Keeping the Wolf

by E A Price

  Harold grabbed his phone and called home. He wanted to speak to her, wanted… oh, he knew what he wanted at that moment.

  His ardor dipped a little when Esther answered.

  “Esther, put my wife on the phone,” he growled, not bothering with any formalities.

  “Oh, Mr. Buchanan, it’s you!” exclaimed the chatty housekeeper. It was not a quality he cared for in a person, but thankfully, he mostly communicated with her through notes and texts messages. He could tolerate her in writing.

  “My wife,” he said tapping his fingers on his desk.

  “I’m afraid she isn’t here.”

  He tensed, fearing for a moment she had left him – already.

  “Your mother came by and took her out for lunch.”

  “Thank you,” he muttered and hung up quickly before Esther could add anything else.

  His desire was now thoroughly wilted. He didn’t want Christine to be alone, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her spending too much time with his mother. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to turn into a clone of her.

  *

  Christine self-consciously picked at the fraying hem of her denim jacket. Dress casually Marguerite had said. Sure. Christine was the only one in a mini skirt, sneakers and a denim jacket. Everyone else looked like they were posing for a preppy photo shoot. The country club was very much an array of boat shoes, sweaters tied around shoulders, polo necks, and chinos. She looked like she’d got lost trying to find a protest rally.

  On the plus side, the club was nice. The food was amazing, the service was excellent, and they had a very large pool of which Christine would definitely be getting better acquainted with. On the downside, she had to deal with Marguerite’s snooty friends.

  She could tell they weren’t overly impressed by her; particularly as they kept pretending not to be able to understand her accent. It was not that thick!

  The other women were downing bloody Marys like the world was about to end, but Christine stuck to water.

  The women complained about their husbands. One of them apparently didn’t want to vacation in the Caribbean. Another was annoyed that hers refused to allow her to buy a painting she wanted – it was only five hundred thousand dollars – imagine that!

  Christine didn’t take a turn with complaining. She didn’t have much to complain about other than not seeing her new husband much. She really didn’t know him well enough to complain.

  Marguerite didn’t say much about Harold Sr. – she was mostly quiet, but Christine put that down to the fact that she spent her time eye-fondling the tennis instructor from across the room. Lars was talking a male member of the club, but he had time to return her flirty glances, and when he caught Christine’s eye, he winked in a way that could only be described as suggestive.

  She quickly looked away and focused on her salad, trying to ignore the whining women.

  “Christy!”

  She looked up to see Harold’s brother making his way to her. He was suitably attired like the rest of the members of the club, but at least he didn’t have a sneer on his face.

  “Jonathan,” cooed Marguerite.

  He leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek before pulling up a chair next to Christy. He was a good-looking guy, and he was garnering a lot of looks from the females around the club. He shared similarities with Harold, though Jonathan was more conventionally handsome, his face less hard and more appealing. She had an uneasy feeling even as she thought it; she felt disloyal to her husband. Though given the flirty looks the other women were giving various sports instructors and wait staff, she wasn’t the most disloyal wife around there.

  Jonathan waggled his eyebrows and gave her a smoldering look. “How are you, Christy? How is married life?”

  “Fine, thank you,” she replied politely.

  “Old Harry keeping you happy?”

  She opened her mouth, but thankfully, Marguerite snorted at her son and interrupted.

  “Let’s go shopping tomorrow,” she said to Christine.

  “I suppose we could,” Christine hedged.

  Marguerite presented her with a credit card. “You’ll get a monthly stipend, though if you want to go over I’m sure Harold will allow it – and there are few stores in the city who wouldn’t extend credit for a Buchanan.” Marguerite named the amount of money she would be allowed each month without flinching.

  Christine gaped. “Wow, that’s…” Literally, five times how much she was earning when she was working full time. Christine held the card in her hand and ran her finger over the bumpy name – Mrs. H. Buchanan. No longer C. Morrow. “I don’t really know if I need anything.”

  “I’m sure you’ll want some new clothes.” Marguerite looked her up and down. “A new wardrobe. One day you’ll be the alpha’s mate, you need to look the part.”

  “I don’t know,” said Christine stubbornly.

  “How about some underwear to entice old Harry?” suggested Jonathan in a low tone so his mother wouldn’t hear.

  Christine ignored him. “It’s a little sudden, all my stuff from Texas hasn’t turned up yet.”

  “Well, there’s no harm in looking, I’ll pick you up at one.”

  Christine considered arguing – she didn’t really want to go shopping with her. But by that point, Marguerite was already haranguing the waiter for being slow to bring her a martini.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes and smirked.

  “Okay,” muttered Christine. Well, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

  *

  By the time Christine got home, Esther was gone. The house was pristine, and there didn’t seem to be anything to do. Looking through the freezer, there were certainly lots of food options – meals and desserts to last them a month. Esther was certainly… efficient. That should be a good thing, but it just gave her the blues. Esther was doing things she assumed she would be doing. She hadn’t necessarily wanted to do them; she just thought she would be.

