

  She blinks and actually does it. It’s just one step, but it makes me realize I don’t want her any farther away from me. Prince Charming I’m not. I need to do the woo, make her smile, make her drop her guard and come closer. What the hell was I thinking coming here?

  I snap the notepad closed and jam it into my jacket. “They’re nothing.”

  “They’re wonderful.” She zips back around her enormous desk like she’s grateful for the barrier. I make her nervous.

  They’re nothing much—just barebones ink, simple lines filling in the space. But she’s looking at me like I’m fucking Michelangelo. I don’t mind that at all.

  “Stick Figures R Us.” She points to herself, making a face. “I can’t draw to save my life.”

  And then she laughs, her nervousness dissolving. She’s got the prettiest laugh. I’m not Mr. Shits and Giggles, but it makes me want to grin back at her. Tickle her a little until she does it again and then lick her until she’s laughing and coming. I’ll bet she’s an awesome multitasker.

  She shakes her head, still grinning. “I hope your kid inherits your talent.”

  Right. We’re back to my imaginary mini-me.

  I know what my Pop-Pop would say if he were still alive. He put the ornery in old bastard, and he’d never liked me. I was his freakish grandson and the fur and fangs put him firmly in the flat out hate camp. To his mind, I was a waste of skin and bones like the AWOL sperm donor who’d planted me in my mother, and he made sure I was crystal clear on his opinion. Since he liked to reinforce my understanding on a daily basis with his belt, I got the point.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  “You go right ahead and take that,” I tell Rain when she looks at me. It’s downright cute how polite she is.

  She carols out a come in (yes, please) and a mountain of red roses waddles into the room. I’ve never been a flower man myself. Once you cut that shit, it dies. I’m more of a plant-you-a-garden guy. If I’m gonna make an effort, I want it to have roots, but even I have to admit that this is one impressive floral bouquet. I’m not sure there’s a rose left in our fine state of Louisiana.

  “Laney.” Rain sounds distinctly unhappy.

  “I couldn’t refuse them,” the flower mountain whines. Guess the scrub-covered legs sticking out from beneath the flowers must belong to Laney. We’ve already discussed my difficulty remembering names, so Laney could be the girl or the blossoms, although I’m betting on the human. “The florist was already halfway out the door.”

  And… that’s my cue. I’m a regular do-gooder today.

  “Problem, ladies?”

  I take the vase from Laney, shove aside a few file folders, and set them down on Rain’s desk. There’s a small, white card tucked into the heap. Rain’s name is written in a bold, masculine slash, so it sure seems like some dick’s definitely gone all out in the hopes of impressing her. I shouldn’t give a shit about what’s going on in her personal life. All I need is her medical expertise. But it wouldn’t hurt to know if someone’s gonna be expecting her home tonight.

  “Yes.” Rain levels a death glare on the flowers.

  She’d make an excellent wolf. She really would. Too bad all those conversion myths are just that—myths. I’d be happy to bite her and bring her over to the dark side.

  “Not into flowers?” Since we just spent fifteen minutes discussing an imaginary vagina, I feel like we know each other well enough for me to ask why the fuck she’s got a thing against flowers. For someone who’s in the baby business, she’s pricklier than a porcupine. You ever touched one of those? Fucker looks all soft and cuddly until you’ve got a mouthful and then it’s nothing but quills. I learned that the hard way. Rain looks at me like she’s just waiting for a reason to stab me. Clearly, I’ve been judged guilty by association.

  “My ex,” she emphasizes, “thinks I’ll take him back if he buys me enough flowers.”

  Told you the flower donor was a dick.

  “You want me to get rid of them?”

  Her gaze shifts from the roses to me. Back to the roses. Not because she’s indecisive but because this woman is used to thinking a situation through, assessing all the possible actions and outcomes, and then acting. I’m actually nervous that she might not decide in my favor—and that never happens, at least not since Keelie Sue. Not the nerves, not the girl passing on my dick, my help, or my fucking presence in her life. Rain’s not a sure thing.

  She’s not my thing.

  A smart wolf would head straight for that door and find himself another solution to his baby momma woes because Rain is gonna be nothing but trouble.

  “Make it so,” she says in her best Star Trek voice. Jean Luc Picard is not my kind of sexy, but for her… for her, I could make an exception.

  Instead, I do what I signed up to do. I grab the massive bundle of roses, cart them out to her waiting room, find the woman I nearly knocked over, and work my charms on her. I tell her that I want to make it up to her for crashing into her. I tell her that I hope she’s okay. And with each comment, I drop another rose into her hands. Dickish Ex went all out and splurged on the kind with the smooth, long stems. I’m sure you know as well as I do that all roses have thorns. Big ass, vicious, skin-tearing, heart-ripping thorns. He’s paid someone to strip them bare and make his flowers soft and pretty for Rain, as if she couldn’t handle the real deal.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” I add another rose to the woman’s hands.

  She looks a little dazed as she tells me that she’s a Barbara. Could be the effect of me, could be pregnancy hormones. I read a book about how baby-making works (the less fun part that takes place after I come) and honestly it was scarier than any horror story by Stephen King. Personally, I’d never volunteer to push a melon-sized anything out of my dick.

