Chapter 1
When I moved to New York, everyone was so busy telling me to watch out for the rich Wall Street guys that no one remembered to warn me about werewolves. And I’ve met a few Wall Street guys now—they’re definitely the less dangerous of the two. I mean, maybe some of them are going to be like that one movie with the guy cutting people to bits, but mostly they just have really nice suits and they expect you to sleep with them because they have a Mercedes. Annoying at worst. Werewolves, on the other hand…they can cut you in half with one swipe, their teeth are serrated, and they move fast.
But let’s be honest: even if anyone, literally anyone, had thought to say to me, Alicia, don’t get mixed up with werewolves, I wouldn’t have listened. Mostly that would have been because I didn’t think werewolves existed, but the other thing about werewolves, the thing I didn’t mention earlier? Werewolves are hot.
I didn’t know Dominick Green was a werewolf to start with, though. I didn’t know anything other than that he was over in the corner of the bar looking like the hero in some action film, with a shirt that might have been painted on. Those pecs. The point is, the moment I saw him, I wanted to touch him, and before I even had a chance to think he was out of my league, I was up and walking over to his booth.
To be honest, I don’t even remember getting up. I was walking towards him, knowing my heels made my legs look miles long and my tank top was the perfect mix of innocent and sexy, and he looked up when I was halfway across the room, like he could see me watching him. His eyes were black, and when I tell people this, they think I mean really dark brown. I don’t. I mean black. I couldn’t see any hint of pupils, and it should have been unsettling, but those eyes were set up above cheekbones to die for, his jaw looked sharp enough to cut glass, and his nose had just the slightest bit of a bump to it, like maybe he’d been in a fight at some point. Yum.
Even better, I could tell he liked what he saw. His eyes skimmed appreciatively over my light brown hair, done up in a messy French braid, across my lips, soft and pink, and then down over the curves I was showing off shamelessly. To be honest, this was dressed down for me—first thing I did when I got to New York was get a job as a cocktail waitress. It means I get to sleep in every morning, but on the flip side, every day I’m shimmying into something black and slinky, blowing my hair out, and putting on a ton of makeup. I tell you, the bar is set higher for cocktail waitresses in New York than it is in Nowheresville, Oregon. Maybe someone should have warned me about that one, too; I think I’ve spent half the money I’ve made so far on more clothes.
Point was, eyeliner and lip balm and a white tank top were about as dressed down as I ever got anymore. I felt comfortable and cute as hell as I slid into the booth with him.
“Do I know you?” he asked, and his voice sent shivers all down my spine.
“I don’t think so. I just wanted to get to know you.” I took a sip of my beer, mostly to mask the fact that my pulse was pounding. I could see him looking over my body, and weird black eyes or not, I know when a guy has the hots for me.
“Did you.” Despite himself, he was smiling. “Well, I’m Dominick Green. And you are?”
Damn. The man had all the manners of someone you’d bring home to meet your parents, and somehow his voice still had me wanting to take him home and straddle him on my couch. Or bed. Hell, on the floor, if he wanted.
“Alicia Melnick,” I said, because I had just enough presence of mind to remember my own name.
“So, Alicia.” He leaned forward on the table. “Tell me about you.”
That smile was still in place, and I tried to keep myself from turning bright red. I think even then, that early, I knew he could hurt me, and hurt me bad—I didn’t think he would, mind you, but it was almost like my brain could see what was hiding there, all sharp teeth and claws. Unfortunately for me, my conscious mind was nowhere near as smart as the rest of me. All I could see was the muscles rippling over his shoulders and down his arms, and the way his dark hair looked so soft I just wanted to run my hands through it, and that smile…
Damn. That smile. I would have run away with that smile in a second.
It took me far too long to remember that he’d asked me something.
“Right. Um.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I just moved here from Oregon.”
“So that’s the accent.” Everyone else said it with one of those condescending New York faces, but he was teasing. I grinned and blushed, and hid my face by taking another sip of beer.
“And I kind of wanted to be an actress when I grew up, so I came here to get away from home. Stupid—I don’t even want to be an actress anymore.”
“What do you do?”
Of all the people I’d met, he was the first one I was embarrassed to talk to about what I did. Everyone in this city is scraping by, but they like to pretend they’re better because you’re not living the life they want. It’s ridiculous. I just didn’t want Dominick to think so.
“I’m a waitress.”
“Why aren’t you at work?” One dark eyebrow lifted conspiratorially. “Are you playing hooky?”
“First night off in…” I tried to think. “Ugh. Too long. So, what do you do?”
He paused to consider, and that was the first time I saw it: something cold and remote under the exterior. I’d known from the start that he was quiet, or he’d be up at the bar hitting on someone; hell, any girl here would go home with him. But he had that cowboy look, you know? Down to earth, strong-and-silent. And for just a moment, he looked as New York as one of the Wall Street guys in their suits. It was unnerving. I blinked.
“I work in security,” he said finally, and I just sort of blinked at him. I mean, I supposed it made sense, but the fact was, he looked really sad when he said it.
“I, uh....I see.” My beer was gone.
“Can I get you another?”
“Yes, please.” Him buying me drinks was good. I never thought good manners could be so sexy. My mother would be pleased; I thought about texting her, and decided not to. There was nothing to tell her, after all. Just that I’d met a nice guy and had a beer with him.
Later, I’d be glad I hadn’t texted her. I was about to learn just how dangerous a well-mannered man could be.
But we’ll get to that.
He was back a moment later, sliding the beer across the table to me. His smile was wide.
“Enjoy.” He nodded and headed for the door.
“Wait!”
“Yes?” He turned back as if he genuinely had no idea why I was asking him to stop.
“Uh…where are you going?”
“I have to leave,” he said, as if that was all there was to it.
“No goodbye?” I was about to get on his case about manners, and he seemed to know it. He pointed.
“I bought you a beer. It was nice talking with you.” And he turned to go again.
“Wait a sec.” I slid out of the booth and followed him.
“I really have to go.” There was just no getting behind those eyes, was there? The fact that this didn’t seem to be a play was surprisingly infuriating. We’d been having this great time and now he was just turning around and leaving, like none of it mattered at all.
“Well…can I see you again?”
“I don’t know,” he said. He seemed to have considered the question for longer than it should take. He thought for another moment, and then nodded. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s…look, we were having a nice time. Is it something I said?”
“No,” he said blankly, as if blindsided by this avenue of discussion. He looked at his watched, then out the door, somewhat worriedly. “I have to go. You should stay here. Inside.”
And he set off.
The man did not know me very well. I pushed my way out onto the street behind him. His face, when he heard me, was genuinely terrified.
“Why are you following me?”
“I’m not following you,” I said contemptuously. “I live in the next building over.” And I’d been about five minutes from inviting him upstairs, but whatever. “Goodnight, Mr. Green.”
“Get inside,” he said, almost a plea, and I lost it.
“Yeah, you don’t like me. I get it.”
“It isn’t that, I just—“
“Whatever.” I walked away without a backwards glance.
My shoes got thrown across the room when I got home, which relieved my hurt pride somewhat, and my tank top and skirt followed them. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and went to bed seething. Never mind that all I could seem to think about was that bastard and his sexy, smug smile. He was still making my breath come short and I couldn’t even say why.
God, everyone had been right about New York men.
I went to sleep still angry, and the next thing I remember after that was waking up to sunlight, with someone banging on my door like they wanted to bring it down.