Werewolf in Greenwich Village: A Wild About You NovellaAn eSpecial from New American Library

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Quentin, obviously not a martini fan, chose Scotch and soda. After the waitress left, he turned to her, his expression polite but guarded. “You’re looking great.” The heat had mysteriously disappeared from his hazel eyes.

  “Thanks.” Maybe she’d imagined how he’d looked at her out on the sidewalk. Maybe the lust wasn’t mutual, after all. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with you at the wedding reception.”

  “Yeah, well, I . . . I’m not into formal events.”

  Come to think of it, she had usually talked with him at more casual gatherings like picnics and barbeques. “Not much for suits and ties, huh?”

  “Not much. So how’s your business going?”

  “Terrific. Sherry and I are meeting with a buyer from Saks tomorrow. Organic cotton clothing is a hot topic these days.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “How about you? Keeping busy?”

  “I am. I’m juggling two jobs for clients, plus I’m . . . well, that’s not really interesting. Tell me more about this appointment with the Saks buyer.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. What did you start to say?”

  He shrugged. “It’s nothing monumental. In my spare time I’m remodeling a loft in the Village on spec. Might even live in it myself for awhile.”

  “I’ve always wanted to design my own living space.” She guessed that he wouldn’t have told her about the loft if she hadn’t prodded him. “I’ll bet that’s fun to do.”

  “It is. Usually I don’t allow myself to get attached to a project, but this loft is different. I’ll still probably sell it because it’s too big for me.”

  “Sometimes extra space is nice, though.” Her female intuition kicked in. If he had a girlfriend, that would explain the hot glance in the beginning followed by a definite cooling-off period. Instinct had been replaced by reason. Being male, he might not realize the significance of his decision to remodel a loft that was too big for him.

  But if his single life should come to an end in the near future, then presto! He’d have the perfect living space. If Nadia’s suspicions were correct, she hoped the Were who’d caught his attention knew how lucky she was.

  “This is more than a little bit of extra space,” Quentin said. “I’d rattle around in this loft.” He glanced toward the bar area as their server started toward their table with three drinks balanced on a tray. “Looks like our order.”

  “Frederick’s not only good, he’s fast.” She vowed to drink her martini and get her libido under control.

  If she was right about Quentin having a girlfriend, that was just as well. She really should be looking for her future mate instead of getting sexually involved with someone who could never fill that role.

  She would likely succeed her father as pack alpha and looked forward to doing that. Quentin was a nonconformist who never participated in pack politics. Even if he should choose to, his station as a pack member was far below hers as the alpha’s daughter.

  Roarke returned at the same time the drinks arrived. He didn’t sit down, though. “Try not to take this personally, but I’m leaving.”

  Quentin laughed. “It’s your loss, buddy. What’s up?”

  “Apparently Cameron Gentry, the pack alpha in Portland, thinks tomorrow afternoon isn’t soon enough. He wants me to fly there tonight. He sounds like something of an alarmist, but I’m going to humor him because my dad is worried about the situation out there.”

  Nadia was sorry to see him go. She’d missed talking with him. “Couldn’t you stay for one drink?”

  He shook his head. “I’m hoping to take the controls during the flight, at least for the first couple of hours, so no espresso martini for me. You’re welcome to mine.”

  Quentin stood. “Guess I’ll have to buy you that drink when you come home.”

  “That’ll work.” He clasped Quentin’s outstretched hand. “Take good care of Nadia, cuz. She’s a gem.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  Nadia told herself not to read anything into Quentin’s comment. It was the polite thing to say, nothing more. Pushing back her chair, she went over to give Roarke a good-bye hug. “Have a safe trip.”

  He hugged her back. “You bet. And don’t be such a stranger. Things didn’t work out with my brother, but I’d still like to stay in touch.”

  “Okay.” She smiled up at him. “I’ll call you first thing next time I’m in town.”

  “You do that.” He released her and stepped back. “See you folks later. Try not to get into too much trouble without me.” Roarke turned and walked away.

  “He knows me too well,” Quentin said.

  “Oh?” Nadia glanced at him.

  “Never mind. Listen, now that we’re both standing up, would you like to dance?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Quentin took Nadia’s hand, the skin-to-skin contact giving him a jolt of sexual awareness, and led her to the small dance floor. She moved into his arms with a natural grace that heated his blood and stirred his loins.

  From the moment he’d spotted her standing on the sidewalk in front of Jessie’s, he’d promised himself that before the night was out, he’d at least treat himself to one dance. This was a golden opportunity he wasn’t willing to pass up after all the years he’d lusted after her.

  In fact, he’d been spinning some hot fantasies that involved using this trip of Nadia’s to finally act on that lust if she had time and was willing. Then he’d been abruptly reminded of her station in life—heir to the Henderson throne—and realized that whether she was pledged to Aidan or not, she was still out of his league.

  If Quentin had made some effort to keep up with pack politics, he would have heard the rumors that her father wanted her to take over. But there was another major difference between him and Nadia—he didn’t give a damn about pack politics and never would.

