Keeping the Wolf

by E A Price

  Though, it wasn’t just the embarrassment with Christine. He didn’t want any other male touching her – ever.

  Carefully, he brushed a wayward lock of hair aside and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

  She was his. Mine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harold was gone again by the time she awoke. He left her a note – not a love note, nothing so fanciful. It merely stated:

  I expect to be home by nine. Yours sincerely, Harold.

  Seriously, he wrote ‘yours sincerely’ to his wife. She didn’t really expect hugs and kisses, but he was as proper as if she were a business associate.

  Bored and frustrated, Christine revisited the club to go swimming. She was actually starting to like it there. Well, not really, but she was certainly starting to like the swimming pool, and they cooked her a steak to perfection.

  The other members of the club were a little standoffish, but that was fine, she was in no mood for company. Though the manager of the club had been weirdly attentive, hovering around her, keen to make sure she had everything she wanted. Oddly, the tennis instructor ran in the other direction when he saw her.

  But she couldn’t spend all day the club, so she decided to go back to the house and consider what she wanted to do next.

  As she approached their bedroom, she scented Esther. That didn’t surprise her. While Esther didn’t clean the whole house herself, she understood that she went over each room and checked that it had been done properly personally.

  Esther wasn’t in the bedroom. Christine dumped her bag on the bed and moved to the bathroom. She was about to call out hello when Esther came scurrying out. The older woman yelped on seeing Christine and dropped the pill bottles she had been holding.

  “Mrs. Buchanan!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to startle you, and please, call me Christy. Here, let me…”

  Christine frowned as she picked up the bottles. She had assumed that Esther was restocking some vitamins or something for Harold – though, she hadn’t seen him ever take anything. But they had separate drawers in the bathroom for their things, and Christine hadn’t ventured to look in his.

  However, one of the bottles had no label, and the other was Christine’s birth control pills.

  “What are you doing with this?” asked Christine. She held it up to Esther.

  Sweat beaded on the older she-wolf’s upper lip and her eyes darted around nervously.

  “I, ah… I’m so sorry! It was Mrs. Buchanan senior… senior.”

  “Marie?”

  Esther nodded her head, a miserable expression on her face. “She told me that I had to swap your birth control pills or she’d fire me – and I need this job. My daughter chose to mate outside the pack, so she doesn’t get any of the pack profits, and she has eight children – she needs the money I give her.”

  Rage bubbled inside Christine. “You should leave. Right now.”

  “But… but… my job…”

  “Just go.”

  Esther burst into tears and fled the room.

  Christine stared at the pill bottle. Her wolf snarled, and her claws flexed, crushing it in her hand. Really? She had her choice of mate taken away from her, and now her choice to have a pup was being taken, too?

  She needed to run as her beast, because otherwise, she may just tear apart the next person she saw.

  *

  Harold was true to his word – he made it through the door at two minutes to nine. He smiled as he found Christine in the kitchen. She scowled in return and started furiously scrubbing a pan. She banged the thing around so much it was a wonder it wasn’t dented beyond recognition.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked cautiously.

  Christine forced an irritated smile on her face. “Don’t I seem okay, Harry?”

  His eyebrow ticked at the name Harry, and he had a bad feeling where she picked it up. Jonathan was a possibility, but he doubted she would use it with such vehemence if she had merely heard his brother use it.

  She watched him as he slowly placed his briefcase on the kitchen counter.

  “I prefer Harold,” he said.

  Christine dropped the pan and folded her arms. She was trembling slightly, though whether that was because she was upset or angry, he wasn’t sure. Maybe a little of both.

  “From me?”

  “From everyone.”

  “So the woman who keeps calling, asking for Harry and then hanging up – do you prefer Harold from her as well?”

  Harold growled. Sabrina. It had to be.

  “How many times has she called?”

  Christine rubbed her arms and gave him a hurt look. “Twice, but I keep getting calls from someone who keep breathing down the phone and hanging up. I take it you know who it is.”

  Harold clenched his fists, trying to hold onto his temper. “I believe it is a woman I know…”

  “Ex-girlfriend.”

  “Technically, yes.” He would not have described her as his girlfriend, but the ‘ex’ part was certainly true. “Her name is Sabrina. Whatever relationship I had with her was over before I even met you.”

  Her eyes flared.

  “She will be dealt with,” he added.

  “No doubt. I know you wouldn’t let personal feelings get in the way of anything.”

  “You are angry with me,” he stated, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Did she think he had encouraged Sabrina to do this? Did she think he was still seeing her?

  “Yes, no. No.”

  Harold let out a frustrated sigh. “This is my fault. I knew Sabrina was being difficult and I should have shielded you.”

  Christine shook her head, her vibrant curls bounced to and fro. “Harold, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault.”

  He took a step towards her and placed his hands on her hips. “No, it is my fault, I… I don’t want my wife hurt. I don’t want you hurt.”

