So I Married a Werewolf (Entangled Covet)

by Miller, Kristin

  As she hopped in the car and headed to Carter’s place, her phone buzzed with a reminder.

  Enforcement Bureau dinner one week from Sunday.

  How could she forget? She’d been planning the menu all this week to prepare for next, and practicing dishes to serve. She’d burned the casserole the first two times around, but this time, with the chef’s help, she’d gotten it right.

  She hoped.

  Before class, she’d even shopped for a dress to wear—a cute little black one with strappy sandals. The shoes were comfortable and she’d gotten them for a screaming deal at the designer shoe outlet.

  After she pulled up to Carter’s, Faith grabbed the casserole dish with one hand so she could grab her things with the other. She slung her purse over her shoulder and reached for the bag with her dress and shoes. All that was left to carry was a $15 bottle of Layer Cake, the perfect red wine pairing for the dish. Carefully, testing the weight of the bag, she slid the bottle inside. Hands full, she backed into the front door, slowly pushing it open.

  As she skirted through the foyer and living room, her grip loosened on the glass dish.

  Make it to the table. Almost there.

  She rounded the corner into the kitchen. Her purse fell to her elbow, knocking her off-balance. The dish twisted, tilted. The bag slid from her fingers.

  “No, no, don’t—”

  As she raced through the entry into the kitchen, she saw Carter ahead, his back to her, earbuds in, oblivious to her presence. He swung the refrigerator door open, nailing her in the chest. She staggered back, clutching for the casserole. The dish wobbled, slipped, and crashed to the floor. The bag with the clothes and shoes—and, oh God, the wine!—slid out of her grip and landed on the tile with a glass-shattering bang.

  “Jesus, Faith, are you all right?” Carter slammed the fridge door closed and tugged out his earbuds. He stared like she’d sprouted three heads. “What are you doing roaring through here like that?”

  Cheese and chicken were everywhere: her hair, her clothes, the floor. Good thing the dish hadn’t been hot. From the bottom of the department store bag, a deep red stain pooled like blood.

  “There goes dinner,” she said, slapping her hands to her sides.

  He knelt and swiped his hands through the mess. “Chicken casserole again?”

  She nodded, and although she hated it, tears threatened to fall. She’d worked hard on dinner tonight. It took her an hour to get the right ingredients from the store, another hour of prep, measuring things out just right. She was looking forward to seeing if she’d finally nailed it this time.

  “If it’s any consolation,” he said, shrugging, “I didn’t care for the first two attempts.”

  “This one was going to be different. It could’ve been great.”

  “It could’ve had class”—he glowered up at her, raising a fist—“it could’ve been a contender.”

  “Oh, stop. You’re a horrible Marlon Brando, and the movie wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” Faith huffed, struggling to hide her frustration, and pushed her hair behind her ears.

  “You remember it?”

  “Of course I do.” She picked chicken out of her hair and flung it to the floor. “It wasn’t that long ago that you picked it for our movie night.”

  He stood, staring. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

  “I did, twice, but I saw enough to know it didn’t deserve an Academy Award.” Ripping a towel off the counter, she bent to her hands and knees and started cleaning up the mess. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  Tension coiled through the air like a whip.

  “I pay the mortgage.” Carter growled from low in his throat, the way he had when they were tangled in sheets at the Monarch. “I’m pretty sure I can be here whenever I want.”

  The temperature in the kitchen skyrocketed as Faith got the feeling he was staring at the back of her head.

  “You okay?” She looked at him over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” His jaw ticked, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the cabinets above the stove. “Why would you question me being home? I’m here every night, aren’t I?”

  “I meant what are you doing home so early?” She continued scrubbing the mess. “You never make it for dinner.”

  “Call it a bad day.” He huffed from behind her, the sound short and irritated. “An epically bad day.”

  “I’d offer you a warm dinner and a glass of wine to take the edge off, but…” She stood to face him. “Unless you want to eat off the floor with Humperdinck, I’m out of options.”

