Pack wolves have free run of the Breed MC clubhouse, but most of us maintain a private bolt hole on the side. Cushioning’s not just a dating strategy—a wolf’s gotta have a place to run to when shit hits the fan or there are just too many goddamned furries barking orders and trying to run shit. Since I like my alone time more than most, I invested a few years ago in thirty waterfront acres. Normally I’d ride out on my bike, taking the dirt roads at a hundred miles an hour because the only way to ride is fast. Now, however, I’m stuck driving in this truck. I stick to the posted speed limits and obey the traffic laws. Once I get home, step two in my might plan is to convince Rain to help me out with my Keelie Sue problem. I debated driving her straight to the clubhouse, but I’m not sure even my charm would be enough to win her over in a handful of miles. Plus, the ladies are hosting a baby shower tomorrow—and even if there’s not gonna be water and soapy, naked women, that still seems like the perfect time to deliver my gift.

Forty minutes into our staid fucking drive, urban sprawl gives way to bayou and the road disintegrates into a dirt track. I look behind me periodically to check on Rain because bouncing her brains around in her head isn’t going to get me what I want. Plus, my girl is proving ambitious in the escape department, and I don’t need the hassle of her trying to bash my skull in from behind.

I crank the radio up high and sing along to fill the silence. Not that Rain’s gonna be able to do much talking—I’ve got her gagged and tied since she’s still not seeing shit my way despite my explaining that all I need are her baby doctoring skills and nothing else. I don’t want to kill her, fuck her, or hurt her any—I just need her help. Okay, so that’s partly not true. I ignore my dick, which clearly wants to fuck her. It’ll have to go without. So instead of doing any one of a dozen different, dirty things, I belt out the chorus to the country song blaring out of my speakers. I’ve got big speakers too—the whole truck vibrates and shakes to the beat.

The indignant groan from behind my seat is still plenty loud.

I love it when she pays attention to me. I up my volume, even though I’m gonna have to be the first to admit that my super skills don’t extend to singing. When it’s karaoke night at the club, the boys like to compare me to a dying cat, which is harsh coming from a bunch of wolves. They’re not wrong, either. But it’s just me and the trees now (and my special package in the backseat) because we’ve hit bayou country. The highway’s just a cracked ribbon of black now, yellow paint peeling off the asphalt in visible strips the farther we go. Trees arch over the road until I’m almost driving through a tunnel of green. It’s pretty as fuck. If I were a poet, I’d write some kind of epic sonnet describing it, but I’m just a wolf so I drive and appreciate what I can. We rattle over one of those nameless tin bridges with a railing on one side and a short, sharp drop on the other, and I sing louder.

The singer on the radio heads into the final chorus, letting the whole world know about his horse, his gun, and his girl. I feel him. The world was a simpler place when the only things that mattered were how hard you rode and how well you fought. Why bother with words when you can just kill anyone who gets in your way? Something tells me, however, that Rain’s more of a talk-it-out girl.

I add a few bonus yippie-kay-yays as we round into the final stretch of our drive. We’re almost out of pavement. In another handful of moments, we’ll hit gravel and the point where the world sort of stops and living begins. I swear the air smells better already.

Rain thumps the back of my seat. Hard. I feel her jab in my lower spine.

“Knock knock, who’s there?” I carol the words as I lean back and look over the seat. It’s safer to keep my eyes on the road, but I’ve driven this way thousands of times and wolves heal fast. It’s how Jace was able to beat the shit out of me so well and yet leave no lasting trace. It’s not the best thing about being wolf, but it’s real fucking useful. Pop-Pop used to bring out his belt between his TV shows—he claimed tanning my hide was better than a commercial. Nice to know I had my uses.

Rain smacks my seat again and makes another unintelligible noise. This kind of sucks that the entire burden of conversation is on me. How can anyone communicate effectively wearing duct tape? Since it’s served its purpose, I pull over. In the middle of yet another small bridge. If Rain bolts, she’s going for a swim and I’ll make her ask nicely before I fish her out.

“You want this off?” I lean down, gripping her jaw carefully with my hand, and run my thumb over the edge of the tape.

She nods, although from the expression on her face, the last thing she wants is to agree to anything I suggest. She’d still rather go for my balls. Possibly bite my thumb off. Sucks to be her because I’ve spent years avoiding teeth.

