Four Weddings and a Werewolf (Entangled Covet)

by Miller, Kristin

  Veronica had watched this exact scene play out in horror movies before. The damsel in distress, and the guy with the hook for a hand. She was going to die. No, she was going to be hacked to pieces first.

  Oh, God.

  “Veronica?” The stranger’s voice was familiar. Gravelly and rough with a smooth lilt. He bent lower, peering through the window. “Car won’t start?”

  Veronica squinted, struggling to discern the expression on his face. As her eyes focused, a few features became clear. Warm gunmetal-gray eyes stared beneath a creased brow, and a ruggedly square jaw framed a set of perfectly plush lips.

  Mr. Grady’s cousin.

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” she hollered through her closed window. “I’m calling for a tow.”

  “Know how long it’ll take to get a truck out here on a Sunday night?” His eyes were gentle. Soft and trusting. “You could be sitting out here for hours.”

  Her head hit the headrest. “Just what I needed.”

  “I’m not a mechanic, but I know my way around cars.” His lips gave the hint of a smile, and her heart stuttered. “I can give it a quick look if you want? Make sure it’s not something simple like the battery?”

  Veronica didn’t know this guy from Adam—he could still be a killer—but there was sincerity in his gaze and honesty in his words. And he was a member of the Grady family, which meant he couldn’t be all that bad. They were one of the most reputable families in the area, minus Mr. Grady’s uncle who donned too much hair at the full moon.

  Besides, ax murderers weren’t this hot.

  “Could you?” She shrugged. “If you don’t mind?”

  “Of course I don’t.” He strode around the front of her car. “What’s going on?”

  “It won’t start.” Shaking off the last of the fright, Veronica cracked open the door so he could hear her more clearly. “It won’t even make a sound.”

  “Your battery might be dead.” He curved his fingers beneath the hood. “Open up and I’ll take a look.”

  Sliding her hand down the left side of her dash, Veronica found the hood latch and gave it a solid yank. He dove under immediately. She could only see his hands beneath the crack of the popped hood, so she sized them up as best she could. They were large and sturdy, with long fingers and red, knobby knuckles. He used his hands, that much was clear. He had to be a mechanic. Or maybe a boxer? His hands skimmed from one side of the engine bay to the other, sliding into compartments and tugging on the casing.

  “Getting into this thing is like breaking into Fort Knox,” he mumbled. “What year is it?”

  Veronica rose up off the seat, struggling to get a better view. “I just bought it,” she yelled. “Right off the truck.”

  “That’s odd.” He stopped tinkering and peered around the hood. “I’m going to pull my truck around to give you a jump.”

  “Okay,” she said, but he couldn’t have heard. He was already striding toward the old blue Chevy, the only other car in the lot.

  Veronica hadn’t realized she was still clutching her phone. She could call for a tow—it wasn’t too late. She hesitated, watching Mr. Grady’s cousin start up his truck and pull it in front of hers, then tossed her phone back into her purse. He acted as though this was going to be no big deal. Like he’d get her car started in two seconds. The truck’s lights were high and swept over the car, blinding her. She shielded her eyes as he jumped down with cables in his hands, and bent over the engine.

  “All right.” His voice was husky and low, a lazy drawl that was music to Veronica’s ears. He could’ve been reading the stock ticker aloud, and she would’ve been happy to listen. “Turn her on.”

  Veronica cranked on the key. When nothing happened, she turned it again and again. “Nothing,” she hollered.

  “Mind if I give it a try?” He was beside her driver’s door before she could blink.

  “Be my guest.” She didn’t know a lick about cars. She was lucky to know where to stick the key in the first place.

  With one hand resting on the top of the car, he stood aside for Veronica to get out, only he didn’t leave much room for her to pass. Veronica had to slink by. She moved quickly, her body jumping to life with sharp currents of electricity as their arms brushed.

  Ax murderer? Definitely not. Sex god? Quite possibly.

  “And you said this car was brand-new?” He dropped into the seat like he hadn’t felt a thing, turned the key, and then stomped on the pedal.

