A Werewolf in Manhattan

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Yeah, I’m sure security is the main appeal.”

  “Absolutely.” Aidan glanced around at the sleek penthouse furnishings predominated by a black-and-white color scheme. There weren’t enough plants to suit him, but otherwise, it worked. The windows presented a view of city lights and of snow that had just begun to drift down in big, fat flakes.

  “Ha. I stayed there once, and the Jacuzzi is all gilt and mirrors. Is she in it yet?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I hope to hell you have the good sense to stay out of there.”

  “I will.” He’d been trying not to think of Emma naked in that Jacuzzi. The maid had lit about twenty candles in the room, and Emma had been entranced. She hadn’t been able to change into the hotel robe fast enough.

  “You step one foot in there, Aidan, and you know what will happen,” he said. “And worse yet, if for some reason you get interested and nothing comes of it, you have that little genetic problem to deal with.”

  Aidan blew out a breath. “You don’t have to remind me. I’m fully aware that I have that problem and you don’t, dickhead.”

  “At least you’re only a couple of blocks from the park, in case you start shifting and have to work it off.”

  Aidan’s slight disability was a sore spot, and Roarke knew that, damn him. Aidan was older, but Roarke was free of that particular gene, and he liked to flaunt the fact. “Roarke, let me ask you something.”

  “No, I have never slept with Britney Spears. She wanted to, but I said no.”

  “It’s not about your sex life, which I find vastly boring. It’s about your watch. How much do you think Dad paid for it?”

  “Close to a mil, I guess. Why? Jealous?”

  “You know a family could get a really nice house or a great condo for the same price as that watch.”

  Roarke sighed. “That’s not the point. Fine craftsmanship is disappearing, but it still exists in some areas, like watchmaking, for example. You could argue that watchmaking is an art form. Your watch and mine are like one of the Renoirs or Picassos the family owns, except we can wear them, which is actually more useful than something that hangs on the wall.”

  “I suppose.” Aidan had been debating the watch question all day, but he felt better now.

  “Artisans who make things like intricate watches and intricate blown glass and—”

  “Fine wines?” Aidan asked hopefully. He’d just dropped a bundle on the one Emma was drinking in the Jacuzzi, and in case she saw the bill at some point, he wanted to be ready with a justification.

  “Absolutely. Fine wines and precision automobiles and sleek yachts. These artisans need patrons, just like in the Renaissance. Without people like Dad and Mom supporting them, the artisans of the world would have to abandon their years of apprenticeship and dig ditches.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “Maybe not ditches, but you get the idea. Without patrons, many amazing creations wouldn’t exist. It’s our duty to make sure the culture continues in all its facets.”

  “Thanks. You’re the scholar, so I figured you’d be the one to give me the rationale.”

  Roarke chuckled. “I take it Emma disapproves of your watch.”

  “We had a discussion about it.”

  “Discussions are good, bro. That means you’re not getting horizontal. Keep it in your pants, okay?”

  “That’s always been the plan.” Aidan didn’t appreciate being lectured to by his younger brother, and it was becoming something of a habit with Roarke.

  “I don’t have to tell you that Dad’s nervous about the relationship between the Wallace and the Henderson packs.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Oh, and I’m pretty sure Nadia knows you’re in Chicago. You’ll need to at least pay a quick social call.”

  “When am I supposed to do that?”

  “Maybe Sunday, before you fly back.”

  Aidan groaned. “I’ll do my best.” His attention veered from the phone call as Emma padded out into the living room, carrying a balloon glass full of the Lafite Rothschild in one hand and the half-empty bottle in the other. She was all pink skin and gold ringlets, and she was smiling.

  “This is great wine, Aidan,” she said.

  “Later, Roarke.” He disconnected the phone and turned to Emma. “Glad you like it.”

  “I’m not even going to ask you how much it was.”

  “Good, because making wine is an art that needs to be supported by those who have the means.”