  “You know what? That actually sounds like a great idea.” He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the ink lacing his wrist. “Why don’t you go change into something not…smelling like cheesy foul, and I’ll clean up this mess. We’ll eat on the back lawn.”

  That sounded amazing. She’d been eating alone at the kitchen table too many nights with late-night reality television her only companion. Maybe she and Carter could finally break the rut they were in and he’d stop avoiding her like the plague.

  “I’m in,” she said, “but what’s on the menu?”

  He strode into the kitchen and dug around for a pot. “I’ll cook. You change. Meet me out back in twenty-five.”

  Carter cooked? How’d she not know that about him? His kitchen was spacious with stainless steel appliances, glossy black cabinets, and sand-toned granite counters—the perfect setup for someone who enjoyed cooking—but the refrigerator and cabinets were sparse and the counters were barren.

  Time to see what the hunk could do.

  She saluted him with flimsy fingers. “You got it, chief.”

  As she turned into the living room, Faith got the heart-lifting feeling that the storm brewing between them was about to clear. They’d eat on the back lawn, drink wine, and laugh about how stupid they’d been. She’d talk about her cooking classes and how she almost burned down the senior center when she left a batch of cookies in the oven at too high a temp for far too long. He’d talk about work and the case that had him twisted into knots. They’d come inside when it got dark and watch a movie like every other Friday night. She’d even let him watch On the Waterfront and pretend to be Marlon Brando again, if he wanted.

  This was going to work…they’d finally be friends again.

  She scratched her head as the F-word struck her funny. Why’d the word “friends” feel so wrong?

  The doorbell rang.

  “Got it!” Faith said, and checked her appearance in the mirror on the coatrack before opening the door. She almost laughed at the sight: strings of dried cheese in her hair, wet meat sauce covering her chest and arms, and an embarrassed blush flushing her cheeks marinara red.

  She swung open the door.

  “Paisely.” The name whooshed out of her. “What are you doing here?”

  The model flipped her fine layers of golden hair over her shoulder. “I’m looking for Carter. Is he here?”

  “Yes, he’s in the kitchen, but—”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Paisely interrupted, pushing inside and heading to the kitchen. “Carter, can I talk to you for a second? It’s about the bureau.”

  “I guess.” He peeked his head around the corner. “Is Nate with you?”

  “No, just me.” Paisely’s voice was so high and sweet, it gave Faith a headache.

  “All right.” He disappeared into the kitchen once more. “Watch your step through the entry. Freak casserole accident.”

  Pursing her lips, Faith watched Paisely charge toward the sound of Carter’s voice, her size two hips swinging like she was trying to break them off. She’d probably gotten her sexy swagger from years of sashaying down the catwalk and her rail-thin Barbie figure from years of starving herself, no doubt.

  “Come in.” Faith mimicked the perfect hostess, playing out how the scene should’ve gone. Smiling wide, she stepped aside to allow the guest to enter, though Paisely was long gone. “Make yourself at home. It’
s so great of you to come. May I take your coat?” she said to no one.

  Faith stood at the entry to the hallway on the opposite side of the modestly decorated living room, watching Paisely Brooks-Ramsey step over the casserole catastrophe and disappear into the kitchen. Instead of bolting for her bedroom to change into dry clothes—what any normal person would’ve done—Faith leaned against the wall, into the shadows, out of sight, and listened.

  …

  Carter dumped a can of corn and a sliver of butter into the pot on the stove and stirred. He couldn’t cook, but he could fake it. “What’s this about?”

  Please don’t let it be about what Nate was worried about…

  Paisely opened the fridge and bent to peer inside. “I like the married you. You’ve got chick food. Vegetables, Vitamin Water, Special K bars… Who would’ve thought?” She took out a bottle of Stella Artois and wagged it around. “Bottle opener?”

  “So you’re solo tonight.” Carter took it out of the drawer and set it on the counter. “Does Nate at least know you’re here?”