  “Uh-huh.” She rubbed her arm where it was still buzzing with warm, tingly volts of excitement.

  He slid off the seat and swept pass her, veering far and wide on his path back to the front of the car. He leaned into the compartment once more, and muttered a low curse to himself.

  …

  “Do you work on cars a lot?” Veronica asked.

  Logan wished she would back away and give him some space. He couldn’t think straight with her scent clinging to him. She smelled like vanilla, dizzyingly sweet, and he couldn’t stop breathing deeply to take more of her in. Getting fixated on a dame he was hired to protect wasn’t an option. Especially since Jake had specifically asked him to keep his hands off. He shouldn’t have touched her when she moved by him, but damn it, he couldn’t seem to pull himself away.

  He buried himself beneath the hood, digging around to find something out of the ordinary. He needed to focus.

  “Guess you could say I’m a bit of a gearhead,” he said. “But my experience starts and ends at my truck. Lexuses definitely aren’t my forte.”

  Silence stretched on for a few minutes, and Logan craned his neck around to check if Veronica was still there. She quickly averted her attention to the engine and shifted her feet against the pavement. If he wasn’t mistaken, Veronica had just checked out his backside.

  Logan flipped open the fuse box. “Well, here’s your problem.”

  Veronica stood next to him, leaning over to peer into the engine. She brushed against him once more, sending chills rocketing up his arms, the same way she had before.

  “What is it?”

  “Someone pulled a fuse out of your fuse box and set it aside.” He held up the fuse for her to see. “Your car won’t start without it.”

  “What do you mean”—Veronica’s fawn-brown eyes glossed with worry—“someone pulled it out?”

  Logan folded his arms and leaned back against the car. “First of all, your car is brand-new. Unless your car is a lemon, you shouldn’t be having problems so soon after driving it off the lot. Second, if you blow a fuse, it’s going to get a smudgy black mark on it. If it’s pulled out of its slot, and lying there…that doesn’t happen unless someone does it maliciously. Know anyone who doesn’t like you or this pearl-toned machine of yours?”

  Better to make her focus on possible enemies than an admirer turned obsessive. Jake didn’t want the authorities alerted, and if Veronica tied the notes and flowers to the vandalism of her car, a simple property damage report could turn into a ton of snooping on the police department’s behalf. That was the last thing they needed.

  “No, I don’t think so.” She seemed to drift into thought, her gaze landing beneath the hood, but on nothing in particular. “This whole thing is just so bizarre. What would be the point? Who would do something like that?”

  “It was probably just some punk playing a prank.” Logan chose his words carefully. “There’s no rhyme or reason for the vandalism that takes place in this city.”

  Logan had stayed behind to make sure Veronica made it out of Seward Park all right. If he hadn’t been sitting in his truck, waiting for her to head out of the parking lot, the stalker would have made his move. Logan was certain of it. Now, though, he wasn’t picking up anything outside the lot—no unnatural noises or voices, and no scents other than Veronica’s.

  The stalker was hell and gone from Seward Park, his chance to get Veronica alone busted.

  Her lips twisted as she seemed to chew over Logan’s words.

  “I don’t know w
hat’s going on,” she said, smoothing down the flyaways that’d come loose from her ponytail. “I’m just glad you were here to help me out. Why were you leaving the wedding so late?”

  “I like the quiet of the park. I walked down to the lake’s edge and sat on a bench. Before I knew it, everyone had gone.” Good lie. Good job. “I’m glad I was here to help you out, too.”

  “Well, thank you for this.”

  “It’s no problem.” Logan replaced the fuse, clamped down the box lid, then closed the hood with a dull thwump. Bending down, he grazed his hands above the grill. Sharp, grating bristles of metal brushed against his fingers. “The latch on your hood was jimmied open, probably with a wrench. It still closes, but there are some gnarly marks here that need—”

  “Marks? What marks?” Veronica knelt down and skimmed her hand along the sloping ridge of the hood. “Nooo! My car!” She moaned the words as though someone had told her that her kitten ran away.

