by Anne Marsh
“It’s good to see you.” He came to an awkward halt in front of her, not sure if he should pump her hand, kiss her cheek, or fall back because she was smiling at him and her smile rocked his world.
“You too.” Her hands were full of an enormous tote bag and a silver-wrapped present, so the friendly handshake was definitely out. She didn’t look like the kissing type, so he settled for popping open the passenger-side door for her.
She nodded toward the little gift bag he’d tossed into the front seat of his mud-splattered truck, trailing crazy ribbon everywhere.
“The invitation didn’t include a registry card. Hell. I’m practically a wedding crasher. I haven’t met the bride or the groom. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Interesting. “You got an invitation?”
She waved the cream-colored card, but he wasn’t surprised. Gianna had gorgeous manners. She wouldn’t have randomly crashed a wedding. “Groom’s family.”
Well. Shit. Because his baby sister had married into the Breaux clan and every last one of them was a werewolf. Did Gianna know that? If so, it might make his own dating life easier. Or not, he guessed, depending on how she felt about wolves. He had his own secret to share if they were going to have any kind of a future together.
“So you know one of Dag’s brothers?”
She chewed her lower lip. “Luc.”
Oookay. The Pack Alpha. She wasn’t messing around with her friendships. He’d need to tread carefully unless he wanted to incite a war between the Packs. He measured the distance from the ground to the truck and then her dress. Fuck it. “All aboard.”
Wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting was a quick one-two-three. It felt damned good to finally get his hands on her for more than a brief hi-how-are-ya and a handshake. She made a squeak of surprise and pokered up, but there was no way in hell she climbed up into his truck without flashing the world her panties and he didn’t think that was her thing. Not that he would have minded but he’d be a gentleman even if it killed him.
And it might.
He deposited her on the seat and she hung onto her big-ass tote bag and the gift-wrapped present like they were walls she couldn’t throw up fast enough. Yeah. He might have moved too quickly there.
“Thank you.” She sounded breathless, but not pissed off. He could work with that. “Next time, I’d like a heads-up before you go the caveman route, okay?”
Yeah. He could do that. He gave her a slow smile. Shut the door and leaned in. “Sure, boo. I’ll let you know before I touch you again.”
She got real busy in her bag, so score one for him. He’d bet he wasn’t just Cruz the Sheriff in her head anymore. Good. He’d be happy to let her get to know him any way she wanted. Emphasis on want.
***
The wedding reception was picture-book pretty. White tents dotted the edge of the bayou, tables and chairs decorated with lots of tulle and ribbons and…lavender. Apparently, the bride liked purple. Which might explain Cruz’s uncharacteristically purple tie. He’d dressed to match his sister’s decorations, which was sweet.
After he’d driven them a few miles out of town, he’d parked the truck in a field more than half-filled with beat-up trucks and cars. He’d grinned up at her when he’d opened her door. She’d still been trying to figure out how to negotiate her dismount when he patted his shoulders and said “Hold on.”
Figured he liked this part of the job. Flashing him her panties was almost a given. Since she had to get out of his monster truck somehow (and flirting just a little didn’t seem too bad), she placed her hands on his shoulders. The heat of him radiated through his jacket and shirt and not just because the sun was beating down hard on this part of Louisiana. She jumped and his hands found her waist, guiding her down. Easy-peasy and, if she leaned against him for just a minute when she landed, that was a happy accident.
Reaching around her, he grabbed her things and insisted on carrying them for her. He should have looked ridiculous. Instead, her bag and all those ribbons just made him look more masculine. Life wasn’t fair. He also steered her straight over to the bride and made the introductions with easy good humor. Thank God. Unlike Luc, Cruz had beautiful manners.
Riley Jones, the bride, wore a simple knee-length white shift and a crown of daisies and roses. She’d kicked off her shoes and stood barefoot on the grass. The big man standing next to her was a scary motherfucker—making the family resemblance to Luc clear—but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The groom might not be tame but…he was happy.
