by Eve Langlais
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
About the Authors
Copyright Page
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on Eve Langlais, click here.
For email updates on Kate Douglas, click here.
For email updates on A. C. Arthur, click here.
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
LEGAL WOLF’S MATE
Eve Langlais
CHAPTER 1
“Absolutely not.” Funny how Gavin kept repeating it and yet Broderick continued to pester.
“Come on, dude. Do this one favor for me.”
“One? Don’t you owe me like a dozen at this point?” And yeah, he kept track. A practical man, Gavin fully planned to call them in one day.
“All I’m asking is that you talk with the girl. Once you meet her, you’ll agree with me. She’s innocent, and if someone doesn’t step in and do something to help her, they’re going to throw her ass in jail and toss away the key.”
“As I recall, you said the same thing about Simon, your lawn guy.”
“So I misjudged in his case. How was I to know he was an ex-biker with a brother in jail for murder? He seemed like such a nice guy.” Gavin could practically see his friend squirm at the reminder. “This time, though. I’m telling you, the girl is innocent and could use someone on her side.”
“My answer is still no.”
“But I haven’t mentioned the best part. I’m pretty sure she’s being framed by Fabian Garoux.”
The juicy tidbit dangled before him, surefire bait to pique his interest. At the mention of Fabian, Gavin stopped drumming his fingers and swung his chair away from his lofty view of the city—the advantage of a penthouse office suite. Expensive but worth every damn penny. “What the hell does Fabian have to do with this?”
“Did I forget to mention that the man this woman supposedly murdered was his enemy?”
As were lots of other people. Fabian didn’t have many close friends, probably because he was a prime example of an asshat.
“Have you stopped to consider that maybe she was hired to do the hit?” While it was not exactly common, women were just as capable of assassination as a man. Gavin remembered a pair of twins in bikinis he once crossed paths with whose victims often died with a smile. A smart man, who intended to live ripe into his old age, he steered clear of the invitation to celebrate their acquittal. Winning didn’t make his clients innocent. He was just that good.
“No way was she hired. My gut says she’s telling the truth about being framed.”
“Your gut also keeps dragging you back to that Mexican place, even though you have to chew antacids like a candy-stricken addict for days afterward.”
Broderick groaned. “Such pleasurable pain. And stop changing the subject. Talk to her. Hear what she has to say. If you don’t believe her, then no harm. She keeps her public defender and goes to jail. But if you believe her…”
Then Gavin would take on the case pro bono just for a chance to screw with the dirtiest dog around. Fabian Garoux, biggest crime lord in the city. Slippery bastard with too many bodyguards, always a ready alibi, and the wolfsbane of Gavin’s existence. Also known as his creator—and the alpha Gavin refused to roll over for.
“Fine. I give up against your expert nagging. I’ll see her. What jail are they holding her in?”
“Funny thing you should ask. Someone posted her bail. Anonymously. A hefty half-million dollars. Know anyone with cash like that?”
That piece of dangling steak just got bigger. Fabian had that kind of money. The thought of tying him to a serious crime practically made Gavin wag his ass in delight. Good thing it remained planted in his chair. Wolves could get away with shaking their tail. Grown men in suits? Not so much.
“That is some serious dough.” But chump change for Fabian. “Get her to set an appointment with my secretary.”
“No need to delay. She’s already there.”
“What do you mean, she’s there?”
“I mean there, as in sitting in your reception area. I dropped her off at your office just before I called.”
And Gavin never knew of his visitor because his secretary had left to fetch them both lunch.
As Broderick hung up, midchuckle, Gavin grumbled under his breath. “No-good, meddling feline, always trying to help every bloody stray that comes his way.”
A less nice guy would have eaten the furball. However, Gavin counted Broderick as one of his closest friends and had since his change. It was Broderick who calmed Gavin down the first time he morphed into a wolf at the insistent brilliance of a full moon.
As Gavin was suffering from a full-blown panic attack, first from the pain of shapeshifting, then from dealing with the horror of the knowledge he’d chased down a rabbit and eaten it raw—which still made him want to heave—Broderick was the one who’d found him and offered him a towel to gird his naked loins when he awoke the next morning, naked on the forest floor. Pine needles, for the curious, did not make the best of cushions, unless attempting a homeopathic version of acupuncture.
Back to Broderick, though. If his bud wanted something, then Gavin would provide it. He always did. Why did it prove so hard to hate the good guy? Dammit, I keep trying. And failing. Stupid best bud. I gotta remember to chase his mangy butt up a tree the next full moon. Watching him climb down bare assed the next day always gave Gavin a good chuckle.
Fabian Garoux, on the other hand, wouldn’t get the same courtesy. This was one instance where Gavin was kind of glad Broderick had involved him. Anything to do with Fabian was of interest to Gavin. Especially anything that might allow him to punish the arrogant jerk through legal means.