  Did she moan the same way when she was arching back in the throes of ecstasy? He shook off the mental images flooding his brain and focused instead on the scratches in the paint.

  “I think they can be buffed out.” Logan knelt beside her and shadowed his hand where hers had been. “I wouldn’t worry about the car too much. It’s still gorgeous.”

  Like its driver.

  “I don’t even know your name.” She seemed to push out the words, but they were no more than a whisper.

  Don’t give her your name. Don’t get involved.

  Veronica’s hazelnut-colored eyes met his. There was a flash of knowing in them. A desirous flicker that reached out and grabbed him by the balls. With one look, Logan knew Veronica was as interested in him as he was in her. Heat flooded his chest and crawled up his neck. Why was he still kneeling next to her? He should be jumping back into his truck and gaining some much needed space.

  “Logan,” he said. “Logan Black.”

  Ah, hell, he’d gone and given away everything. Why couldn’t he stop himself?

  “So it’s okay, Logan?” Her voice was sweet. Innocent. Tugging at the rock that’d taken up residence in his chest. “Will it start?”

  Damn, if he wasn’t a sucker for a woman in jeopardy.

  “The fuse is back in its proper place, so it should start just fine.” He held Veronica’s gaze. “But I don’t feel comfortable letting you drive the car home. Do you have someone you could call to give you a lift?”

  It was a loaded question, and when Veronica’s glossy lips quirked, Logan knew she’d caught it.

  “There’s no one,” she whispered. “But if you fixed the fuse, why can’t I drive myself home?”

  “Well, there are two reasons. For one, if someone pulled the fuse from your car, there could be other things wrong that I can’t see. Your brakes could be cut or your tires could be punctured, among other things.”

  “What’s the second reason?”

  “I wanted to take you home myself.”

  Shouldn’t have said that.

  “Oh.” The hint of a challenge sparked deep in her eyes. “I see.”

  Was it the night and the privacy of the empty lot? The way Veronica was staring at him with those innocent doe eyes? The glasses of champagne he’d had on an empty stomach? Add those things to the fact that Jake had specifically told Logan not to get too involved, and he was screwed.

  Nothing tasted sweeter than forbidden fruit.

  Whatever the cause, need clawed its way through him. Logan had the sudden urge to possess her, toss her over his shoulder, and drive her to heaven.

  But damn it, that was absurd! He had a job to do—one that he was damn good at and had never failed at before. But he’d never felt this kind of raw, animal chemistry before, either. If he could taste the sweetness of Veronica’s skin without putting his mouth on her, how would she taste when he licked a hot, wet line between her breasts? If her scent was already making him feel intoxicated, how drunk would he be when he buried his face in her smooth, dark mane of silky hair and wedged his hips between her thighs?

  “We could have your car towed to a shop and inspected by a professional. I could call you a cab and wait here with you until it arrives.” When Logan finally spoke, his voice was raw and rough, even to his own ears. “Or you could let me take you home. The choice is yours.”

  Chapter Three

  Veronica’s palms were sweating like crazy, and she couldn’t look Logan in the eyes. The cab of his truck was dark, thank goodness, so he couldn’t see the way she was anxiously gnawing at her bottom lip. As he reached for the radio dial on the cracked dash, Veronica sucked in a clipped breath.

  “You okay?” he asked, pulling back his hand and replacing it on the steering wheel.

  “Of course.” She answered too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You seem…nervous.”

  Of course she was nervous. Logan had surprised her by offering to give her a ride home and there had been something in his eyes that promised so much more. No, she corrected, it was her reaction to him that had surprised her most. She’d melted, her legs going limp like jelly, right before his eyes. Heat had flushed through her veins and pooled in her center. She’d gasped at her body’s reaction. Her head had spun until those little floating things danced in front of her eyes. Veronica had nodded and hopped into his pickup truck.

  “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” she mumbled.

  More than that, she couldn’t believe she wanted to be doing this.

  “What was that?”

