Just One Bite

by Barbara Elsborg

  Just One Bite

  Barbara Elsborg

  Liv is having the day from hell. Hit on by her piggish landlord, a victim of an attempted mugging by a guy who bites, and then her hair gets caught in the coffee machine. Things go from bad to worse when she’s stalked on her way home, and the stalker turns out to be the morning’s mugger. Except he’s tall, dark and delicious, offering an apology, flowers and a body to die for. Oh, and he wants to cook a steak dinner just for Liv.

  There’s just one snag. He’s a raving lunatic who thinks he’s a werewolf.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Just One Bite

  ISBN 9781419936876

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Just One Bite Copyright © 2011 Barbara Elsborg

  Edited by Mary Moran

  Cover design by Syneca

  Electronic book publication November 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  Just One Bite

  Barbara Elsborg

  Chapter One

  It wasn’t the worst day in Liv Miller’s life, that spot was taken by the day she’d slipped her father’s brand new car into reverse instead of park, plowed over a set of golf clubs and through the garage wall to end up in the fishpond. Oh God. Who knew Land Rovers were so powerful and walls so thin? And that grown men could be so attached to sporting equipment? Good thing that she and her father were close. He eventually forgave her. Afterward, when anyone in the family had a bad day, someone managed to bring up that day to top it.

  But this day was coming close to that all-time low. Liv had been late for work because her fat, balding, chauvinistic pig of a landlord had grabbed her as she exited her apartment. His suggestion of a way she might like to pay her next month’s rent made Liv’s stomach crawl. When his rancid breath hit her face, she heaved, and that saved her because he thought she was about to throw up and let her go.

  Liv had rushed out the building and hardly turned the corner before some fuckwit attempted to mug her. They’d tussled until she’d recalled the one surefire way to hurt a guy. A knee in the balls. He’d doubled over and she ran.

  Less than an hour later, Liv proved that accidents in the workplace were indeed a daily hazard when she managed to trap her hair in the coffee machine. Her vindictive boss cut her free, no doubt snipping off far more than she needed to. That hair wouldn’t grow back anytime soon. And now after eight hours of grueling work checking insurance claims, the most stupid of which was from a woman knocked out when she yanked a frozen chicken from her freezer, Liv was being bloody stalked.

  She walked faster, certain she wasn’t mistaken. She’d caught sight of a dark-haired guy in a leather jacket staring at her as she left work. He’d popped up again as she got off the bus and had crossed the road after her when she’d tried to give him the slip by dashing over on a red light. There had been a squeal of brakes but no thump, so she guessed he’d made it.

  “Excuse me?” a man called.

  It had to be him. A stalker with manners was a novelty, but Liv kept going. Her apartment building and safety, assuming Creepo the landlord was out, lay around the corner.

  “Could I have a word?” the guy asked.

  The tap on her shoulder flipped her from annoyed to furious. Liv gripped her purse tighter, ready to swing it into his face, and turned to confront him. Then she froze, because in front of her stood the man who’d tried to mug her that morning. He held out a bunch of flowers, and when he saw her scowl, lowered them to cover his crotch.

  “I have no problem kicking flowers,” Liv snapped. Not when the target lay just beyond.

  “I can explain,” he said, taking a step backward.

  She scowled harder. “You have five seconds.”

  “Name’s Cal Masterson. Not trying to rob you. Wanted to ask for directions, but you didn’t give me the chance to speak.” He flashed a devastating smile.

  Potential homicidal mugger slowly morphed into Mr. Tall, Dark and Delicious.

  Still…he’d followed her to tell her that?

  “You bit me.” Liv glanced at the marks on her arm. He’d drawn blood. She hadn’t realized until she sat down on the bus.

  “That was your fault,” he said.

  Liv’s jaw dropped. “How can you biting me, be my fault?” She activated her death-ray glare, able to repel a normal man at thirty paces. This one smiled more broadly.

  “Your arm got in the way of my mouth.”

  “I was trying to defend myself. I thought you were attacking me.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You flung your arm into my face. My mouth was open. I was trying to speak when your knee unexpectedly made contact with parts of me I feel particularly fond of, and I bit you. Sorry.”

  He pushed the flowers into her hand. Liv sagged. She’d reacted because of Creepo’s earlier grope and maybe she hadn’t given this guy a chance to explain. If he’d wanted to mug her, he wouldn’t have tracked her down to apologize. Liv was a sucker for guys with good manners. Oh damn.

  “Apology accepted. I’m fine. Just a few scratches. ’Bye.” Liv turned and he was suddenly in front of her. Wow, speedy guy.

  “The thing is,” he said, “and I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but I might have infected you.”

  Liv gulped as the bottom fell out of her world. “Wha-wha-wha…” Damn, she sounded like a helicopter. Her head flooded with thoughts of hepatitis, HIV, the Ebola virus, bird flu.