I ease my finger underneath the edge of the tape. It’s stuck tighter than I like which is my fault. I’ll owe her one after this. The pink mark on her skin chafes me. “You gonna behave?”

This time the look she gives me is patently disbelieving. Yeah. I wouldn’t be making me promises either. Whistling, I pop open the glove compartment. There’s not much in there, but the WD-40 is right where I left it.

I reach over the seat and aim for her mouth. “Hold still.”

It doesn’t matter how much I like gliding my fingers over her skin. Rain’s my prisoner now and that changes everything. What woman’s gonna date the man who hauled her through a window and gift-wrapped her with duct tape? My baby doctor’s a good woman who looks after other good women, easing their hurts, helping them through their pregnancies. I have neither a vagina nor a baby, so I’ve got nothing that interests her.

She makes a sound as I smooth the WD-40 over her skin.

“Not gonna hurt you,” I whisper roughly. “Let me help you, okay?”

I have no interest in hurting her, not even in fun. I’m up for almost anything, but my sex life has never included any of that BDSM shit. Being a dom is too much emotional investment and I could never be someone’s sub. Still, I pet her just a little, stroking my fingertips over her cheek. She’s so soft. I should shoot me for dragging her out here and scaring her.

I should—

She makes a different kind of sound, more needy, husky whimper, and suddenly I have a new favorite song I want to play over and over again. My pack might’ve been right. I might sometimes jump in over my head because now I’ve got no idea what I’m doing here. I’m helping Keelie Sue, I’m…

Christ, Rain’s a small person. She barely hits my shoulder, but suddenly I’m not the one in charge anymore. Her little moan hangs in the air between us as I lift her up and over the seat, curling my arms beneath her legs and getting myself an armful of Rain. She’s curvy, but I’m a big ass bastard. She’s barely a mouthful for this wolf, more tapas plate than big roast turkey. Good thing I know how to savor my food.

No.

Bad wolf.

I knock her purse onto the floor, set her down on the seat beside me, and peel my arms away from her. She can thank me later for this act of supreme will power. She promptly scoots away from me until her back’s pressed against the door. I’m sure her fingers are feeling for the handle, but she pretends she’s sticking with me, and I go along with the fiction.

My wolf perks up anyhow, like she’s choosing us, the stupid bastard. To distract myself, I paint the edges of the tape with the WD-40, easing the sticky shit away from her skin. It’s reddened but unbroken. By the time I’ve unstuck her, we’re face-to-face, kissing distance. Not that I kiss, but if I did… this would be the perfect position. But now I’ve got WD-40 all over her pretty face. I shrug off my vest, whip my T-shirt over my head, and wipe that shit off.

“You’re insane.” She states her opinion calmly but she wriggles a little more urgently in the seat, her bound hands groping for the door handle. She’s never without a plan, this woman. I hit the child safety lock button and she gives me another baby growl. So fucking cute.

“You go for me while I’m driving and we’ll end up in a ditch,” I point out while I get us back on the road. We’re almost to my place now. “Or we’ll be nose deep in the bayou. The gators are gonna hear us splash, and then we’ll be like the world’s biggest sushi bar. Bet I swim faster than you, too.”

Not that I’d leave her behind, not after I went to this much trouble to fetch her. Not ever, my wolf suggests. I have to agree.

She doesn’t yell, doesn’t scream. Nope. While I drive, she launches into a firm, angry, well-thought-out argument about why my ass is the dumbest ass she’s ever encountered (no argument there). How I can’t possibly think I’ll get away with kidnapping her (already have). How I’ll be spending the next twenty years atoning for my misdeeds in state prison (I’m more likely to end up in a zoo or a lab, but details). Thank fuck, I don’t smell fear.

She’s still calmly tearing into me when I pull up in front of my house. I’m a big guy and I have a big place—three floors, a thousand square feet each with about a million windows so the light can pour inside and I can see whoever’s coming. There’s always someone gunning for me, so the view’s less of a luxury item than you’d think. But I’ve got trees and the bayou, just enough furniture so I can sit my ass on a couch or a bed depending on my mood, and a fridge big enough to hold the contents of an entire beer truck. It’s my place and it’s perfect just as it is.

I kind of want to know what Rain thinks, though. It doesn’t make sense, but I’m sort of holding my breath, hoping she likes it. Not like I can redecorate if she doesn’t, but…

What the fuck is wrong with me?