  “Of course not, he’d blow a gasket. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She popped the top of her beer and drank. “Why do you want the detective position, Carter?”

  He got to work prepping the indoor grill for steaks. “That’s why you’re here? To determine if I really want the job?”

  Relief soared through him. Nate had been wrong about his wife. Clearly, she’d gotten over Carter. The disappointment he claimed to have read on her face when she discovered he’d gotten married must’ve been misinterpreted.

  “Tell Nate I’ve dreamed of working the position since I started in the department,” Carter said, “and I’ve worked my ass off to get to this point. I deserve it every bit as much as he does.”

  “I’m not here on his behalf.” She tapped her boot heel against the base of the cabinets. “So you want the job even though you’ll be working long hours away from home? Your wife is okay with it?”

  He threw the meat on the grill and seasoned the steaks with garlic, salt, and pepper, and zoned. Where was she going with this?

  “I mean, you’re newly married to that fragile wife of yours,” she said, coming to stand next to him. She reeked of floral perfume—lavender and something spicy. He fought the urge to sneeze. “Won’t she worry when you’re running late at the office or being swept away to bureau functions that last an entire weekend?”

  “She’s not fragile,” Carter corrected.

  “She’s not like us.” She leaned back against the counter, arching back slightly to accentuate the perkiness of her silicone breasts. They looked new. “She’s not confident in her sexuality and her ability to keep a partner happy.”

  How did the conversation veer into inappropriate territory so quickly?

  “If I’m not mistaken, you’re newly married, too. Are you going to feel the same way if Nate gets the position and is gone from home long hours?”

  “I think I might get lonely from time to time.” Her red lips pursed as she curled her lips around the neck of the bottle. She took a slow drink, measuring him, before she whispered, “I’m here to see if there’s something I could do to take care of that.”

  He got the message loud and clear, only there was no zinging response to the words. No excitement at the possibility of getting in bed with Paisely again or sneaking around behind his competition’s back. Three months ago—hell, three weeks ago, before he’d proposed to Faith—he might’ve jumped at the chance to have something physical with Paisely, so long as she wasn’t married, of course. That’s all it would’ve been…physical…but it would’ve been fun.

  Now there was nothing. No desire to take her up on her offer, even if it was something thrilling behind the scenes.

  Something had definitely changed.

  A thumping sound came from the direction of the hallway. Carter strode around the wall separating the kitchen from the living room.

  “Faith?”

  His sweet little roommate was the reason things were suddenly different. He couldn’t deny it. She was getting under his skin, and damn it if he didn’t like it. If she would stop making it so difficult for him—bending over to scrub the floor or wearing those soft sweaters every day—he might actually have a chance at resisting her.

  “Be right out!” she hollered from her room.

  Good. She hadn’t heard what Paisely had said. For a second there, he thought that she might’ve been eavesdropping on their conversation. That could’ve been bad.

  “I think you should go.” He took Paisely’s beer from the counter and tossed it in the recycle bin, then flipped the steaks so they wouldn’t burn. “I won’t tell Nate that you were here as long as you never ring my doorbell again.”

  She tilted her head to the side, studying him. Her blond hair fell over her shoulder, and her eyes gleamed a sparkly shade of blue. The woman would be beautiful if she wasn’t so deceitful, but snakes often had the most beautiful design on their scales.

  “I’m telling you now, Carter. When that wife of yours starts feeling lonely, she’ll look for other things to keep her busy, too. We’re women.” She shrugged. “It’s in our nature. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He didn’t have to worry about Faith cheating, or how that would affect him, because he wasn’t going to let her get that close to him.

  He wouldn’t give her the chance to hurt him the way his ex-wife had.

  They were friends. They’d be divorced once he settled into the job, she’d move out, and things would go back to the way they were before.

  A spike of something cold and bitter struck him in the gut.