  He bent to whisper in her ear, “I’m a werewolf.”

  Liv’s jaw didn’t just drop—it hit the ground and bounced. Oh God, he was out on day release from an asylum. Tall, dark and delicious regressed to tall, menacing and…darn it, he was still delicious. Plus, she had to give him points for an original pick-up line. He looked at her expectantly.

  Play nice with the lunatic. “I see,” Liv said, and nodded in what she hoped was a caring way, sliding her foot back as she spoke and looking round for men carrying a tight-fitting white jacket in his size. “I’ll be sure to look out for signs of rabies.”

  He gave her a puzzled look.

  Okay, not rabies. That’s good. Liv took another step back.

  He moved forward and glanced up. “It’ll be a full moon tonight.” His eyes darkened.

  All the better to… Oh God.

  “Mmm.” Another step back. Next t
ime she went out, she was buying mace or a machete. Maybe both. Liv spent her days dealing with the results of the unexpected, but even she hadn’t expected to ever meet a werewolf. Not that he was, of course.

  “It’s possible nothing will happen,” he said. “But I can’t take the risk. I need to stay and look after you. I’d never forgive myself if you were hurt. You’re much too pretty.” He smiled again with those perfect teeth.

  All the better to… Stop it. Liv exhaled. Hopefully it was a coincidence she wore a red dress. If only they’d been in a bar and he’d bought her a drink, or three, and they’d spent a few hours flirting, and he’d called her pretty a half-dozen times, then maybe, just maybe she’d have been up for this. Except for the werewolf bit, of course. She took another step backward.

  “Going to invite me in?” he asked.

  His question triggered a memory of a TV show. “No.” She stared at him. “So you can’t come in, can you?” Why did the attractive ones have to be either gay or nut jobs? “I haven’t invited you into my apartment so you have to stay outside.”

  “That’s vampires.”

  Damn, so it was. Her shoulders slumped. “So you don’t sparkle either?”

  He glared. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  Liv put on her stern face and thought of her old Latin teacher who had eyes like a hawk, a sharp mouth and loved pop quizzes. Guaranteed to snap her straight into gloom. “I am taking it seriously.” You’re insane, that’s very serious.

  She glanced around. Where were crowds when she needed them?

  He sighed. “Please let me come with you to your apartment. No funny business, I promise.”

  “Let me think. No.”

  Actually, bad girl that she was, idiot that she was, Liv fancied a bit of funny business. It had been far too long since— She gave herself a hard mental slap. He thought he was a wolf. She was allergic to dogs. This was not a match made in heaven.

  “I’ll cook for you.” He held up a bag. “Steak.”

  He had huge black eyes, the longest lashes she’d ever seen, and her willpower was a weak, pathetic little thing easily stamped on.

  Ouch.

  “Oh all right,” she muttered.

  It beat watching a rerun on the TV while she ate a soggy microwave meal, plus her father had always told her to be kind to those less fortunate than herself—such as basket cases. Especially if they made her heart jump and her bits tingle, except not if they thought they’re a werewolf. Well no, her father hadn’t said any of that. His advice when Liv left home was, “Keep your knickers on.” Bless him.

  I’ll bear that advice in mind, Liv thought, trying to remember which underwear she’d put on that morning, and led Trouble with a capital T to her apartment.

  I’m such an idiot.

  * * * * *

  As they stood outside her apartment and Liv fumbled in her purse for her keys, she wondered what the hell she was doing. Was it too late to kick him and run? Then she had the strangest sensation.

  Cal smells trustworthy.

  What the hell did that mean? She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. There was some enticing scent in his vicinity. She caught herself sniffing again and pretended to cough. Was insanity catching? He looked at her, his eyes bright with amusement and…something else.

  Hunger. Desire. Lust.

  Oh God.

  Liv wasn’t into brief encounters. She was fed up of them. Fed up of being let down by guys who said they’d call and never did, fed up of guys telling her it wasn’t her it was them, fed up of lies and rudeness. She always had such high hopes when she met someone new, which meant she fell even harder, crying her way to acceptance when it was over, but…it had been a long time since she’d been out with anyone. She had needs. Cal was gorgeous. If he’d just keep his mouth shut.

  Well, not all the time.

  Her fingers played with her keys inside her purse.

  “Can’t find your keys?” he asked.

  He was trustworthy. He wouldn’t hurt her. Which planet am I on?

  “They’re here somewhere.”

  Liv shook her head to try to shake sense into her brain. She’d led a guy who thought he was a werewolf to her apartment door. Still not too late to change her mind. She could pretend to throw him a ball and dash inside. Or she could call Creepo to the rescue. Maybe not. Or she could take a risk. The thought made her heart pound.