Standing, Gavin stretched to his full height of six feet three before heading to his door, a thick, double-hung, steel-framed, and insulted vault of a portal, which he’d had installed when remodeling the office. A safe place to change if caught unexpectedly downtown during a forced moon shift. While werewolves in London might run rampant, werewolves in New York City got shot at. For those who wondered, silver or metal bullets hurt and could kill, while buckshot was a literal pain in the ass to remove.
Opening the door a crack, Gavin glanced out and, at first, didn’t see anyone. His visitor blended that well. Head ducked, shoulders curved, the woman blended into the background.
When he cleared his throat, she immediately startled and raised her head. The biggest brown eyes framed in long, dark lashes met his. Met and snagged his gaze.
Punched him as well in an emotional sense.
She’s the one.
Like hell.
He stepped back and, as if afraid the devastating—unwanted—conviction would follow, slammed the door shut.
Then stared at the thick portal.
What the heck just happened?
Nothing … and yet everything. The world had obviously tilted on its axis because nothing felt the same. He teetered as if off balance and he couldn’t deny a change within him. He couldn’t have said what it was or what it meant—liar—but he sure as hell felt it. And it had something to do with the woman.
A woman he’d just rudely ignored and slammed the door on.
Oops.
Not b
eing a pussy—unlike Broderick, that big feline hairy bastard—Gavin took a deep breath and told himself to man the hell up. There was nothing scary about a frightened human woman.
A woman who was gone.
Ah hell.
As he stared at the empty reception area, he realized he’d have to do something he’d sworn never to do. Chase after a woman. And he’d thank his inner wolf to simmer the hell down. He wouldn’t lope or run or loll his tongue while doing it. Even a wolf in legal clothing had an appearance to maintain.
CHAPTER 2
Perhaps a little more aggressively than needed, Megan jabbed at the elevator button. Then stabbed it again for good measure, even though the light illuminating the down arrow showed her request already in progress.
But she needed the cab to arrive faster.
I need out of here.
Now.
I should have never come. How had she let herself get talked into it?
Oh yeah, she remembered, Broderick with his husky purr and genial smile. She’d happened upon him by accident exiting from her attorney’s office, her vision flooded with tears because she’d stubbed her toe on the way out, anger making her clumsy. Why the ire? Because the courts saddled her with an idiot for a lawyer, one who wanted her to plead guilty. Even though I’m damn well innocent.
Peeved, her toe throbbing, her eyes watering in the most annoying fashion, and then her colliding clumsily with a broad-shouldered man, when he’d asked, “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she’d replied.
“Wrong? What isn’t wrong? That idiot is talking twenty-five to life. But I didn’t do it.” Although she was tempted to murder her public defender for his treatment. Then at least she’d deserve incarceration.
Who knew blurting her woes to a stranger would result in a chance to make things right? Next thing she knew, Broderick had dragged her—almost literally, since he wouldn’t take no for an answer—to a café and plied her with a whipped-cream-topped café mocha. Sugar and sympathy soon had her spilling her story, which was totally unlike her. She didn’t usually unburden to strangers. She blamed it on stress.
It felt good to have someone to talk to. Someone who didn’t assume the charges against her had any merit. Good to vent and have someone pretend to believe in her innocence.
She wouldn’t have thought any more of her chance encounter with the man or his promise he’d look into her case. What did Broderick think he could do? He wasn’t a lawyer or a cop, just some kind of numbers guy who worked for an agency that investigated fraud.
But apparently he knew a lawyer, some hotshot, who could maybe help her. While charity didn’t sit well with her, with almost nothing in her bank account Megan knew without help she was going to jail or going to have to flee to a country that didn’t allow extradition—all to avoid a conviction for something she didn’t do.
Hope for a different outcome meant she let Broderick lead her to the impressive chrome-and-glass building downtown. Hope also let her perch in the outer reception area of the lavish penthouse office.
Talk about swanky. Furnished old style in polished wood, thick carpeting, and leather club chairs, Megan had never felt more out of place. A swanky, high-priced lawyer who could afford this kind of work space wouldn’t want to take on her case pro bono. But she couldn’t extinguish the tiny flame of hope that hoped he would. She’d run out of other viable options—other than flight, which meant ducking the law the rest of her life.
Her current lawyer’s optimistic prognosis? “If you plead guilty, then maybe we can whittle down the verdict from life to something like twenty-five years and eligible for parole.”
As for her retort of, “But I’m innocent,” “Not according to the evidence you’re not.”
Framed. Just like a certain rabbit.
It was while thinking of rabbits that she heard the office door open and a guy stuck his head out.
He stared at her. She stared right back because, really, who in their right mind wouldn’t? The man was freaking gorgeous. Tall, way taller than her five-foot-eight frame, and while she couldn’t see his body, he bore the face of a god, chiseled from stone—square-cut jaw, aquiline nose, and a regal air. Add to that bright blue eyes, short, layered dark hair, and a frown, which creased his slightly tanned brow, and she locked her jaw, lest she gape.