Gianna had brought a gift. The antique crystal candlesticks inside the gift box came from nineteenth century France. There was nothing practical about the gift, but Gianna liked imagining the stories the crystal could tell. If candlesticks could talk, which they couldn’t. She wasn’t that crazy. Not yet.
“Congratulations,” she said, handing over the gift-wrapped box.
Riley took it with a smile of thanks. The rings on the other woman’s finger flashed as she squeezed Cruz with easy affection. Gianna tried—and failed—to imagine her own family hugging and kissing like that. Or celebrating anything good. She didn’t need a McMansion to be happy, but it helped not to be in a fog of drugs.
“You brought a date.” Riley beamed and threw her arms around Gianna in an ambush hug.
Gianna was no hugger, but she forced herself to relax and hug the other woman back. Why not try something new? “We’re—”
Yeah. What were they? Co-workers of a sort. Possibly interested, although she’d done her bet to ignore that possibility. Even if she hadn’t entered into a Vegas quickie marriage, she and Luc still had a relationship they needed to resolve before she started a new one.
Cruz stepped into the breach easily. “Gianna here hasn’t decided yet if she’s going to give me the time of day. We’re not dating.”
Riley smacked his shoulder lightly. “But you could be. You’re thinking about it. Tell me you’re thinking about it.”
Humor lit up the eyes of the Riley’s husband, making him seem more approachable. “Riley here believes that love is contagious.”
Riley mock-scowled at her new husband. “You make feeling something sound like a disease.”
Dag’s answer was to sweep his bride up into his arms for a long kiss. Since the meet-and-greet was clearly done, Gianna let Cruz tug her away in the direction of the bar set up along the riverbank. He shot her a rueful grin. “Should I be apologizin’?”
Okay. So she’d tried on the fantasy of dating Cruz. He could be her new man. Her treat to herself for finally taking care of the mess of her not-quite-marriage. Once she resolved this mess with Luc, she just might be interested.
“You want to see me?” It was good to be specific.
Cruz handed her a flute of champagne and rested his hand on the small of her back. “I’d love to get to know you better, boo. You tell me when and where.”
The low growl behind them had her choking on the first bubbly swallow. Maybe she was jumpy and paranoid after her run-in with the Baton Rouge wolves, but the noise sounded angry and terribly wolf-like.
Someone cursed and Gianna could feel the tension sweeping through the assembled guests. Like they’d all looked out the windows of their trailers and spotted purple-black clouds of a tornado barreling down on them. That sound meant nothing good. “Ah, hell. What’s got his back up?”
He?
A hard arm slid around her waist and drew her back against a familiar chest. Luc’s scent surrounded her. “She’s not available.”
Cruz stilled. Danger radiated off him, his body shooting to DEFCON 3. “She tell you that?”
Right. Just what she needed. Two dumbass males beating their chests. She’d expected better from Cruz, almost as much as Luc’s possessiveness surprised her. Much. After all, he’d left her alone for ten years, which hardly qualified him as having a prior claim. “Um. Excuse me. She has a voice.”
The wedding guests all turned to watch them, forming a loose circle aro
und them. Riley should be selling tickets—she’d make more than enough to fund a honeymoon in the South Pacific.
“It’s not like I asked him if he wanted to fuck me right here on the floor,” she continued.
The guests froze collectively. Oops. Maybe she’d put her foot in it. Their faces pingponged between Luc and Cruz, like they expected an instant bloodbath. What the hell was it with people living out in the bayou?
“That’s where you draw the line?” Luc drawled while Cruz narrowed his eyes, like he was putting two and two together and didn’t like the math at all. Too bad, so sad. She’d warned him that her life was complicated—and they weren’t dating. In fact, they barely knew each other.
She pulled hard and, this time, Luc let her put a few inches of space between their bodies. Mighty generous of him, but she’d teach him manners later. “What makes you think I’ve drawn a line?”
“Shug, you always have a line.”