  After Paisely left, Carter laid out a red flannel blanket on the back lawn. The cold feeling remained, spreading to his hands and feet. He lit a few of the torches lining the grass and set the plates down, and then rubbed his hands together to bring the feeling back. When Faith didn’t join him, he went back inside to see how much more time she needed to get ready.

  He knocked on her bedroom door.

  No answer.

  “Faith?” He liked her being so close. A few doors down, rather than a few football fields away. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Why couldn’t he ditch the hollow feeling in his stomach? This wasn’t a date, though he had to admit he’d set it up as if it was. He cast a glance back at the yard. Wine, flickering lanterns, a blanket to keep them warm on a chilly night. Who was he kidding? He’d totally set this up as if he was trying to impress her. What the hell did that mean, anyway? That’s not what he wanted…was it?

  “Eat without me, Carter,” she called, her voice weaker than he’d ever heard it. “I’m not feeling well.”

  He tried the handle. Locked.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to bed.” Long, agonizing pause. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

  Her voice cracked. He felt the tear in his chest.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Dogs are foragers by nature,” Faith wrote on the day’s post for Have a Little Faith. “They evolved from canines who scavenged for food in the early settlements. For this reason, dogs will often eat anything they sniff out, whether that be delicious or rotten food, crumbs on the kitchen floor, dryer sheets, or even poison.”

  Gulping down a white mocha she’d picked up from Starbucks on the way home, Faith gazed out over Carter’s backyard. His house backed a few acres of forest; the towering trees provided shade and protection from the dusting rainstorm that had blanketed the city the last few days.

  She hadn’t talked to Carter much since Paisely had shown up. He’d made it sound like they were long over, with no hope of getting back together from either side. But he’d been mistaken. Or he’d lied so Faith wouldn’t know the truth. It was clear Paisely still had feelings for Carter, sexual, sleazy, or otherwise.

  How could Faith compare to the flawless blond bombshell? If the woman really turned on the charm, or if Faith wasn’t in the next room over, she couldn’t compare. Sim
ple as that.

  She had absolutely no right to be jealous. None at all. But jealousy didn’t listen to reason. Rain pattered against the windows, dragging Faith back to her computer.

  “Men are the same as dogs, they truly are,” she typed away, talking as she went. “When they hit a sexual drought, they’ll bark up any skirt. Doesn’t matter if that skirt is on a bimbo, ex-girlfriend, wife of a colleague, or all three rolled into one slutty ball.”

  She deleted the last few lines, though she would’ve killed to keep them.

  Instead, she wrote: “Because of their inherent scavenging nature (dogs, not men), we need to teach our pets what is good to eat and when to leave something bad or poisonous alone. Today, our topic is teaching your dog the ‘leave it alone’ command.”

  Oh, if men could train as easily.

  She continued to type: “Your command can be ‘drop it,’ ‘leave it,’ or ‘away,’ whichever suits you.”

  “How about, ‘keep your hands off the blond tramp’?” She laughed, as her thoughts dashed to buying Carter a shock collar. “Yeah, that’d work on Carter just fine.”

  “What would work on me?” he said from the doorway.

  Her heart raced and she looked up. “You scared me. I thought you’d left for work already.”

  “I’m staying late again tonight, so I don’t have to go in until noon.” He sat in the leather chair across from her. “What are you working on?”

  “How to teach dogs to leave things alone.”

  He kicked up his feet on the desk and crossed them at the ankles. “So how do you do it?”

  “Are you really interested, or really bored?”

  “Both.” He laughed. “To be honest, I can see how much work you’ve been putting into this blog thing, and I’d like to hear more about it.”

  This blog thing. As if writing a dog blog was a geeky adolescent phase that she’d suddenly recover from. Should she tell him now or later that the ads she’d placed on the sidebar had made her almost a thousand dollars since she’d put them up? She hadn’t met with Mr. Winchester to hear his proposal yet, either, though they’d set up a rendezvous next week, the afternoon after the bureau dinner.