by Laina Kenney
Iselle almost smiled at that.
“You’re welcome to it,” she said with feeling. She had brought the chair to the dump for a reason. Did he really think she would protest?
“Thank you.”
Officer John turned and walked away with a wave over his shoulder, apparently to Balke.
A gust of wind almost knocked her into Balke.
Iselle shivered and quickly zipped her jacket right up to her chin. March had come in like a lion, but it looked like the lion had eaten the lamb and it would go out the same way.
“Thank you,” she said when the police car drove over to park by the chair. “I appreciate your help. With everything.” She gestured toward the retreating black-and-white.
Balke nodded. “It was my pleasure.”
The sound of his deep, accented voice saying the word “pleasure” made her female parts clamor for attention. She squirmed a little, but her body wouldn’t settle. She had dated, of course, but she had never had such a strong reaction to any man before. It was as if something in his voice was connected to her nerve endings and every time he spoke her system went crazy.
“I mean it. I don’t think that guy would have been any help at all.” With a jerk of her thumb, she indicated the dump worker still watching her. “So, thanks.”
She couldn’t think of anything more to say, but she was strangely reluctant to leave him.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he didn’t make any move to go back to his SUV. He just stood watching her with those grass-green eyes and lopsided smile, so she gulped and said, “As I said, I appreciate the help and moral support, especially when the police arrived and started asking questions. Can I buy you lunch?”
* * * *
Balke was lost. His pretty mate was standing in front of him, and his wolf wanted to follow her wherever she went. But, to humans, that kind of behavior had a criminal connotation. He didn’t want to panic her with his new obsession, and he certainly didn’t want her to call the police back again.
He tried to sound casual when he said, “Thanks. That sounds good.”
What he really wanted to do was flash into wolf form and run baying in triumph.
He wanted to seem casual enough that he didn’t set off her internal alarm, but he wanted her to know that he was interested. With a vulfen female, the question would not arise. A vulfen female would know almost as soon as he did, might even step forward to lead the mating if she thought he was being too slow. With the pretty little human, he was off-balance. How did human males do it?
“There’s a little deli by the art gallery,” Iselle suggested. Her tone was hesitant, but her scent when she moved was a revelation.
Balke nodded when what he wanted was to grab his newfound mate and investigate the source of her elusive arousal. They had known one another for less than an hour. In vulfen terms, an hour was plenty of time to recognize and act on a fated bond, but for humans, Balke was aware that things needed to move at a different pace. If he grabbed a human female he had just met and started stripping her clothes off, she would feel justified in calling the police, where a vulfen female would be removing his clothes just as fast.
And he truly didn’t want her telling his children that he had seduced their mother at the local dump. It lacked something.
“I know the one. They have the best Reuben sandwiches anywhere.”
Iselle’s sparkling eyes and the way her tongue traced the curve of her smile enchanted him. When she laughed, his hard cock flexed and it was all he could do to stand still beside her.
“I like them, too. And maybe they’ll have the potato bacon soup today.”
The wind blew and a stray strand of sable hair waved at her temple.
Balke reached out and tucked the strand behind her ear, fingertips lingering to caress her silken cheek.
Iselle’s eyelashes fluttered and he was captivated by the beautiful flush that climbed her cheeks. That hint of pink under her skin invited him closer. He wanted to follow that soft stain of color, to nuzzle and kiss as he wallowed in the alluring scent of her skin. He would be content to look at her all day, but the raw wind would strip the heat from her delicate body in no time. She had already been out in it too long, in his opinion.
With some regret, he dropped his hand.
“Lunch?”
Chapter 3
At the little deli, the lunch rush was just over, but there were still a few people eating. People watching distracted the painter in Iselle, and Balke was so smooth about paying that he had taken care of it before Iselle could get her wallet out.
“I offered to buy you lunch,” she protested as they carried their trays to one of the tiny round tables. “I wouldn’t have known what to do today without you there. I wanted to say thanks, and buy your lunch.”
“Another time, I will let you pay, if you insist. But this first time, it is my prerogative.”
Iselle lowered her tray to the table slowly and sat, her heart tripping in her chest. He was already thinking of another time. She was, too.
It was so unusual. She didn’t quite know how to proceed. On a normal first encounter, her inner monologue was always trying to convince her that she should be polite and not leave as soon as the man made her impatient with his arrogance, or his endless talk about his car, or his superior macho attitude.
She looked at Balke. With his strong masculine features highlighted in the unforgiving light from the naked bulb above them, and that hard body, he had more reason to be arrogant and superior than any man she had ever met. But instead of being a self-entitled jerk, he just seemed like a nice, regular guy.
She was surprised to find that she had been starving all her adult life for a nice, regular guy.
During the messy, delicious meal, they talked about every topic from the unseasonably cold weather to the bizarre antics of politicians in other countries and at home. Iselle laughed more than she had in weeks.