Cruz decided it was time to insert himself into their conversation. Being a wiser man than Luc, he started with her. “You know this brother?”
“Is that a problem?” Was there a difference between Breauxs? And just how many of them were there after all?
“Gianna damn sure knows me,” Luc growled, angling his body between her and Cruz. Shit. That just pissed her off more. Unfortunately, her heels and the meadow weren’t on speaking terms. She tried to step away, but her foot wobbled, the heel sinking into the ground.
“Gianna?” Yeah. That was concern in Cruz’s voice. Mr. Fix-It wasn’t happy with the update about her rather murky marital status.
“Luc invited me,” she admitted.
“Shit. You’re in a relationship with him.”
“I proposed to him and it was temporary insanity,” she growled. “Turns out, he turned me down flat and we’re not married. I’m free and clear.”
“Do the words blue moon mean anything to you?” Luc directed the words to Cruz. Yep. She definitely hated the way her bayou boys liked to hold a conversation over her head.
Cruz swore. “If she don’ wan’ that pairin’…”
“We’re discussin’ it,” Luc snapped. “Back the hell off.”
Cruz hesitated and, for a strange moment, Gianna almost swore that the wedding guests were ready to jump the man. What the hell kind of place was this?
“Okay,” he said finally. “But there are things you need to know. How much did she tell about that biker gang up in Baton Rouge?”
Okay? Cruz would disappear into the sunset that easily? She didn’t want a fistfight or male posturing, but she also didn’t want Cruz giving up on her that easily. Damn it. Confused didn’t begin to cover her state of mind.
Someone turned the music up and Riley urged everyone to dance. To pretend that whatever had almost happened hadn’t and that the tension between Cruz and Luc wasn’t palpable.
“She told me enough. The Breed are huntin’ her. They’ve sent over a dozen wolves after her. You know much about them?”
“Enough.” Distaste clear in Cruz’s voice. “They’ve been holdin’ themselves a membership drive and, last count, had almost sixty of the meanest patch-wearing motherfuckers signed to their motorcycle club. They’re responsible for at least half of the drug sales in Baton Rouge and they’re running weapons.”
“They’re goin’ to need a few more members,” Luc said, his voice cold as ice. Remembering the way he’d laid into the wolves attacking her, she shivered. Somewhere inside those wolves had been men. She hadn’t wanted to know if he’d killed them.
“I don’ wan’ Gianna anywhere near them.”
Luc jerked his head. “We’re in agreement on that. She’s stayin’ here with me.”
Whoa. Rewind. Since when had Luc decided to make her decisions for her?
“Boo.” Cruz looked at her and, despite a full four feet of space separating them, she could feel the tension radiating off Luc. What kind of relationship did he think she and the sheriff shared?
“Use my name,” she snapped. She wasn’t a pet. She didn’t do cutesy.
Cruz nodded, like she was God handing down the ten commandments to Moses. “Gianna Lynn. If you need me, you call. I’ll come.”
“Anything Gianna needs, I’ll provide,” Luc snapped.
And…definitely time to intervene. “She’ll be making her own decisions, taking care of her own business.”
Cruz ignored Luc. Hell, he ignored her feminist manifesto as well, and she honestly didn’t know how to make either male stop and listen, although banging their heads together was starting to look like a real appealing option. “You call. I come. Remember that.”
“Got it.” It might help if she knew what—who—she wanted. Tension thickened the air, like she’d been pitchforked into the middle of some kind of alpha male pissing contest and she was the prize.
“Out here in the bayou is Luc’s territory. I own Port Leon.” What. The. Hell. Cruz explained the spatial division like he was laying out property lines. She was pretty sure she was still in the state of Louisiana and not some alternate universe or an Ilona Andrews novel. “You come back to town and you let me know what you want to do, okay? I’ll back you up. Or, tell me to come for you and I’ll be here with bells on.”
That offer earned another growl from Luc. Maybe she needed to have him checked for rabies. Or a muzzle.