  “I guess.” She walked over to one of two sofas that faced each other in front of the fireplace. The sleek Scandinavian frame was covered in black leather. “In any case, I started feeling guilty drinking it all by myself. I’m sure this penthouse must have another wineglass somewhere.”

  “I would imagine it does.”

  She held out the bottle. “Then have some with me. I discovered I don’t really want to drink alone.”

  He could imagine what Roarke would say about that plan, but Aidan thought he could handle it. Whatever the maid had added to the water in the Jacuzzi clung to Emma’s skin, disguising her scent. “I’ll get a glass.”

  Having wine wasn’t the worst idea in the world in another way. He walked into the large dining room and over to a cabinet where several goblet choices hung by their stems. Alcohol tended to mute his genetic problem, so he might actually become less aroused by sharing the wine with her.

  Then he came back to find her curled up on the end of the sofa nearest the fireplace, her bare feet tucked under her and the hotel robe representing the only barrier to touching her warm body. His chest began to itch.

  But he had the goblet in his hand, and changing his mind now would make him seem indecisive. He shouldn’t care what she thought of him, but ... he cared more than he wanted to admit.

  Now he had to decide where to sit. Roarke would advise him to choose the sofa opposite her, which put a brass-and-glass coffee table, plus a couple of heirloom-quality vases, between them. But Aidan figured that would make him seem like a coward, and besides, the wine bottle was on her side of the coffee table.

  So he walked over to where she was sitting, eased down onto the smooth leather at the opposite end of the sofa, and reached for the wine bottle. He must have been paying more attention to the slight gap in her robe than to what he was doing because he bumped the wine bottle instead of grabbing it, and it started to go over.

  Emma gasped and leaped toward it. She never would have made it in time, but he did. His many Were gifts included reflexes that made his sudden movements a blur, even when captured by the fastest camera shutter in the world. As kids, he and Roarke had tested it. Aidan caught the bottle before a drop of Lafite Rothschild spilled.

  Emma took hold of it a split second later. Still clutching it, she stared at him. “I’ve never seen anybody move that fast.”

  “I have good reflexes.” There was nothing wrong with his eyes, either. Her wild leap from the sofa to catch the bottle had loosened the tie holding her bathrobe closed. He had a perfect view of her creamy breasts. Her nipples, soft and full from the warmth of her bath, were the color of a rosé. He longed for just one taste.

  If she hadn’t recently immersed herself in a commercially produced bubble bath, he would have been aroused beyond all reason by the temptation of that open robe. He would have taken her right then and there. No power on earth could have stopped him, other than her refusal. She wouldn’t have refused. When Aidan was in full command of his sexuality, no woman had ever said no.

  But the aroma of flowers did nothing for his libido. He was operating completely on visual stimulation, which didn’t stir his sexual needs nearly the way her natural scent would have.

  Yet he was stirred. His mouth grew moist, and his cock stiffened.

  “Oh. Sorry.” She released the bottle and pulled her robe together.

  He had a brief glimpse of her soft nipples tightening before she blocked his view with thick terry cloth. Whether her
nipples had reacted to the air or his glance, he couldn’t say. Her cheeks were pink, but that could be from embarrassment, as well as desire.

  “I should have put on clothes instead of the robe.” She avoided his gaze as she tightened the sash. “I brought pajamas that cover me from head to toe, but after that wonderful Jacuzzi, I wanted to snuggle into this robe. It’s so thick and soft.” She looked up. “But it’s completely opaque, and I didn’t think—I didn’t mean to be seductive, Aidan. At least I hope I didn’t.”

  His tailbone ached, and the backs of his hands prickled. He had two choices. Kissing her thoroughly—and not just the quick peck she’d given him on Wednesday night—would temporarily stop the process. If he fooled his body into thinking it would eventually get what it wanted, his shift could be delayed indefinitely. He might even be able to put it off completely. Yet that seemed like such a selfish route to take.