  Now that he’d been reminded of the chasm between them, he’d made every effort to douse the flame of lust that ignited every time he came within ten feet of her. But then they’d ended up alone, without the presence of Roarke to mute the attraction.

  Under these new conditions, self-restraint was difficult to come by. Her hot body moved in perfect time with his. He wasn’t surprised. They’d match each other’s rhythm in bed, too. Or out of bed, if they chose to come together as Weres.

  Her smooth cheek nestled against his and her warm breath caressed his ear. “Tell me about your girlfriend.”

  He pulled back to stare at her. “My what?”

  “Girlfriend. I have a strong suspicion that you have one. And because of that, we probably shouldn’t even be out here on the dance floor together. The Were community is small. Wolves gossip, and she’ll find out.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He wondered how in hell she’d jumped to that nutty conclusion.

  Her gaze locked with his. “You’re not involved with anyone?”

  “No.” How he’d dreamed of looking into those beautiful gray eyes as he held her close. He pulled her back into his embrace and twirled her around the dance floor.

  “I thought you might be.”

  “Why?” The female mind was a fascinating puzzle. The female body, especially hers, was fascinating in a different way, but he probably should dial back his reaction to her by several notches or he’d embarrass himself.

  “When we first met outside, I thought you looked at me with . . . interest.”

  “There’s an understatement. That orange dress is killer. You look like a runway model in it, especially wearing those silver heels. You’re sexier than any woman I know.” He probably shouldn’t have added the last part, but when he did, she sighed and melted against him the way hot wax slipped into a mold.

  “So I didn’t mistake that look you gave me,” she murmured.

  “No.” He tightened his grip as their bodies aligned. “You knocked my socks off.”

  “But then afterward you seemed way more reserved. How come?”

  “I’ve always known you were severa
l steps above me in the hierarchy, but I hadn’t heard that you’re in line to become the Henderson alpha.” Her hips fit neatly against his and no doubt she knew exactly how she’d affected him. “A Were in your position . . .”

  “Should be celibate?”

  His heart raced. Yeah, if they had sex, she might consider him the equivalent of the pool boy, but was he going to quibble about that? No. “Careful might be a better word. You have to be careful who you get involved with.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  “Glad to hear it.” And he would be, too. If they used this opportunity to get cozy, he’d make sure he remembered his place in the pecking order. He wouldn’t start dreaming impossible dreams.

  The heat between them had reached the point where they might be wise to leave the dance floor, though. The music wasn’t over yet, but unless he put some distance between them, he was liable to lead her off the floor, out of the nightclub, and into the nearest cab bound for his place.

  She might even let him do that. But he thought they should both be clear about their motivations before, and if, they surrendered to this attraction.

  “We need a time out,” he said. “Let’s go back to the table, drink our drinks, and talk.”

  She laughed softly. “Okay.” Easing away from him, she walked back to the table, hips swaying provocatively.

  Sucking in a breath, he followed her. Yeah, he could be her pool boy for a couple of days. He was willing to be used for sex. At least then he’d finally, finally have some real experiences to thread into his fantasies about her.

  By quickening his pace, he managed to round the table and help her into her chair. Her glossy hair smelled like wildflowers, but he also caught the scent of arousal.

  Any Were who walked past the table would pick up on it. Add that to the way they’d been plastered together on the dance floor, and logical conclusions would be reached. Fortunately the nightclub was nearly empty. Still, Nadia was right about gossip, and he didn’t want to unthinkingly subject her to that, considering her standing in the Were community and his lack of one.

  When he sat down, he moved his chair further to the right, away from her heat.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  He glanced at her. “Doing what?”

  “Pulling back. Look, if you have a girlfriend, but you’re still attracted to me, I understand. It happens. We’ll have our drinks and go our separate ways.”

  He met her gaze and wondered why she was stuck on this girlfriend subject. He couldn’t think of anything he’d said that would lead her to think he had one. “Nadia, I promise you I’m not involved with anyone, human or Were.” He picked up his Scotch and soda. “Here’s to . . . friendship.”

  She regarded him with a bemused expression. “To friendship.” She touched her martini glass to his tumbler and sipped her drink while gazing at him over the rim.

  He swallowed a hefty amount of the smooth Scotch. It was put up or shut up time. “I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise that I’ve been attracted to you for quite a while.”

  “As you could probably tell, it’s been mutual.”

  He fought the surge of desire that threatened to block out all logic. “I thought so, but . . .” He couldn’t hold back a grin. “It feels great to get confirmation after all these years.”

  “You were Aidan’s cousin, and I didn’t think—”

  “Same here. It would have been a really bad idea.” He took another gulp of the Scotch.

  She wanted him and he wanted her. Could anything be simpler . . . or more complicated? They could walk out of here, and if they took a cab instead of a hired car, the Were community wouldn’t have to know where they went or what they did after that.

  No, that wasn’t true, either. Sylvester would know they’d taken the same cab because of the security cameras trained on the sidewalk. Okay, if they wanted to be discreet, they could take two cabs and meet somewhere.

  That should be her call because she had the most to lose if gossip became a problem for her. Whether they kept the liaison secret or not, they could agree they were merely scratching an itch, nothing more. His ego would appreciate that kind of understanding.