  Her eyes flickered, and for a moment, he thought she might cry. He almost started panicking when she looked away and murmured, “I’m just a little uncertain of everything right now.”

  “What can I do?”

  Christine shook her head again before snorting. “Maybe tell your grandmother to give it a rest.”

  She related the incident with Esther trying to steal her birth control, and Harold snarled.

  “I told Esther to get out… not sure whether I fired her or not.”

  “She is fired!” he howled. “She can count on that.”

  His hands left their comfortable perch on Christine’s hips, and he moved to find his phone. He would yell at Esther over the phone and in person tomorrow, too. How dare she try to interfere with his marriage! Though in truth, it was not really Esther he was angry with.

  Christine caught his hands and pulled them back to her hips. He stilled as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Let’s just forget about it tonight.”

  “I thought you were angry,” he said, settling into the embrace, relaxing a little on feeling the soft body of his lovely wife pressed against him.

  She gave him the first genuine smile of the evening. “I was, but seeing you get angry calmed me down a bit. I just want to forget about everybody else.”

  “I will deal with this; I will…”

  His temper started blazing, and Christine pressed a finger to his lips.

  “Let’s just go to bed,” she suggested with a certain twinkle in her eye.

  He told himself that would not distract him – he was not the kind of man who could be sidetracked by sex. But as she led him up to their room, he found the reason for his anger becoming fuzzier and fuzzier.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What are you doing here?”

  Harold gave her an amused look. “I live here.”

  Christine stumbled into the kitchen, regarding him warily. “But shouldn’t you be at work?”

  True it was Saturday, but Harold had no problem working Sunday – nor working the day after he
got married.

  “There’s a pack brunch this morning.”

  “Oh, right.” Marguerite had told her that, she had just been a little distracted by other things.

  Harold folded his newspaper. “We don’t have to go.”

  “No, pack is important.” Wasn’t loyalty to the pack the whole reason for their marriage?

  Harold nodded and pulled out his tablet. He was checking his e-mails, or maybe checking his stocks, or who knows? Perhaps he was bidding on an antique china doll on an auction site. She really had no idea what to expect from her husband.

  Christine pottered around the kitchen, making herself some tea. She watched him out the corner of her eye, expecting him to jump up and run away at any moment. But other than a few grunts, he did nothing more than swipe his finger across the screen of his tablet.

  She sat down opposite him and absently dunked her tea bag.

  “Are you really not going to work?” she asked suspiciously.

  Harold gave her a quizzical look. “No, but I may need to make a few calls before we leave for the brunch.”

  “Okay.” Christine chewed on her lip. All week long she had been lamenting the fact that she wasn’t spending any time with her new husband. Now that the opportunity arose, she wasn’t sure what to do or say.

  “I guess I should skip breakfast if we’re having brunch.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he said. “My mother will be in charge of the food – she favors alcohol over calories. There won’t be much sustenance.”

  Christine snorted. “If it were my mom you’d be swimming in red meat, biscuits, and gravy. She wouldn’t let you leave the table until you were ten pounds heavier. She’s a feeder. We all generally did our own thing during the week, but every Sunday was family dinner night, and she made us eat enough calories to last the rest of the week.” She chuckled at the fond memories. Though, their last family dinner was probably best forgotten. Her mom was virtually crying into her mashed potatoes, and her dad had stared at her all night as if she was about to be executed. “Does your family do anything like that?” she asked, shaking that particular memory.

  “Not really. The pack gets together a couple of times a month, but not our family. It has to be a special occasion for us all to come together.”

  Christine looked up at him through her lashes. “Like our wedding?”

  He smiled. “Indeed.”

  “How long before we have to leave?”

  “An hour.”

  “I’m going to get dressed.”

  Harold nodded.

  Christine moved to leave taking her tea with her, but she paused and chewed her lip. “Umm, how should I dress?”

  He slanted his head. “However you like.”

  “Well, is there a dress code?”

  “Casual.”

  “Okay.”

  She doubted that meant jeans and a sweater like it would back home. Well, back in Texas. This was her home now. She was sure she could find something. Maybe she should have bought more new clothes as Marguerite told her to.

  *

  “What’s going on?”

  Harold stilled as Christine glided downstairs. The delivery guy let out an ‘ahem’ to get his attention.

  “Ah, here.” He pulled out a bill and passed it to him.

  The dour man suddenly perked up. “Thank you, sir. Ma’am.”

  A small frown played on Christine’s face, but it didn’t detract from her loveliness. Dressed in a form-fitting dress, it highlighted her small waist, and the neckline drew attention to her breasts without showing them. It was a modest dress but hinted at her sexiness, particularly with the strappy sandals.

  Jeez, when had he ever paid attention to anything a woman wore? It even distracted him from the fact that his investigator had discovered that her ex Roark was the one calling and breathing down the phone at his Christine. Christine assumed it was Sabrina, but no, it was definitely Roark.

  “Who was that?”

  “Delivery guy,” he replied absently.

  “He must have been good at his job. That was a hundred you passed him.”