  On the other hand, if he didn’t kiss her, he would have to leave the penthouse and surrender to the shift somewhere in the middle of Grant Park. He’d be forced to strip down outside in the snow and hide his clothes somewhere they wouldn’t get stolen. He didn’t like those conditions worth a damn. But he’d brought it on himself. He should just swallow his pride, head for the park, and accept that Roarke was right. He’d been an idiot to think this would work.

  Taking off his watch, he laid it on the coffee table. He’d never worried much about it before, but she’d made him more aware of losing it. “I’m going out.”

  “Out where?”

  “For a walk.”

  Her voice rose in alarm. “Without your watch? Are you planning to go someplace where you’ll be mugged?”

  “I won’t be mugged. I just would rather not take a chance on losing the watch.” He wanted to leave without wearing his topcoat, which was one more thing that could be swiped while he was in wolf form, but then she’d get even more suspicious. He opened the foyer closet and took out his topcoat.

  “Aidan, you can’t leave.” She hurried over to him, her bare feet whispering seductively on the carpet. “This is because I flashed you, isn’t it? You’re afraid you’ll do something you’ll regret.”

  He shrugged into his coat. “Or something that would be unfair to you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You said it yourself on the plane today.” He chose his words carefully as he buttoned the coat. “We’re from different worlds, yet we’re inconveniently attracted to each other. If I acted on the impulse I have right now, I’d be doing it with the knowledge I was only ... using you.”

  “For sex?”

  “Yes.” He met her gaze. “For sex. Pure, unadulterated sex. Nothing more.”

  She swallowed.

  “You deserve more than that, Emma. So I’ll go for a walk and get myself under control. You’ll be safe here, and I won’t be long. Maybe an hour or so.” He started for the door.

  “Wait.” She caught his arm. “It’s snowing out there.”

  He glanced down at her hand on his coat sleeve. Such a soft small hand to wield such immense power over him. “No problem,” he said. “I like the snow.”

  “So do I. Let me get dressed and I’ll go with you.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “That would defeat the purpose. I’m trying to put some distance between us. You need to stay here.”

  Her grip tightened. “So do you.”

  He made the mistake of looking into her blue eyes and seeing the hunger there. He gave her as much truth as he dared. “Emma, you don’t know me at all.”

  “I know enough. I know that you’re the kind of man who would rather walk off his sexual urges than take advantage of a woman he has no intention of making part of his life.”

  “It’s what any decent—”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Actually, you’re wrong about a lot of things. You say I deserve more than pure, unadulterated sex. In the long run, when I choose a life partner, that’s true, but I can’t think of anything I’d like better tonight.” She gave him a saucy look. “For research purposes, of course.”

  Lust speared through him, and as he stood there fighting it, his pelt began to grow. “You want to find out how the wealthy do it?”

  “Could be.”

  “We have sex the same as everybody else.”

  “Somehow I doubt that’s true of you.” She moved around in front of him and began unbuttoning his coat. “You’re much stronger than I am, so you can shake me off and go out that door if that’s what you really want.”

  He clenched his jaw as his teeth began to ache. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s best for both of us.”

  She finished unbuttoning his coat and slid her hands up the front of his shirt. “Maybe unconsciously I wanted to seduce you by wearing only this robe.” She gazed up at him as she lightly massaged his chest. “You intrigue the writer in me, Aidan. But you fascinate the woman in me. There’s something of the animal in you.”

  She was on target with that one. He hoped his chest hair hadn’t curled up past the open neck of his dress shirt. He had about ten seconds before the buttons would pop from the strain of his growing pelt and the powerful muscles forming beneath it. He had to go now.

  “I want to undress you, Aidan.” She unfastened the first button. “You’re so masculine, so—my, you do have a lot of chest hair. So soft, so sexy.”

  Too late. He’d hesitated, and now he’d never make the lobby in time. He had one option left, and he hoped it would still work for him. “I need to kiss you, Emma.” He cupped the back of her head and slid his arm around her waist. “Hold very still.”

  “Aidan? Your teeth are so white and so—”

  He used what little control he had left to lower his head and kiss her gently. Easy now, light pressure. He could only tease her mouth with his, because if he kissed her fully, he’d draw blood. His canines were sharp enough.