What was it about him? Iselle didn’t want to be caught staring, but she couldn’t look away. The man was a dream come to life, with wide shoulders and brawny arms that always made her drool without the problem of the disappearing neck that happened when a man spent too much time in the gym. She could tell Balke’s muscles were from good old-fashioned hard work and good genes.
She knew her face was pink, but she couldn’t help it. He was man candy of the very best kind, and her sweet tooth had been starved for too long.
The waitress lingered a little too long refilling their coffee cups, and Iselle gave her a kind of warning glance.
She couldn’t stop women from looking, she was certainly looking her fill, but she could discourage the pushy ones. She didn’t even feel guilty about it, since Balke hadn’t seemed to notice the girl.
She took a sip of her hot coffee and glanced up into a field of bright green. Their eyes met and held, and Iselle’s body responded to the spark in his eye with a melting sensation that sent shivers echoing down her spine.
Iselle could see the interest in his gaze, and it mirrored her feelings perfectly. She basked in his focused attention, soaking up the warmth of his approval like a flower that had been deprived of sunlight for too long. It wasn’t that she had never had the opportunity, but more that the men who had expressed interest couldn’t kindle the same interest in her.
Balke didn’t have that problem, she thought with a smile.
If anything, she was too interested. She was actually considering taking him home to her apartment, and she never did that.
She felt so comfortable with him, that she even told him about her upcoming collaboration with one of the foremost children’s authors in the preschool category. And she never talked about projects before the contracts were signed. Never.
But with Balke, everything was different. Perfect.
“He asked for your work specifically?” Balke said. “That is a true compliment.”
“And he could have any illustrator he wanted for his new series,” she said, excited. “But that
sounds like bragging. And I guess I am, a little bit, but it’s a really big deal for me. Big. I’ve waited for this, and wanted it, and now I’m so thrilled and so scared at the same time. I danced around the apartment laughing after my agent called.”
Iselle waved her hands and laughed. “Sorry, I’m not usually this scattered.”
Balke’s slow smile heated her blood.
“I think it sounds wonderful. I would love to see your work.”
“Oh, I—” Iselle faltered.
She didn’t show unfinished work, ever. It was too personal, somehow. She always feared that if someone criticized something she loved about it, that she would never finish that piece at all, so she guarded her work and kept the studio door shut even when Emma was over.
But she wanted to show Balke everything.
She wanted to impress him with her artistic talent, and then take him to bed and impress him in other ways. Her sudden unruly desire stole the words out of her brain until she could only look at him.
Her formative training didn’t include how to ask a man for sex when her body had decided that with him it would be spectacular. She had never done the asking.
“Do not fret.” He covered one of her trembling hands with his large one. “I did not mean to push you, or to invite myself into your home. I’m sure it is too soon for that.”
Iselle thought it should be too soon, but it wasn’t. The idea of inviting a large unknown man to her apartment should have been impossible, but somehow, with Balke it didn’t set off any alarm bells. And the image in her mind of Balke’s big, undeniably male body in her new home, where no man had ever been, made a shiver rise up her spine.
If the shivers he inspired were that good, how would it feel if they were actually touching? Suddenly she could hardly breathe.
Before she could chicken out, she grabbed a napkin and scribbled her address.
“I would love to show you my art. You can follow me there,” she said. “But in this traffic, you might lose sight of me.”
He brought her hand to his lips.
“Never,” he said. “I never lose sight of what is important.”
Iselle shook her head, dazzled.
When she looked around, more than one woman was watching them and sighing.
He was too dangerous to the female population. His eyes like brilliant emeralds and his slightly-too-long dark hair made him look like a pirate in modern dress. And she could tell that he wasn’t just pouring on the charm. The man was lethal without even trying.
A wave of shyness seized her and she took a step back.
“Let’s go,” she said, before she could think of any reason to un-invite him.
Chapter 4
Balke followed Iselle up the narrow stairs, her tight jeans taunting him with every step. His fingers itched to stroke and squeeze her luscious female curves, but he kept his hands at his sides. Her sweet scent swirled around him and went straight to his head and his wolf tested his control with every step.
His fangs lengthened and he feared that his eyes might be glowing. His body was one giant sexual urge. He wanted.
The word wasn’t strong enough to describe what he was feeling. Desire, attraction. None of the normal words could touch the truth of the new emotions tearing through him, or the fever she ignited in his blood. The only word that came close was “hunger,” and even that was less urgent. He was ravenous for her and only her.
His wolf wanted to stop her on the stairs, gently push her forward, and mount her right there. He wanted to penetrate her with fangs and cock. The heated image burned in his brain like fire. But his flaming need was tempered by an unfamiliar tenderness.
Even with the intellectual exercise of finding the right word, he was only just in control.
He could feel the connection between them, could tell that his mate was nervous as she led him up the stairs to her new apartment.