  I drop to my haunches in front of her, offering her another rose. “Barbara, I need to hear you’re okay. Can you tell me that?”

  She giggles, her face going soft and happy. “I can.”

  “Awesome.” I rain flowers down on her, letting my eyes laugh back at her. “Then these are for you because you deserve them for being so understanding about my crap.”

  She beams at me and then she tears up. Stupid pregnancy hormones. I turn to her female posse. Her entourage includes two older women and another woman about her age. I divide up the remaining roses between them.

  I wink at them. “You guys take good care of my girl here, okay?”

  Now I should point out that you can practically hear these ladies melting for me. I’ve done their girl wrong, I’ve upset her, but now I’m on my knees (or close enough) and I’m paying attention to them. I’m making sure they’re good, they’re happy, they’re Team Fang. If this were a bar, I’d move on to picking out a lucky girl to come home with me, but pregnant women are now on my very short no-fly list. Not because of the big bellies (they’re fucking gorgeous) or even the psychotic swings between tears, happiness, and anger (I love me a challenge), but because they tend to have males of their own waiting in the wings and I don’t need to add any more trouble to my shit list. I’m a retired bad boy.

  Mostly.

  I shove to my feet and grin. “Ladies, you’ve made my day.”


  They smile back at me. Can you hear the birds singing and the music rising to a fan-fucking-tastic crescendo? It’s like the last strip in one of my Were sagas, where he’s vanquished shit and now he’s stomping off-frame, victorious. He’s invincible, about to get laid, and life’s probably gonna shit rainbows and magical, orgasmic unicorns, too. I’m not about to come, but I’ve got everything else going on for me.

  Flowers re-homed, I saunter back the way I came. The receptionist beams at me like I just won the Nobel Peace Prize and I’m the man of the house. I peer at her tits and the name badge pinned an inch above her right nipple. Laney. Okay. So it was the girl and not the flowers. I should explain that I’m making a point of remembering that name because that’s what you do when you turn over a new leaf. It’s not because I plan on using it. Pretty sure I could bang her, but somehow I’m not interested. I’d rather go back and torture Rain some more. So I confirm that I’m Rain’s last appointment of the day and let Laney know that she’ll be taking off soon.

  “You have plans?” Laney beams up at me. Apparently she’s anti-the-ex as well.

  “You bet.” I wink at her.

  Pretty sure the receptionist thinks I’m asking her boss out on a date. Tomato. Tomatoh. Wouldn’t mind banging her, and that’s the truth, because Rain’s hot and I have a dick. The sexual tension between us is downright bounteous, but I’m pretty sure she won’t touch me as long as she thinks I’m somebody else’s baby daddy. I stroll back into Rain’s office and hold up my rose-free hands.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  She laughs. “I could use you full time.”

  She’s welcome to use me whenever she wants. In fact, I have a few suggestions for her. I’m gonna have to reach down and do some readjusting in my jeans, however, if I keep thinking like this, so I remind myself of a few unpleasant facts. I start with Jace’s knuckles reinforcing his hands off Keelie Sue policy and then follow with the pack’s enforcer lending him an assist by ramming his steel-toes into my ribs. Even got my Pop-Pop’s voice screaming in my head too, if I need an extra dose of humility.

  Since Rain’s not thinking about sex, however, she stands up and comes around the desk. She even holds her hand out to me. “It was nice meeting you.”

  I know a dismissal when I hear one. Our appointment’s up, so I’m supposed to go quietly. As if. I step in and take the hand she offers, wrapping my fingers around hers. Fuck, she feels fragile. Given what this lady does, it has to be an illusion.

  She looks up at me. I have no idea why I like that, but she’s a tiny thing compared to my bulk. I’m a good six foot two inches, and she’s barely measuring up to my shoulder.

  I look over her head and take in the nice, big window behind her desk. This is my cue to go before she decides she has to throw me out or something stupid. I need her feeling friendly. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  She takes her hand back and I let her. “And I’ll look forward to meeting your partner. I hope everything works out for you.”

  I give her a brief nod and beat feet for the door. Hope isn’t a strategy, and I have no intention of leaving Keelie Sue’s pregnancy to chance. So I go outside, brush way too many sticky, black berries off the seat of my bike, and head back to my place. It doesn’t take long to switch the bike for my truck, and then I’m back on the road.

  In fact, I’m back right as the clinic is winding down for the day. Imagine that. Guess I do have a talent for planning after all. This time, however, I don’t park in the lot. Instead, I drive around the back of the building. Rain’s got her window propped open to catch the afternoon breeze, and the bright purple African violet on the windowsill is all the target I need. It’s like she’s just begging me to come on in. I kill the engine and coast until I’m nice and close. I leave the keys in the ignition, grab the gear I’d stashed behind the front seat, stick a nice big piece of duct tape to my palm, and get to work.

  She makes it so fucking easy.