  Liv worked in insurance. She didn’t do risks. She calculated and assessed before she dipped her toes into the water, literally and figuratively. Liv had never been caught out by a cold swimming pool.

  “I swear to you, I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

  Probably the last words heard by the victims of Ted Bundy.

  Cal raised one eyebrow. Liv was a sucker for guys who could do that. Goddamnit. He was fulfilling all her fantasies.

  She had the keys in her hand. Open the door, right. That scent—oh God—mint chocolate chip ice cream? Her favorite. Steak followed by ice cream, followed by… Oh darn it, why not? She unlocked the door, motioned for him to go in and sniffed as he passed. Yummy.

  “Kitchen’s just ahead,” she said. “You can’t miss it. The ice cream can go in the freezer.”

  He frowned. “I haven’t brought ice cream.”

  Liv wrinkled her brow. Then what could she smell?

  “Want me to go and buy some?” he asked.

  “No, it’s fine.” She was such a pig with mint chocolate chip, it was better if she ate it in private. No way would she share. Not even with Mr. Wolf. “Please cremate my steak.”

  He winced but didn’t argue, so he got a point for that.

  “Wine?” He lifted a bottle of claret from the bag.

  Another point. Liv took two glasses from the cupboard and a corkscrew from a drawer. After she’d put the flowers in water, she turned her music system on low, perched on a stool and watched.

  “Can you talk while you cook?” she asked.

  “I’m brilliant at multitasking.” He grinned, poured the wine and turned on the grill. “See, four things.”

  “But not math. That was three things.”

  “Four, I was thinking of something as well.”

  He winked, his eyes darkened and Liv went up in flames. She glanced at her feet, almost expecting to see fire shooting from her toes.

  “So how long have you believed you’re a werewolf?” she asked.

  Maybe there was way she could talk him out it, because it was such a waste of a great body, lovely voice and handsome face.

  “It’s not a matter of belief. I was born a werewolf rather than made.”

  Liv emptied half her glass in one gulp. “You can make a werewolf?” She refrained from adding—with a ball of wool, a bit of fake fur and a piece of cardboard?

  “By biting.”

  She glanced at her arm. The crescent marks were barely visible. She always healed quickly.

  Cal searched the cupboard for plates and put two on the counter. “The fact that I was born and not made means my…body fluids are very potent.”

  Unfortunately, Liv had just taken another mouthful of wine and almost spat it out. Her next thought didn’t help. I have condoms.

  But potent body fluids didn’t sound good. Potent did, and body, and fluids but not the three combined. Is potent the same as virile? Liv tuned back in.

  “What I’m trying to say is if my saliva entered your bloodstream, you’ll have been infected with the werewolf virus and because it’s a full moon tonight, you’ll change into a wolf. I know I said I only might have infected you, but my teeth broke your skin, I’m pretty sure it’s a done deal. Sorry.”

  Liv nodded. What a twerp. Still, he was cooking, he’d brought wine, given her flowers and he was a real hunk, though a grasp on reality would have been a bonus. She found her gaze sliding down his shirt to his—and dragged it back up.

  “Any questions?” he asked.

  Liv stared in disbelief at the huge slabs of meat he’d placed on the counter. “Ar
e you going to eat all that? A quarter of one will be fine for me.”

  He sighed. “I mean questions about what might happen.”

  “Oh right. Er… Are you going to turn into a wolf and eat me?”

  He let out a strangled groan. “No. The steak will be plenty.”

  Except he stared at her in a way that implied he might like her for dessert.

  Please. That thought deserved another mental slap.

  “So what’s going to happen?” Liv asked to humor him. “Am I going to howl?”

  He smirked. “I don’t know. Do you usually?”

  She smothered her smile with a glare. “Will I be cute and cuddly?”

  His answer was a muffled laugh.

  “How long will I stay a wolf?” she asked.

  “A few hours maybe. Could be a lot less, could be a lot more. New wolves can’t control their shifting. Older ones or purebreds, like me, can shift anytime. Control’s something you learn. Like driving a car.”

  Oh dear. Liv had been driving a year before she crashed the Land Rover.

  Cal topped up her glass. “Women usually take longer to get the hang of transforming.”

  Liv bristled then, making sure he was watching, she lurched off her stool and contorted her face as she began to writhe.

  Cal jumped to his feet. “Don’t panic,” he barked. “Don’t fight it, let it happen.”

  Liv stopped moving. “I had an urge to dance.” She loaded on the indignation.

  He bit his lip and Liv knew he was trying not to laugh.

  “Why don’t you do the wolf-thing first and show me how it’s done,” she said.

  She felt mean for suggesting it because in a minute he was going to walk out of her apartment when nothing happened, oh, unless she was supposed to pretend he’d changed. She could do that. Liv jumped down from her stool and went round to him.

  “Nice doggy,” she said, and patted him on the head. “Aren’t you a cutie?”