Page 31 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

“Sure.” I zipped up my black tote and set it on my worktable then took Ronan’s hand and let him to the chaise. We sat together, thigh to thigh.

“Is that ‘Still the Same’ by Bob Seger?” he asked after a long pause.

“Not what I expected you to say, but you’ve been surprising me all over the place recently.” I nudged him with my thigh. “Yes, it is, and if the radio’s too much of a distraction, I can turn it off.”

He shook his head. “It’s not loud or anything. It’s more that…”

“It’s more that you don’t want to tell me you’re bailing on ourdate. Is it the hair?” I pointed to my braid. “Because I think I’ve proven that I clean up pretty well.”

I’d expected him to smile, but when he just sighed and stared at our clasped hands, I knew whatever was going on was more serious than breaking a date.

“You’re always beautiful, Betty,” he said, in that growly voice that gave me goosebumps. Gold sheened his eyes for a half-second, telling me that his wolf agreed. “You take my godsdamn breath away.”

A delectable shiver went through me, and I sat up a little taller. “If you really are canceling on me, this is a fantastic way to do it. But it still sucks, and I’ll still be pissed at you for it.”

“I’m not here to cancel.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He nodded, appeared to notice he was nodding and shook his head instead. “I’m worried about your safety. My sisters. Mine, too, if I’m being honest.”

Fennel opened one eye and quickly closed it. Little spy.

“What happened?”

“The day of Sylvester Shaw’s funeral, my father called me into his office.”

“Was it after the funeral or before?”

“After.”

“And you didn’t tell me untilnow? We spoke on the phone after the service.”

“He calls me into his office all the damn time. If I told you about every summons, you’d never get anything done.”

Bullshit. It was an excuse. He knew it; I knew it. The Seger song ended, and Peter Frampton’s “Show Me The Way” began. If Ronan didn’t start explaining himself, I was going to show him the wayout.

“That was BS. Sorry. I’m trying to be straight with you, but my wolf sometimes overrides my good sense.” He dragged his hand through his hair again.

“Take a step back, wolf, and let Ronan speak,” I said, only half joking.

“Floyd was cagey, cryptic.” He squeezed my hand. Was it the wolf answering or the human? I wasn’t going to interrupt him to ask. “He told me some things straight out and hinted at others. The whole situation unsettled the hell out of me.”

“Sounds like a typical meeting with him. At what point in the conversation did he warn you away from me?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s usually his closer. That’s not what worried me, either.” He patted my knee with our entwined hands. “It started before that, in the hall with Mason Hartman. He’s acting strange.”

I swallowed the smart-ass comment—When isn’t he?—and rolled my hand in a “go-on” gesture.

“He told me to keep control of my wolf in Floyd’s office. To play it cool. When I asked him his angle in all this, he gave me a typical nothing response, but when I pressed him, he said he’d come talk to me at the pub if I controlled my wolf. I agreed.”

“And did he hold up his end of the bargain?”

Ronan finally cracked a grin. “You didn’t ask if I held up my end of the bargain.”

“Because I know you did. You’re smart enough to know that was a good deal. What did he say when he met with you?”

“You think he held up his end of the bargain?”

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