  “What?!” Harold peered in his wallet. Shit. He meant to grab a ten. Well, too late now.

  He cleared his throat. “You look lovely.”

  Christine seemed pleased and even gave him a small twirl. “It’s a new dress.”

  “It suits you,” he said with feeling. Though there was precious little that she could wear and not look lovely.

  “You like the lemon print? Your mother wasn’t keen.”

  “I like it,” he muttered as his eyes wandered all over her.

  “What was he delivering?” she asked.

  “Your car.”

  “My what now?”

  “Your car.”

  “Ah, seriously, my car?” she repeated incredulously.

  “I understand you drove a car back in Texas.”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  “It wasn’t feasible to bring it here,” he explained patiently, “so you should have a new one.”

  “Wow, just like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “The rest of us scrimp and save for things like that.”

  Harold quirked an eyebrow. Christine wasn’t like any alpha’s daughter he’d met. Usually, they were spoiled princesses who thought presents were a given. “Didn’t your father buy you…”

  *

  Annoyance rippled through Christine. Did he think she was some princess who merely had to snap her fingers at her father to get what she wanted? Is that the kind of woman he wanted?

  She wasn’t sure why, but it annoyed her how casually he spoke about buying a car. As if it were nothing. Acquiring a new thing was nothing to him – did he feel so indifferent about the way he had acquired a wife?

  “No,” she denied quickly, “I bought my car myself. It was kind of a junker, but I liked it.”

  She may have lived at home before she married, but she tried and tried to pay rent to her parents – she tried to stand on her own two feet. Her father had offered to help her buy the car, but that was at the start of his money woes, and she was adamant a little independence couldn’t hurt anyway.

  His lips pursed in distaste. “A junker?”

  “Well, it wasn’t very good with hills,” she admitted, fondly thinking of the mean green bug machine that had served her… not well, or adequately but had served her mediocrely for a good few months.

  It was a green beetle, and yes it broke down whenever it got to a steep hill it didn’t like, but driving five miles out of her way to avoid the hill wasn’t an issue. It was cute, and it was all hers.

  “It sounds dangerous,” he said censoriously. “You should never have bought it.”

  “Not really, I had…” She bit her lip; she was going to say she had Roark check it over before she did, but decided against it.

  Perhaps Harold knew the direction of her thoughts because subtly his demeanor became a lot less friendly.

  “Why don’t you take a look at the car and if you don’t like it, we can send it back.”

  His voice had taken on an almost chilly edge, and she realized perhaps she was being a little ungrateful. No one else had ever bought her such an extravagant gift – then, no one else she had ever met could really afford it. But Harold did it as if it were nothing. Perhaps it was nothing to him. Perhaps he bought expensive cars for all his lady friends.

  Christine batted that thought away. So what if he did? Or rather, so what if he had? That didn’t make any difference to her now.

  She smiled at him, trying to ease the wary look on his face.

  “Can I take a look?”

  “Of course.” He blew out a breath of relief and pressed his hand to her back, lightly guiding her outside.

  She was prepared to hate the car – some inner demon of hers wanting to be stubborn and difficult. She expected some flashy, expensive beast of a vehicle – like Harold’s own car. Needlessly fast, needlessly powerful and altogether a status sym
bol.

  Christine gasped. “Oh, my word!”

  She trotted towards the green beetle, her jaw hanging open. It wasn’t exactly like her old one – her old one had been just that – old. This was a new model beetle, but in the same green and with stripes down the side.

  “Do you like it?” he asked a little stiffly.

  Of course, she did. How could she not?

  “I love it,” she admitted. “Thank you… Harry.”

  He scowled before realizing she was teasing and some of the tension left him.

  “How did you get the same color?” She stroked her fingers along the paintwork.

  “I had Thomas arrange the custom paintwork. He spoke to your parents and had them send him a picture of your old car.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I’m glad. It even goes up hills.”

  Christine giggled and turned to kiss her husband. She had intended for a small peck on the cheek, but he turned at the same time, and their lips met. Hesitant at first in surprise, but Harold soon deepened the kiss. She moaned as his tongue pressed into her mouth, seeking hers. She dropped her purse to the ground, completely uncaring as her arms snaked around his neck and his wrapped around her.

  *

  The car had gone over even better than he expected. Of course, he was hoping that Christine would like it – that it would somehow be a nice little taste of home – but he hadn’t expected her to be quite so thrilled.

  He had considered that she would need to get around, so he merely had Thomas look into getting a replica of her old car. It was as easy at that. Very little thought or effort had gone into it. He felt bad about that. How happy could he make Christine if he actually did try?

  “Harold!” snapped an indignant voice.

  Christine drew back from him instantly, her pale cheeks flaming. But he held onto her, only letting her escape his kiss, not his arms.

  He growled as his grandmother and parents approached. He perhaps should have heard them coming, but while kissing Christine, a tornado could probably hit, and he wouldn’t notice.

  Christine turned red, and he squeezed her waist.