She tips her head back and drinks in my scenery while I stare at her since I already know what my place looks like. “Is this Bluebeard’s lair?”

Once again? She’s so cute.

“Not the marrying type, sunshine.”

I park, shove my keys in my pocket, and get out. It’s tempting to just leave her stashed on my front seat until the baby party at the clubhouse tomorrow, but then she definitely won’t help me. I don’t like having people in my personal space, but today’s a day for exceptions.

I toss her over my shoulder, anchor her with a hand on her ass, and carry her toward the front door.

“Hey,” she protests. “I’ve got legs. Two of them, both in working condition.”

I shrug, bouncing her up and down on my shoulder because I like the breathless oomph she makes. “I’ve got this.”

“Are you always a caveman?” She sounds incredulous.

I’d like to say I’m not sure what kind of guy she hangs out with, but those stupid roses made it pretty clear. She dates guys with manners and money, guys who know how to work the rule book and probably own a dozen suits that visit the dry cleaner on a regular basis. I’ve got the cash, but everything else? Not a chance. Don’t have it, don’t want it, not in a million years. So she’s probably right. I’m her very own dire wolf, one of those prehistoric carnivores that hunted their way through North America a hundred thousand years ago. Since I can’t tell her that, I go with another truth.

“I like carrying you.”

I shove the front door open. I don’t bother locking up a goddamned thing out here—I don’t have any neighbors for miles, and anyone who tries to steal my stuff wouldn’t keep it for long.

Rain grumbles something.

“You should speak up,” I tell her. “Mumbling’s not helpful.”

“Down.” She elongates that one poor syllable as if it’s my ears and not her diction that’s the problem here. Her stomach starts growling like it’s housing a pack of rabid wolves. Houston, we have a problem.

“Hungry?”

She smacks my ass with her hands.

“We have so much in common,” I tell her, patting her scrub-covered butt gently. We need to address who’s in charge here. “Seems we both love a good spanking. And since I’m such a gentleman, I’ll let you have yours first.”

She makes an outraged noise and tries to pitch herself off my shoulder. It’s a long way from my shoulder to the ground, so her attempt at flying is a real bad idea. I grab what I can before she can hurt herself. What starts out as a chivalrous move on my part, however, moves rapidly into porn territory because she’s wriggling like a fiend and somehow I end up palming her pussy. Swear to God it’s an accident even though I wouldn’t believe me, either.

All that heat and temptation about blows my fucking mind. My dick starts twitching, the beast roaring to life beneath my jeans. I’m not supposed to fuck her, however. I need her to like me, to want to help me—and no matter how much fun my girls have when we’re naked and screwing, they usually end up mad afterward. It’s a gift.

One Rain doesn’t want.

I remove my hand and set her down quickly. We both pretend that just didn’t happen while she looks around, taking in her new surroundings. My house is amazing, so I give her a few minutes to appreciate its awesomeness. Not much furniture other than a few white and gray sofas I Amazoned and my drafting table with a million billion pencils and half-finished sketches, but the views are killer.

“This is unbelievable,” she spits. “Untie me.”

Somehow I don’t think she’s admiring my decorating skills.

“You promise to stay put?”

“Are you stupid?” It sounds like a genuine question.

“Not most days.” Werewolves are long-lived, but in some ways we’re just like anyone else. If we don’t learn, we don’t last long.

“You kidnapped me.” She frowns like it still doesn’t compute and maybe if she says it out loud—over and over and over again—she’ll finally be able to make sense of my actions. Good luck with that.

“Borrowed.” I flash her a grin, trying to soften her up.

She’s not buying what I’m selling. Her eyes narrow and her hands fly to her hips. “That implies you plan on returning me.”

“I will. Scout’s honor.” I hold up two fingers.

It seems like the right thing to say.

“You’re incredible.”

“I know.” I prowl a little closer. “I hear that all the time.”

She makes that little growling sound and then she storms toward me. Rain’s fearless when she makes up her mind to go after something. She jams a finger into my chest like she’s trying to drill straight into my heart.

“Kidnapping is illegal, you moron.”

“Yes?” I’m not sure I understand the point she’s trying to make here.

“What if one of my girls goes into labor tonight? Did you think of that?”

I pat my pocket, where her phone and pager are currently residing. “Then we’ll work a deal out.”

