Page 16 of His Undercover Wolf

Penny and Jarod’s eyebrows shot up in unison and I barked out a laugh. “I wish you two could see the looks on your faces.”

“You met today?” Jared asked, somewhat confused.

The couple knew me as a standoffish man who had been unwilling to ‘put myself out there’ and take a risk where women were concerned. For twenty years I’d been happily single, but Otsana had me questioning whether or not I’d stay that way now I’d met her.

“Yep. We had a meeting at 2 pm this afternoon.” I shrugged. “What can I say? I spent around three hours with the lady, and she attracted me like no one before.”

“I cannot wait to meet this woman who appears to have cast some kind of magical spell over you. I’ve never seen you so content and relaxed. Is she a witch? Someone from an alien world?” Penny grinned.

I shook my head at Penny’s ridiculous comment. “Behave yourselves and don’t embarrass me or her over dinner.”

The pair snapped their heels together and saluted, causing me to laugh.

“I’m going outside to meet her when she arrives.”

I headed back outside and waited on the driveway where two old gas lanterns on posts, that had been converted to electric, illuminated the entry steps.

The restaurant was a dark stone building with a medieval feel. Highly polished walnut wood framed the windows, and the entry door was also a thick slab of walnut with black iron decoration. Tables and chairs were made from the same timber and the legs were intricately carved. Four chandeliers, suspended from the ceiling with thick black chains, were turned low to create a romantic atmosphere which was further enhanced by large candles in the center of each table that flickered as the flames danced. Red tablecloths matched the color of the velvet on the seats and backs of the chairs. White napkins were a stark contrast to the dark colors as were the finest quality silverware and glassware.

The circular driveway led to a parking lot for diners, and it was where one of my few indulgences—a 1960 redChevrolet Impalaconvertible was currently parked. Like my house, it had been carefully restored. The exterior was red with splashes of white and a white top and white-wall tires complimented the large expanse of red. The interior boasted houndstooth red and white upholstery, a red dashboard, and carpet.

The car had been a wreck, and Cillian had insisted there were much better buys, but I’d insisted on a three-speed manual transmission because I liked to ‘drive the car’ and the rumbling V8 motor was what dreams were made of as far as I was concerned. My other indulgence was a vintageHarley-Davidsonmotorcycle and on bright, sunny days there was nothing better than taking her out on the highway, opening the throttle, and feeling the wind in my face.

I loved vintage vehicles I could work on myself rather than the computer-controlled cars of the day that were not only temperamental, but one needed an advanced computer science degree to fix anything on them. Just my opinion of course and something modern day cars did have in their favor was they were cleaner and kinder to the environment. It was the reason I owned a small Mercedes hybrid for getting to work and back every day.

The familiar rumble of a V8 engine, something not often heard these days, reached my ears and I stepped forward and craned my neck in the direction of the sound, searching the inky blackness for the vehicle. Headlights shone in my direction when the driver turned into the restaurant driveway and a blackPorsche9282 Door came to a stop, just missing my toes.

A young woman stepped from behind the wheel, moved to stand at the bonnet of the car and grinned, probably at the expression of adoration on my face.

I unglued my eyes from the car to run them over the lady. She was tall, probably only a couple of inches shorter than me and in the tightly fitted white dress she wore, I could see she had a body similar to a female bodybuilder. Silvery white hair cascaded around her shoulders and her eyes were the palest blue I’d ever seen. I turned my attention back to the real object of my interest—ThePorsche, and an involuntary groan escaped my mouth when I noted it was the edition where the engine had been moved to the front.

“Are you going to stand there making sounds like you’re having an orgasm over my car or step back out of the way so your dinner date can get out?”

My eyes snapped to the passenger door that I stood blocking since the woman driving had almost run over my toes. I stepped back, reached for the handle, and opened the door, offering my hand to assist Otsana to climb out of the low-slung vehicle.

Once she was standing before me, I raked my eyes over her and was rendered mute. Otsana wore a pink number that fit her like a glove and showed every one of her delectable curves. Her hair was swept up on one side and held back with a jeweled comb that glittered beneath the lights. Her hair tumbled almost to her hips and I wanted to tangle my fingers in the gorgeous curls. Her friend was beautiful but didn’t hold a candle to Otsana who was breathtakingly stunning.

Otsana tilted her head, and I noted her eyes twinkled with mischief. She must have known how I’d be affected by her beauty. I unglued my tongue from the roof of my mouth and willed my over-interested dick to stand down.

“What did I tell you?” The nameless woman, who now stood beside me, asked Otsana.

She glanced down at my crotch, and I dropped a hand over the defiant package.

“If his dick’s interest is any indication, he thinks you look as spectacular as I said you did.”

I snapped my attention to the woman, who it appeared had a mouth with no filter, and offered my hand. “And you are?”

“This woman, with a brain totally divorced from her mouth, is my nowexbest friend, Zarina Templeton. Zarina, meet Xavier Bennett.”

“Isaac Templeton’s daughter?” I asked.

Isaac was a local senator who came from old family money and was extremely influential. Rumors swirled about him not being who he appeared but fuck if I knew what his detractors were alluding to and hadn’t really given it any thought since I voted for his opposition.

“One and the same. You know him?”

“Not personally, only by name like most other people around here.” I inclined my head back at the car. “1978?”

Zarina shook her head. “Close…1979. You know your cars, there is very little difference between the two.”

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