  Morsels of sweet anticipation tingled down her legs “Nothing.”

  She’d never done anything like this before. But she’d never been tempted by someone like Logan before, either. Guys like him—gorgeous to the extreme and light-years out of her league—usually walked right past her. Logan gave off a vibe of extreme confidence as if everything and everyone was a situation he could easily handle.

  Veronica was still scrambling to get her nerves on lockdown.

  What was the big deal? Logan was taking her home. And then there was a hint of something more. The way he’d said the choice was hers made her think he wanted to give her more than a quick ride home. So what? People had one-night stands all the time. She’d seen couples hook up at weddings more times than she’d broken into the stash of Thin Mints kept in her freezer. But this had never happened to her before. She’d never had sex for the sake of sex alone, without even thinking about the possibility of a relationship afterward.

  Heather was always telling her to give it a try. She was always saying Veronica was too stuffy. That a good roll in the hay would loosen her ponytail and return the blood to her body. Figures that it’d take an offer of a new pair of shoes to get Veronica moving in this new, slutty direction.

  One step at a time. Just take it one step at a time. If something feels off, bolt.

  “I’m worried about my car.” Glancing out the window, hoping he didn’t see through her lie, Veronica watched the Seattle cityscape fly by. “I wonder how long it’ll take to check out?”

  “Shouldn’t be too long.” Logan turned down the heater and twisted the vents around to face her. “I feel better about your driving it around knowing that everything’s the way it should be.”

  “Yeah, but this is the worst possible time for me to be without wheels. I’ve got appointments tomorrow that I can’t miss.” Thinking about her packed schedule somehow eased the tension swirling through the cab. The Sanchez wedding was next Saturday, and her sister’s nuptials to mangy werewolf Jake McKenna were the Saturday after that. Well, Jake wasn’t mangy, Veronica corrected, but he was a wolf, so he was filthy by default. “There’s so much I still have to do to get ready for next weekend, it gives me a headache thinking about it.”

  “Will talking about it relieve some stress?”

  She looked at him to see if he was joking. A man who cared enough to listen? Did she luck out with Mr. Dreamy or what? Well, he asked for it. “The wedding next week is pretty much finished, but my siste
r’s getting married the Saturday after that and she’s not going to be here until the rehearsal, the night before the big day. That makes everything ten times worse. I’ll be planning everything on my own, including the parts that the bride typically handles.”

  Logan spun the radio dial, stopping on a slow, raspy Otis Redding song that reminded Veronica of summers spent at her parent’s lake house.

  “Does your sister live out of town or something?”

  “No, she lives here, but she’s an author so she has a book tour in San Francisco that lasts until late next week.”

  “An author? That’s cool.” Logan brushed his fingers across the cracked leather steering wheel. He seemed oddly nervous, jittery almost, but the emotion didn’t suit him. She must’ve been picking up something else. “What’s she write?” he asked.

  “Her books are thrillers about wolf men living in high society.” Laughing, Veronica shook her head, then pointed to the passing freeway sign. “You’ll want to take the next exit.”

  Everything came so easy for Leah. She’d never had any intention of becoming an author until she was attacked by a werewolf last year. Suddenly Leah got the crazy idea to write a thriller based on the incident, and how the heroine fell in love with an Alpha wolf man—a nonfiction account that she played off as fiction—and the book caught fire. People loved it. They loved her, and praised her for her astute creativity and unconventional wisdom. If they only knew. It wasn’t that Veronica wasn’t proud of her sister. She was. It just… well, it wasn’t fair that life should grace one person with beauty, brains, and luck. Writing a book about her surreal wolfish experience: fine. Being praised as a genius for her “fictional account”: luck overload.

  The only hiccup in Leah’s beautiful, blissful existence was turning into a wolf last year.

  “I think that’s pretty awesome.” Logan glanced at Veronica, but she didn’t meet his stare. His gaze burned into her cheek, igniting a blush that spread down her neck. “Are the books good?”

  “I don’t know. I guess they’re good if you like reading about smelly, hairy things that go bump in the night.”