  “I can almost hear you thinking.” Her voice had a teasing lilt to it. “I’m curious as to whether we’re thinking the same thing.”

  He realized he’d been staring into his drink and glanced up. “I was thinking that you’re not pledged to Aidan anymore.”

  Amusement flashed in her eyes. “No, I’m not.”

  “And you’re not the pack alpha yet.”

  “Nope. Any other thoughts?”

  “Yes. You’re royalty and I’m a peon. But I want you anyway. How do you feel about that?”

  She leaned forward. “I’ve been trying to talk myself out of having sex with you because I should start thinking about my future. But then I wonder who would care if we enjoy ourselves for one night?”

  He was on fire for her. “Probably no one.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Then I think we should get the hell out of here.”

  She laughed. “Good call.” Setting down her drink, she pushed back her chair.

  Blood rushed in his ears. This was it. She’d just agreed to go home with him. Feeling a little shaky from the adrenaline pumping through his system, he stood, pulled out his wallet, and tossed some money on the table without bothering to count it.

  As she moved around the table toward him, he resisted the urge to touch her, because he wasn’t in total control of himself. “One cab or two?”

  She looked up into his eyes. “I don’t care who knows. Do you?”

  “Not if you don’t.” His throat felt tight. “My place then?”

  “Actually, I want to see your loft.”

  For reasons he didn’t fully understand, he resisted. “Nadia, that makes no sense. It’s not finished. There’s sawdust, and stacks of lumber, and plumbing supplies, and . . . it’s not safe. You could trip on something, or get that beautiful dress dirty if you brushed up against—”

  “You’ll watch out for me.” She reached up and cupped his cheek in her very warm, very soft hand. “Please take me there.”

  He forgot how to breathe. Please take me there. He wondered if she’d meant that literally. Judging from the gleam of passion in her beautiful eyes, she had.

  And, God help him, he would.

  Nadia couldn’t say what drove her to uncover Quentin’s secrets, but she thought this loft was one of them and she wanted to see it. On the silent cab ride to Greenwich Village, he held her hand, his strong, slightly calloused fingers interlaced with hers.

  She was a little out of practice in this business of taking a lover. In her early twenties she’d been a free spirit, but as she’d approached the time she’d expected to settle down with Aidan, she’d lost her taste for casual flings.

  This one with Quentin might be her last before assuming her duties as the next Henderson pack alpha. If so, it was an appropriate way to bid farewell to her carefree days. She couldn’t remember ever being this excited about having sex.

  But before she abandoned herself to the sensual pleasure she knew they’d create together, she wanted to see his loft. Seeing it would expand her knowledge of him and she felt the need for that. The artist in her wanted to know what excited the artist in him.

  He’d always been something of a mystery to her. While all Weres tended to seek privacy in their personal lives, Quentin seemed more diligent about that than most.

  He had no brothers or sisters, and although he socialized with his pack, he also seemed to treasure time alone, which wasn’t particularly wolf-like. She had that same tendency toward solitude. His self-sufficiency might be why she found him so intriguing and sexually exciting.

  He helped her out of the cab in front of a massive old brick building that stood three stories tall. The large windows indicated that it might have been used as a warehouse or factory at one time.

  Lights shone from the fi
rst and second floor, but the top floor was dark. Laughter and the sound of a boisterously played piano spilled from the open windows of the second floor corner unit.

  Quentin glanced up. “Sergei must be having a party.”

  “Your neighbor?”

  “Only if I move in.” Taking her hand, he led her toward a doorway and punched in a code. “For now he’s a tenant.”

  “You own this place?”

  “Since about six months ago. The previous owner ran out of money before he renovated the top floor, so that’s what I’m doing.” He opened the door and released her hand so she could enter ahead of him.

  Walking inside, she paused in wonder. Soft lighting illuminated a hallway covered with murals—cityscapes blending with rural scenes in a colorful and fanciful montage. “Wow. Who did this?”

  “The residents and some friends of theirs. This building seems to attract artists. That’s one of the reasons I bought it.”

  “That’s an interesting reason.”

  “The thing is, I like . . .” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “I like being surrounded by creativity. It energizes me.”

  “Me, too.” She felt as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. Maybe it wasn’t just his toned body and noble features that had drawn her to him. Maybe she’d sensed a kindred spirit, someone who thrived on inspiration, both in his work and the work of others.

  “Ready to go up?”

  “Yes.”

  He held out his hand, and she slipped hers into his large, capable grip. Safe. The word popped into her mind, surprising her.

  Because she was Were, she seldom felt unsafe physically. But she sensed that Quentin offered a different kind of safety. He would understand the creative impulses that were the bedrock of her existence.

  That was heady stuff, and as they stepped into the cage-like freight elevator and he closed the door, she wondered if she’d started something that wouldn’t be all that easy to end. But she didn’t want to turn back.

  She was doubly curious about the loft. At the thought of making love to him there, she grew dizzy with anticipation. Wild horses couldn’t drag her away until she’d satisfied her curiosity and her lust.