Page 32 of Wedding for My Werewolf

The mention of Lila’s name made his jaw clench. “Since when do you take Lila’s word as gospel?”

“Since my son started consorting with a human who appeared out of nowhere. The Pack has concerns?—”

“The Pack, or you?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. I’m looking out for your interests.”

“My interests are none of your business.” He moved behind his desk, putting space between them. “Robin is my mate. That’s all you need to know.”

“But—”

The door burst open and Flora swept in, her red and white striped tracksuit making her look like a slightly demented elf.

“Marjorie! Just the wolf I was looking for.” She hooked her arm through his mother’s. “The garden club is in crisis. Someone wants to plant wolfsbane next to the petunias. Can you imagine?”

His mother tried to pull away. “Flora, I’m in the middle of?—”

“Nonsense. This is an emergency.” Flora winked at him as she dragged his protesting mother toward the door. “The reputation of our entire horticultural society is at stake.”

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving blessed silence in their wake. Interfering or not, he’d never been so glad to see Flora. He sank into his chair, making a mental note to buy her a thank-you gift. Maybe some of Esmeralda’s flowers—and he could pick up some for Robin at the same time.

The prospect made him smile, but his mother’s questions renewed his concerns. He’d agreed not to question her, but how could he help her if he didn’t know what she was running from?

He stared at his computer screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. His wolf growled at the thought of betraying her trust, but the bounty hunter’s presence nagged at him.

He sighed and typed “Robin Halloway” into the database. He sorted through the results until he came across a picture of her taken from an employee ID. She looked so much younger, happier, that it made his chest ache. He scanned through the attached information and found it was a missing persons report, filed by her boss, Martin Kendrick. According to the report, she’d vanished, leaving everything behind—her apartment, her bank accounts, her whole life.

His wolf snarled. It didn’t make sense. Why had she run? Why was she hiding in a small town and working as a housekeeper? And why was her boss the only one to report her missing?

He pulled up Kendrick’s name and frowned. The man was an upper level employee at a large import/export firm, and on the surface nothing appeared to be wrong—a couple of parking tickets and a restraining order, the latter dismissed. His eyes narrowed and he dug deeper, finding a pattern of complaints that stretched back years, all involving women. A few of them had pressed charges, but none had come forward when his lawyer had argued the case. Nothing appeared to stick to him.

One of the attached photos caught his eye. Kendrick at some kind of public function. Innocuous enough, but when he looked closer he spotted a man in a leather jacket in the background. Thatcher. He checked the date of the photo and saw it was taken five years ago which suggested that the two of them had been associated for at least that long. What was a so-called respectable businessman doing with a shady bounty hunter? And why send a bounty hunter after her at all unless she’d performed some kind of criminal act?

He closed the browser, rubbing his face. The Robin he knew—who cooked him dinner, who stood up to his pack, who meltedinto his kiss and came apart at his touch—wasn’t a criminal. But she was definitely running from something. Or someone.

His phone buzzed. A text from one of his deputies about Thatcher asking questions again. His grip tightened on the phone. Whether she was innocent or guilty, he’d meant what he said about protecting her. And he intended to find out exactly what Rick Thatcher was doing in his territory.

CHAPTER 12

Robin inhaled the rich aroma of coffee wafting through Eric’s cabin as she padded quietly across the wooden floor, each board now familiar after a week of morning routine. Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching the steam rising from two mugs on the counter. He was staring out the window, broad shoulders silhouetted against the light and, as always, the sight of him made her breath catch.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

He didn’t jump when she spoke but she’d quickly realized that he always seemed to know where she was. He turned and smiled at her before adding the perfect amount of cream to her mug. Their fingers touched as he passed it over, the brief contact sending electricity dancing across her skin. She pulled back too quickly, nearly spilling her coffee, and he reached out to steady her. Another spark.

She tightened her grip on the mug, fighting the impulse to lean into his warmth. This was getting dangerous. She was falling for him, breaking her own cardinal rule of keeping everyone atarm’s length. Each shared breakfast, each casual touch, each soft look chipped away at her defenses.

To her disappointment they hadn’t repeated the incident on the kitchen table. After two days—and nights—of him being a perfect gentleman other than those heated goodbye kisses, she’d finally gathered up the courage to ask him if he’d regretted what happened.

“Regret?” Those golden eyes glowed as he studied her over a glass of whiskey. “Absolutely not. Watching you come apart in my arms was the most delightful thing I’ve ever seen. Under any other circumstances, I’d have carried you into the bedroom and done it again. And again.”

Her mouth went dry and she leaned towards him, but he only took her hands in his and shook his head.

“But I won’t take advantage of the situation, little bird.”

She’d tried to convince him that he wasn’t taking advantage, but he was adamant. She would have suspected that he was telling her a polite lie if it weren’t for the unmistakable evidence of his desire each time they kissed. And in spite of his restraint, her heart still skipped a beat whenever their eyes met.

The memory of him watching her, golden eyes intent on her pleasure, sent a rush of heat between her legs.

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