It settled some part of him that had wondered, however distantly, if she was in the habit of inviting strange men to her home. If another male scent had been present, he didn’t know what his wolf would do. He was struggling already to take the time to make her feel comfortable with him before he seduced her, and there wasn’t so much as a trace of another male’s scent on her.
Just as he reached the top step, another scent assaulted his nostrils and he leaped for Iselle’s door, pushing her to the side of the hallway and holding her there with one hard arm wrapped around her waist.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, pulse pounding in sudden alarm.
“The door is open,” he said quietly and she stopped struggling against him. “Since I assume a woman living alone would not be so foolish as to leave her door open, I must insist on caution. Someone could still be inside.”
“What?!”
Balke could hear footsteps at the bottom of the stairs and whirled around to place his body between Iselle and danger.
“Iselle, I’m so glad you’re back!” A slender blonde was taking the stairs two at a time. “I called the police. They should be here any minute.”
Balke heard distant sirens, but it was so commonplace in the city that they barely registered.
“Emma,” Iselle said, and Balke could hear her confusion. “What’s going on?”
“That idiot Xander was in and banging on your door, yelling about his stuff. He was talking trash and claiming his chair was worth a lot of money. So I just told him it was a piece of junk and it smelled like cow shit and you were taking all that leftover stuff to the dump. Then he found the key taped to the doorframe, and I ran down here and called the cops. He started pounding on my door and shouting about how people who steal from him don’t live to enjoy it. I told him I called the cops and he ran off.”
Balke relaxed his guard and let Iselle push her way around him to hug the other young woman.
John Commander and his partner Harden burst in the lower door and stopped in the narrow vestibule.
“I recognized the address,” John said with a nod. “There’s another black-and-white on the way, and a couple of cops on foot.”
Balke raised a hand in greeting.
Iselle smiled and leaned against Balke’s side.
“I wasn’t sure if I liked your friend at first, but I’m so glad to see him right now,” she muttered, and Balke laughed.
“I often feel the same way.”
He knew John heard their low conversation, but he couldn’t resist.
Harden muffled a laugh and tried to turn it into a cough when John glared at him.
“Since I know Iselle and Balke, I have to assume that you are Emma Wetherall?” John asked and the young blonde nodded.
“Yes, I called you guys about Xander St. John. He took Iselle’s key and went into her place to get his stuff, but she took it to the dump this morning. He’s gone, now, but he was shouting all kinds of things about coming back to get what was his. If he wanted it, why didn’t he take it with him when he left? What an idiot.”
Harden grinned at that.
A female officer came in behind John and Harden.
John turned. “Officer Brannigan, would you please take the witness statements?”
The older woman nodded and asked, “Is there somewhere we could sit and take our time?”
“My place,” Emma said. “We’ll make some tea and try to calm down.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” said Officer Brannigan.
Emma grabbed Iselle’s hand and they started down the stairs.
Balke was glad to see Iselle was going with her friend. He didn’t want her to see him sniffing around her apartment. That would be impossible to explain without giving away his secret, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet.
More importantly, he didn’t think his mate was ready to see that. Two shocks in the same day would probably be enough.
“This day just gets better and better,” John said. “You haven’t killed anyone yet, have you?”
Balke snorted. “I haven’t had time,” he said, and Har
den guffawed.
“Been inside yet?”
“Haven’t had time,” he said again.
“I like to go in low,” John said, and Harden drew his weapon and got into position.
“It’s clear. No heartbeat inside,” Balke said, but he let the two cops sweep the apartment without interfering.
John, as a shifter of the Fox Clan, would know there was no living person in the apartment as well as he did. And Harden. Well, Balke wasn’t exactly sure what Harden was, but whatever his makeup was, he wasn’t a full human.
“Clear,” John called, and Balke walked in.
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the place was immaculate. It didn’t look like a place that had been searched by an angry dealer.
He looked around.
And it was…pretty. A little part of his heart melted. His mate was a girly girl, her decorating style stated, complete with overstuffed chairs, antique quilts, and fluffy, pastel throw pillows. There were soft fluffy rugs placed on the gleaming hardwood. She had added a kind of old-fashioned charm to the century home, and the effect was one of comfort and welcome.
A painting on the living room wall snagged his attention and drew him closer. Beyond the obvious technical skill, there was emotion.
It depicted an old crumbling castle with a dark-haired princess gazing out from the high crenellations at sunset. On a far green hill, visible only in silhouette against a sunset that was rapidly fading, was a large black wolf. Brown hair blowing in a light breeze, hands on the cold stone, the princess watched the wolf with an almost palpable yearning.
“Looks a bit like you. Maybe she had a mate dream,” John said from beside him and pointed.
Balke stared and the fine hairs rose on the back of his neck. The precise flowing signature read Iselle.
His mate was a gifted artist, and perhaps more.
A tremendous hope rose inside him. If she could envision herself in such a fantasy setting, it might not be such a stretch for her to accept the truth of his very different makeup. It was clear that she had an open and imaginative mind.