Before she could take a breath and say hello, he ducked back into his office and the door slammed shut.
It stayed shut, and her nerve fled.
I knew this was a bad idea. Her gut yelled at her to leave.
Up she popped from her seat, and she quick-stepped to the elevator. For some reason, it suddenly became imperative she escape. That instant.
While she didn’t hear sound of pursuit, the hairs on her nape tingled. Again she jabbed the button.
“Why is this taking so long?” she muttered. A more athletic girl might have tackled the stairs, but Megan’s rounded thighs, formed from a love of donuts and French fries dipped in ketchup, protested loudly against this plan. Much easier to poke a button and bitch. “Come on, damn you. Hurry.”
“Leaving so soon?”
The low, husky tone, coming from right behind, startled a small cry from her. With her pulse racing, she whirled and confronted a chest. A nice chest, mind you, wide and covered in a suit that she could swear cost more than she made in a month as a secretary, but also a daunting wall that blocked her view.
How could a man so large, with an unmistakable presence, sneak up on her, especially given how she’d been raised by a father and large extended family who preached constant vigilance?
Forcing her gaze upward, she fought not to gape. Even in close proximity, the guy appeared gorgeous. Too bad he was such an ass.
Slam a door practically in her face indeed.
Tilting her chin at a stubborn angle—her fighting angle, as her dad would say with a chuckle—she netted the butterflies in her stomach and managed to say, “Sorry if I disturbed you. It seems I visited the wrong office.”
“You’re the woman Broderick wanted me to see.” He didn’t ask. He stated.
Should she lie? What was the point? “Yes, but I see now this was a mistake. Sorry to have wasted your time.”
A ding from behind and a swish of a door sliding open indicated her ride down had arrived. It left empty, as she found herself propelled down the short hall back to the opulent office, not of her own volition. As if she were a piece of flotsam, he left her no choice but to go where he shoved her.
“What are you doing?” she managed to say instead of reacting in a more childish manner, wanting to duck out of his grasp and race for the stairs. Chubby thighs be damned.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Other than firing up her libido?
The big guy, with his rather large hand firmly placed against the small of her back, firmly guided her in the direction of his office. It wasn’t too late to protest or to give in to her instinct for flight. However, given the insistence of his push and the uncompromising set of his jaw, she doubted she’d make it far.
The guy had a lot in common with a giant boulder. She got the impression that once he set his mind, not much budged it. Perverse as it sounded, it made him more attractive. She rather liked decisive people.
Two other reasons compelled her to follow him. One, that darned flicker of hope that refused to die. And second, at the touch of his hand, everything in her both tensed and relaxed at the same time.
That a thrill of excitement could ease her anxiety didn’t make much sense, but it did confuse her enough that she found herself quick-marched through his reception area and into the most ridiculously awesome office she’d ever seen outside of a television drama.
Jaw surely hanging yokel-wide, she stared in fascination at the wall of glass that conveyed a panoramic view of the city.
“How the hell do you manage to work here? Isn’t that distracting?” Good to know she wasn’t tongue-tied around him, but it made her cringe to note her awed compliment.
<
br /> “When you work long hours, having a view and a flood of daylight is a must. Especially for a guy like me. But we’re not here to discuss my amazing view but rather your current situation. Broderick says you’ve been charged with the murder of your former employer.” He pushed her in the direction of a fabric-covered armchair before his desk. He circled the massive wooden expanse and seated himself in a smooth-appearing leather chair.
Ah yes, the reason for her being here. How should she handle it? “I didn’t do it,” she blurted out. Way to shout her innocence. Heat infused her cheeks as she found herself the focus of his piercing blue eyes. He drew the oddest responses from her. She really needed to find her balance and start acting instead of reacting.
“Why not?”
The odd question saw her blink. “Excuse me?”
“I said why didn’t you kill him? Was he a good boss?”
“Not really. But he wasn’t the worse one I’ve had either,” she hastened to add.
“Were you fired?”
“No.”
“Fucking?”
She couldn’t help a wrinkle of her nose at his profane question. “Most definitely not.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
A frown creased her forehead. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m going to take that as a no then. Did you owe him money?”
“No.”
“Was he cooking the books?”
“Not that I know of.”
“So, in other words, you have no motive?”
“No, I don’t have a motive. And even if I did, I still wouldn’t have killed my boss.”
“Too squeamish?”
“What? No. Yes. What the hell is wrong with you? I wouldn’t kill him or anyone because it’s just not something normal people do. Something you’re apparently unaware of. What is it with you lawyers? Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” She had managed to only stand before she found herself pushed back down. Her ass hit the chair and she stared in consternation at the man. He’d leaped over his desk to stop her from departing and now towered over her.