  In Rain’s world, people use the doors and their words. So when I tap on her windowsill, lean in, and grin at her, she looks startled but then she smiles back and rolls her chair over to see what I want. Fortunately for her, I’m about to teach her an important lesson about trusting people. Don’t.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “Sorry, sunshine.”

  I take a second to nudge her plant out of the way because smashing her shit won’t endear me to her any and I might actually mean the sorry part of things. Maybe. It doesn’t stop me from vaulting right inside, however. She didn’t see that coming because her mouth sort of opens and closes, like she’s torn between shrieking and ripping me a new one. And this is where me looking the way I do—all muscles, leather vest, and ink—does me a solid. For one second too long, she’s convinced I’m just mannerless. That I think this is funny or cute or somehow okay. And so she doesn’t scream. She takes that one second to think about how she’s going to rip me a new one and where she’ll start on that.

  Me? I’m not thinking. I’m doing.

  I slap my hand over her mouth.

  She goes wild then, figuring out way too late that I’m not Mr. Nice at all. I slap the duct tape over her mouth and whip out the rest of the roll. It takes me less than a minute to giftwrap her. She makes muffled squawking sounds, bucking against my hold. It wouldn’t be a big deal except she somehow manages to shove her tit into my hand. Cupping it is just automatic on my part, but she squawks louder. I wish it was on purpose, but the woman wants to amputate my balls with a rusty spoon, not get it on.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. Yeah. Turns out that’s mostly not true, but I don’t want her pants-pissing terrified.

  I remove my hand too but only because of the whole new leaf thing. All that personal reformation doesn’t mean I don’t notice that she’s wearing a real nice bra underneath the medical scrubs—something silky because my thumb just glides over her curves. You think she’s a black lace girl? Or maybe she likes the pink froufrou stuff that looks like a garden explosion?

  It’s none of my business.

  I’m the villain in this story, and I need her to feel friendly, so what she is or isn’t hiding underneath all that pink cotton doesn’t matter. I toss the blanket over her, truss her up like an enchilada, and cart her straight out the window. Now I should explain that I don’t generally have an issue with committing felonies. Only law that matters is pack law, and I’ve already busted that.

  But because I’m working on my gentlemanly side, I take a moment to snag her purse because women like their stuff and she could be on the rag or have some dire medical condition that requires a dozen pills or maybe she’s just got a clean pair of panties and an emergency chocolate bar stashed in there. I chuck it out her window, through the open driver’s side window, and watch it land on my front seat. That’s a three point shot right there.

  Then it’s Rain’s turn.

  I don’t toss her. I’m super careful. She makes all sorts of squeaking sounds, but I pin her tight against me so she can’t bang against the window frame and I get her out quick. It’s a fast crouch and drop to the ground, and then I pop the truck door and slide her into the little space I’ve made behind my seat and the back of the cab. Got some blankets and pillows for padding too, but no one will spot her there. Not unless the police pull me over and search.

  She makes one last bid for freedom, trying to bust out, but I outweigh her and easily muscle her down. Keep her there too with one arm as I turn the key in the ignition. From the way she’s kicking the back of my seat, I’m pretty certain she’s both getting enough oxygen and not dead, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. For just a second. Engine running, I lean over the seat and ease the blanket off some. The baby books I’ve been reading claim newborns love a nice, tight swaddle, but clearly adults outgrow that shit because Rain’s looking none too happy about her blanket burrito wrap. Or maybe it’s the duct tape she’s got a problem with. Her hair’s gone everywhere, the precarious knot exploding in waves and curls. She glares up at me,
fuck you written all over her face. If this were a comic strip, her thought bubble would be all right-angled, pissed off scream.

  “Promise I’m not gonna hurt you,” I tell her. Can’t help rubbing my thumb over her cheek where she’s silky soft, which doesn’t endear me to her either.

  “I just need your help with my girl,” I continue. “We covered this earlier today. Not gonna lie to you—like I told you, she’s not my girl. She belongs to a friend of mine and he cares about her something fierce and I’d like to see the two of them end up happy, you feel me?”

  She makes an outraged sound.

  Yeah. That would be a no. Guess she’s not interested in my single status, either. So we’re gonna have to be all business.

  “You fix that baby for me, and then I’ll let you go. You just do what you’re good at and make everything right, okay?”

  My question is followed by a long moment of silence. I take advantage of it to put the truck in gear and get the hell out of Dodge. I’m not too concerned about getting caught in her parking lot, but it’s still going to be a challenge to explain what I’m doing with a baby doctor roped and tied behind my seat.

  I drive nice and steady to the exit. Even fucking use my blinker as I pull out. I think I made the situation perfectly clear. Rain’s a nice woman. It didn’t take me long to figure that out. The people at her work like her, and I think she genuinely cares about her mommas and their babies. So why can’t she care just a little about my Keelie Sue? This whole thing isn’t nearly as bad as she’s making it out to be.

  Okay. Yeah. So I tied her up.

  And I kidnapped her.

  A more mature guy might have tried using his words or, failing that, his black Am Ex. But I prefer my solutions efficient, and I know she’s going to see things my way. Eventually.

  Possibly in about a thousand years and an ice age or six.