  Feeling slightly petulant about Esther, Christine pulled out some ingredients to make some slow cooker chili for dinner. But as slow as it was, it was ready long before Harold came home. By eight, Christine was tired of waiting, tired of looking up as she heard every car pass.

  She found the number he left for her and called.

  “Harold Buchanan,” he barked into the phone, answering on the first ring.

  “It’s Christy… your wife.” She added that in case he had forgotten her voice.

  “Of course, Christine, is everything okay?” His tone was brisk and businesslike, and she had the feeling she was wasting his time.

  “Fine.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Umm, I was just wondering what time you would be home?”

  He paused. “I am not sure.”

  “I made dinner,” she said weakly.

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Thank you, just keep it warm for me. Don’t wait to eat with me.”

  “Sure.” That appeared to be the end of the conversation. “Ummm… well, bye, then.”

  “Goodbye, Christine.”

  He hung up, and a stab of loneliness hit her. Sigh.

  Chapter Ten

  Harold tried to get home as quickly as he could – he really did, but he had a lot of work to do. He even ended up bringing some home.

  He hadn’t expected her to cook for him, not that it wasn’t welcome; he just hadn’t expected it. His mother wouldn’t set foot in the kitchen unless it were to chastise her cook.

  He hadn’t expected Christine to be quite who she was in any respect. His parents had an arranged marriage; his mother came from another pack, the daughter of an alpha – he just figured Christine would be like her. Elegant, cool, snooty, selfish… Christine wasn’t like her at all.

  She was charming and sweet. She was… mine.

  Harold pulled his car into the garage and rubbed his eyes.

  Maybe he wasn’t being fair to her. He just ha
dn’t expected her to expect anything from him. He knew her pack was not exactly keen on the mating, but he thought she would know what it would be like.

  His mother called and told him she had given Christine her credit card; his mother also seemed bewildered by the fact that Christine didn’t seem thrilled by it, didn’t want to buy a new wardrobe at the drop of a hat and wasn’t interested in tennis lessons.

  The latter he was particularly glad of. Lars at the tennis club had made many a marriage shaky. Not his parents’ though. No. Their marriage was solidly based on hate and infidelity.

  If Christine took a lesson from Lars… His hand curled into a fist, and violent thoughts assailed him. This wasn’t like him, and he wasn’t sure he liked this side of himself.

  He found his dinner in the warming oven and his wife asleep with a book resting on her chest in the living room. Automatically, he pushed one of her curls behind her ear. His fingers grazed her soft, pink cheek. She murmured in her sleep but didn’t stir.

  Harold pulled her small frame into his arms and moved her to their bed. He considered undressing her completely but decided against it. Even if they were married, she might consider this invasive. He settled on removing her socks and jeans and settled her under the covers.

  As he watched her sleep, he considered the work he brought home. He should really do that. Maybe he could just bring his laptop to their room and work while she slept. If he were quiet, he wouldn’t disturb her.

  *

  Christine blinked as she awoke, a little uncertain as she found herself in an unfamiliar room. The early morning sun was just peeking through from behind the curtains.

  A grunt next to her almost made her jump, and she turned to find herself facing a sleeping Harold. He looked even sterner in sleep.

  Right. This was her room – her new room, which in theory she shared with her husband. She couldn’t remember falling asleep; she remembered waiting up for Harold to get home. Trying to read a book and then nothing.

  Jeez. She didn’t even see her new husband at all yesterday!

  He must have brought her to bed. Her shoes and jeans were gone, but she was still in her shirt from the previous day. She peered at him. He always looked so unhappy, even in sleep, that it made her ache inside. True she barely knew him, but nothing seemed to give him any pleasure.

  No, that wasn’t true. One thing certainly had.

  Even alone, she blushed, remembering the way he had roared as he came apart, burying himself in her body. At that moment he had seemed wild and passionate – a million miles away from his usual persona.

  Though, after their wedding night, he hadn’t exactly been clamoring to be with her again. Two nights had passed where he hadn’t even touched her. True she was asleep when he got home, but if he was really desperate for her, wouldn’t he have woken her? Maybe he only had sex with her out of duty. Was that not her reason for their first night together? If it had not been a requirement, she wouldn’t have wanted to go through with it, even if in hindsight she had enjoyed every moment. Maybe he wouldn’t touch her again until it was time to have a baby.

  That being said, their bed was enormous and could easily hold four people. Either unwittingly or not, he had chosen to sleep as close to her as he could without lying on top of her.

  She studied his features. He wasn’t what she would call conventionally handsome. Not in the big, brash way Roark was, or her father for that matter. Nor in a pretty way, like Jonathan. But he wasn’t unattractive. His features were quite sharp and hawkish, but…

  Christine yelped as Harold’s eyes snapped open.

  “What is it?” he growled, bolting up and glaring around their bedroom

  “Nothing, nothing!” she gasped sitting up and patting his arm. “You just startled me.”

  He blinked at her a few times. “You’re okay?”

  “Mmm hmmm.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Not right now.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Five thirty,” she replied, carefully laying back down.