  She was so innocent, so trusting. Dear God, he hoped he hadn’t waited too long. If he shifted now, in front of her, she might never get over the shock of it. What if he still craved her after the shift? Would he take her while he was in wolf form? He’d never been in this precarious position before. It was uncharted territory.

  But, ah, he wouldn’t shift. As she kissed him back and pressed her sweet little body to his, his teeth stopped aching, and his canines began to retract. His tailbone no longer bothered him, either. The insistent pressure he’d felt there had moved forward and now affected his cock. Women were used to that phenomenon. In fact, they seemed to enjoy making it happen.

  As his shift gradually reversed, his lust grew stronger. Her natural scent had begun to filter through the fragrant oils from her bath, and he fumbled with the tie of her robe, impatient to remove it and sniff every inch of her naked body.

  His topcoat was in the way, and he released her temporarily, still keeping contact with her luscious mouth as he shrugged out of his coat and dropped it to the floor. Freed of that burden, he worked her out of the robe.

  Yes. At last he could stroke, touch, fondle. He buried his nose in the side of her neck and breathed in as he ran both hands over her quivering skin. She was smooth, warm, moist ... rich. So rich.

  The scent of her drove him to nuzzle her breasts. He’d learned that kisses could disguise his real purpose, which was to breathe in every delicious aroma rising from her body. The more he caressed her, the sweeter she smelled. He trailed kisses down between her breasts as he absorbed every tantalizing fragrance along the way.

  Dropping to his knees, he cupped her bottom and kissed her navel, but his goal was the downy patch of blond curls just below, where the musky scent of arousal called to him with a siren’s song. When he reached his destination and breathed in her essence, he growled low in his throat.

  She trembled, but didn’t resist as he sought her out with a swipe of his tongue. She tasted as he’d known she would, like the nectar he’d dreamed of all his life and never found in either wolf or woman. He needed mor
e.

  “Come down.” Bracketing her waist with both hands, he guided her to her knees, then onto the thick carpet.

  Her breath came fast. “Aidan ... there’s a perfectly good bed ...”

  He didn’t want a bed. Urging her legs apart, he settled down on the carpet and slid both arms under her hips. Then he took her, burying his nose in her fragrant sweetness and using his tongue to lap, to caress, to arouse in ways that were guided partly by human instinct, partly by the wolf that lay just under the surface.

  She responded like the wild thing he’d always suspected she could be. He’d read her books, watched her dance. He’d sensed the sensual creature waiting to be turned loose.

  He gave her that freedom. By holding nothing back, by making low urgent sounds deep in his throat, he bid her to writhe in his arms, arch toward his ravenous mouth, and cry out for more. He made her come once, twice, three times before she sagged against the carpet, panting, her body limp and quivering.

  The smell of sex filled his nostrils as he suckled her gently, easing her back from the last shattering climax. His shift was in retreat because he’d fooled his body into thinking relief was at hand. If he’d been in wolf form, it would be.

  But he’d pleasured her as a man, which meant he had to follow human rules. That meant pretending that he had to avoid pregnancy. Kissing his way back up her moist skin, he gazed into her heavy-lidded eyes. “We need room service.”

  She frowned.

  “Never mind.” He feathered a kiss over her lips. “You’ll see.” Reaching for the robe that had fallen to the carpet, he pulled it over her and got to his feet. A phone sat on a nearby end table.

  Picking up the receiver, he punched the button for the front desk. “A box of Trojans, ASAP,” he said, and replaced the receiver.

  A muffled sound made him turn toward Emma. She had a hand over her mouth, but she was definitely laughing.

  Crouching beside her, he tossed aside the robe and lifted her into his arms. “Go ahead and laugh. Some of us still have business to take care of.”

  “But room service?”

  He carried her toward the master bedroom. “That’s how the wealthy handle these things. I hope you’re rested up, because I have plans for you while we’re waiting for those Trojans.”