“Stop it.” She slapped Luc’s chest and stalked away. She wasn’t taking anyone up on any offer. That was the truth, plain and simple.
Of course Luc followed. When had he ever left her alone if he wanted to be with her? Not ready to face the wedding guests, she blazed a trail out into the garden. Please let her not have ruined Riley’s big day. She didn’t know what the ethics code was for wedding crashers, but spoiling the event seemed like definite bad form.
Five minutes of fast walking and she could barely make out the tent tops. The bayou wandered by in a lazy curve. Someone had parked a gazebo right by the water’s edge, screened by a heavy curtain of purple wisteria. Soft tendrils of vine and flower waved in the sultry air. Riley and Dag couldn’t have picked a prettier spot, although she was pretty certain her present was nowhere near large enough to compensate for the shit storm she’d just rained down on their big day.
Luc padded up behind her. “You don’ wan’ him.”
She’d make up her own goddamned mind about Cruz’s sexual attractiveness. “Maybe I do.”
“He’s a wolf too. I thought you’d sworn off wolves.”
And color her shocked. Jesus. “He’s Riley’s brother. Your brothers are here. Is it safe to infer that you invited me to a werewolf wedding?”
Luc’s slow smile transformed him. Heat seared through her. He was sexy as hell when he was pulling his alpha male crap, but smiling…he was pure devastation.
“There are a few humans here,” he admitted. “I’ll introduce you to my brothers. With the exception of Riley, their mates are human females.”
“Do you have any idea how bad that sounds?”
He shrugged, like the facts were the facts. “You wan’ me to lie to you, shug?”
“I wan’ you not to sound so damned condescending. So you have a fur and a penis. Yay you. That doesn’t make you better—only different.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “What do you know about wolf packs?”
He stepped a little closer, bracing his arm over her head against the pergola. His thighs brushed hers. She was dimly aware of wedding guests milling around and the happy beat of dance music. The smell of barbecue wasn’t bad either. But no one came near them, which undoubtedly had something to do with Luc’s growly mood and Cruz’s reluctant retreat.
“It’s been a long time since I watched National Geographic,” she admitted. Like…never.
“You know what an Alpha is?” His mouth brushed her temple. She should protest. Should tell him hands off and back off. But it had been ten years since she’d let someone this close and their couch-time at her place had only reminded her what she was miss
ing.
Luc.
“The fearless leader?” She laughed in an attempt to defuse the situation. The garden smelled good. He smelled good. The sun was making her warm and sleepy. That was it. That was the reason she wanted to melt into him.
“I’m Alpha for the Breauxs. I lead our Pack. I make the decisions and I keep everyone safe.”
“You should try democracy. It comes highly recommended.”
He groaned. “Jesus, shug. The werewolf gang in Baton Rouge isn’t our only problem. We’ve got hunters riding our asses, the likes of which you’ve never seen outside of your movies. Sometimes, orders are the only thing there’s time for.”
She needed someplace to put her hands. Her heels put her almost on eye-level with him. Maybe she could go to five inches. Six, if she could come to terms with Lucite and hooker territory. Since changing up her shoes wasn’t going to help her now, she settled for hooking her thumbs in the front pockets of his pants.
“I’m not part of your Pack.” And wasn’t that the God’s honest truth?
“You’re my mate. That makes you the female Alpha.”
And…sucker punch. She sucked in a honeysuckle-scented breath. “Instant hierarchy? Riley doesn’t want to rock-paper-scissors me for the job?”
He reached out a hand and she turned her cheek away. Letting him touch her right now was a bad idea. She’d cave. “Riley would kick your ass if she thought it was in the best interest of her Pack or if you ever made the mistake of threatening Dag. She’s in a hard spot right now. Dag is a Breaux. She’s a Jones. Somehow, she has to figure out how to balance the two.”
He slammed his hand into the wooden post and petals drifted down around them. He sure didn’t look happy.
“What’s wrong with being a Jones? Do you have a Montague and Capulet thing going on here that I should know about?”