  “I should really be getting up. I didn’t like to set my alarm in case it woke you.”

  Christine yawned and snuggled into the bed. “I wouldn’t have minded. At least waking up together means we can say hello. I feel like I’ve barely seen you since our wedding night.”

  Harold studied her for a few moments. What he was looking for she had no idea. She wasn’t sure if he found it or not.

  “I am sorry; work is busy right now. Did you have a nice day yesterday?”

  “Sure. A little heads up about Esther would have been nice.”

  “Yes, I was going to mention her when I came home on Sunday. If you don’t like her, I’m sure…”

  “No, she’s very nice. She just surprised me.”

  “She’s very diligent. Whatever you need in the house, she will take care of it.”

  “Mmmm.” Christine didn’t have to lift a finger.

  “What do you have planned for today?”

  “Well, my boxes should be arriving from my parents. It’ll probably take me a while to unpack those.”

  Harold nodded. “Good. What else are you expecting?”

  “More clothes, shoes, accessories, old photos and a few ornaments. Pretty much everything that belonged to me.”

  “Will you have enough closet space for everything?”

  Christine snorted. “Definitely – I have lots of clothes but not that many. My new closet is bigger than my first bedroom.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, back before my dad was alpha, we lived in this tiny little ranch house. Me, Cissy and my older brother used to sleep in the same room – we had triple bunk beds. It was… cosy. But we had fun. We used to swap bunks and read ghost stories under the covers. Used to give Cissy nightmares.”

  He smiled and slowly relaxed back on the bed.

  “When did your dad become alpha?” he asked.

  “When I was eight. He challenged the old alpha – he was getting a bit rabid. He was trying to force a female into mating with him. She was eighteen, and he was sixty. My dad was the strongest male, and he wasn’t about to put up with anyone forcing a female into a mating…”

  She stuttered, and her cheeks flamed. “Not that my dad forced me into this mating. This was all down to your pack.”

  Harold raised an eyebrow. “No, I didn’t mean that either!” she blurted. “I don’t blame you. I mean… I…”

  “I understand.”

  She was glad one of them did

  “Anyway,” she hurried on, “he won the challenge and became alpha. He’s always been pretty down to earth and kind of thrifty. I guess I am, too. You know your mother wants to take me shopping later today.”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  “I tried to say no, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Not that I have a problem with your mother,” she added quickly, “I just don’t feel like shopping for shopping’s sake.” Though a little time with Marguerite Buchanan certainly went a long way.

  “Think of it as doing a favor for all the shop assistants in the city.”

  Christine quirked an eyebrow.

  “You can be my mother’s chaperone,” he explained, “to make sure she doesn’t overreact and try to get any of them fired.”

  “Really?”

  “Last week a shop assistant suggested she might like to try a dress in a larger size and my mother slapped her and tried to get her fired. They wanted to arrest her for assault. My father sent me to deal with it.”

  “Lucky you.”

  His lips pursed. “With you there, I expect she’ll be on her best behavior.”

  “Hmmm.” Christine stared at the ceiling for a few beats. “My grandmother used to throw oranges at the mailman.”

  “Indeed?”

  “And I had a great uncle who used to eat snails – live ones, not cooked – because he thought they gave him courage.”

  “How interesting,” he murmured, mildly con
fused by the direction of the conversation.

  “Just thought I’d get that out in the open. You know, full mental history so that with your mother and my crazy relations we know what to expect from our gene pool.”

  “Then I really should tell you about my grandmother. Though that may take a few weeks for me to get through all her misdeeds. Not to mention my father.”

  “Well, we could just pray that our babies get the best of us.”

  She turned to look at him and his eyes locked with hers. His already swam with amber.

  “I’m sure they will be fine if they take after you,” he murmured in a husky voice.

  Arousal lazily rippled through her. She turned on her side and shuffled closer.

  “I regret we keep missing each other,” he murmured.

  “We’re both here now.”

  Harold placed his hand on her hip, dragging her a little closer still. He let out a low sound and kissed her chin. She hadn’t intended for that to sound as an invitation for sex, but that was surely what it was. An invitation he was keen to take.

  His hand cupped her ass, kneading the flesh. She could feel his growing hardness, pressing against her.

  Christine felt a flicker of uncertainty. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of being ignored and then when he finally shows up, only having sex. But as his kisses became more heated, she could feel her honey seeping. She had to admit she wanted this as much as he clearly did.

  He burrowed his fingers inside her panties, pressing a finger into her channel and growling as he found her wet and ready. He added another finger and nipped her shoulder.

  “Harold,” she moaned.

  His fingers curled inside her, making her whimper as he stroked her most tender spot. Christine pushed her panties over her ass, getting rid of the obstruction, keen to hurry this along. As much as she enjoyed the attention from his fingers, it wasn’t enough to quench the fire kindling inside her. She wanted more, needed more – needed to feel him inside her. Wanted it to be as wonderful as it had on their wedding night, and oh, it had been wonderful. She had expected it to be impersonal, for him to be cold and methodical as they coupled, but he was so far from that it made her quiver at the memory.