Those girls are just Keelie Sues who belong with someone else, so no, I don’t want to keep Rain from them. Not really.

“Okay,” she says slowly. Her gaze slides straight from me to the door. She’s still got a hasty departure on her mind.

“Tomorrow,” I add firmly. “I need you to meet Keelie Sue tomorrow, and then—”

Something. Followed by something else.

Yeah. I’ve got nothing. I should have thought this out better. I can keep her and stash her somewhere handy until Keelie Sue pops out her mini-me. There will be a nice, drug-filled, speedy round of pop-the-baby-out and then Keelie Sue, Jace, and the cub proceed to live happily ever after? There are more holes in that not-plan than a wheel of Swiss cheese.

“You could have made a second appointment,” Rain says dryly. “Instead of committing a felony.”

I shrug. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

“You are Bluebeard.” She sounds part amused, part horrified. But here’s the thing. She’s not scared. I’d smell it if she were. I don’t know how or when she decided I was a bunny rabbit instead of the big, bad wolf. I’d suggest she find someone to help her with those trust issues, but by the time I’m done with her, she won’t trust anyone. I’m practically performing a public service here.

I know you’re wondering if I make a habit of kidnapping women and committing felonies. The answer is no on the abduction front; I’m way more flexible on breaking human law, however. I’m a wolf, so I go after what or who I want, and if I’m strong enough to take it, it’s mine. Rain here hasn’t figured out yet that she’s just moved in with the big, bad wolf, but she will. She’s smart. If she were any other woman, on any other day, I’d have her naked and my dick inside her making her come. But today’s a special day, thanks to that new-leaf shit, so I restrain myself.

“I need you. Keelie Sue needs you.”

She actually pats me on the arm. “Love makes us do crazy things, but you can’t kidnap me anymore. Drive me back to the clinic and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

As if.

Her stomach growls again, so I reprioritize.

“You want to eat?”

“I didn’t have time for lunch today,” she says with wounded dignity. She follows that up with an admonishing look. “And excuse me for not planning ahead for being kidnapped by a deranged lunatic.”

Uh-huh. I head into the kitchen, and she rides my ass the whole way. Not sure if she feels safer keeping me close, or if she’s just that interested in food. Can’t help but notice that she’s stopped looking toward the door, too. My dick twitches, suggesting that maybe she’s sticking around for the company, but my head tells it to shut the fuck up. I’m a sex god, not a fabulous conversationalist.

My kitchen’s a temple. It’s all gleaming stainless steel and glass, although that’s just what the previous owner put in. The realtor said that guy was some kind of gourmet cook who liked to host dinner parties. He was all blah-blah-blah about how many people I could cram into the dining room I’ve never used. I’m not into cooking. Most of what happens in my kitchen is drinking, so I’ve got four different kinds of beer. I open the fridge, anyhow, just in case a twelve-course Michelin-chef-prepared banquet has appeared since my last look-see. And… nope. I spy with my little eye ketchup packets, some years-old mustard, and an unidentified Tupperware that looks like it might walk away on its own soon. Good thing I’m not trying to impress this girl.

I shut the door quick, but not before she gets a good look and snorts.

“Bachelor much?”

“I’d hate to deprive a lady of the pleasure of my company.”

She snorts again. She really needs to work on her emotional repertoire. “Has that ever happened?”

I turn around and wink at her. “That’s why I’m a single man. If I mated, I’d be a one and only man. Doesn’t seem fair to all my admirers.”

Wait. I take her hand, smoothing my fingers over her knuckles. No white mark and nothing on her ring finger, but not all women wear the jewelry. I’ve overlooked a key piece of information.

“Are you married?”

I’m… not sure how I’d feel about that.

“Not any more.” She makes a face, part sad, part embarrassed.

“Mr. Roses?”

“Dave didn’t grasp the concept of monogamy.” The sad disappears from her face, replaced by mad, and even though I’m not into emotional shit, I kind of want to offer to kick his ass for her.

I lean back against my empty fridge and try to look non-threatening. It’s probably like a Doberman trying to appear fluffy and cute, but I also can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with anyone—let alone a hot girl—so it’s my night for different. Plus, there’s only one possible response to Rain’s revelation.

“Stupid fuck.”

She shrugs as if it’s NBFD that her mate cheated on her. “Maybe I wasn’t enough. He said I was too masculine and liked to bust his balls too often.”

“Because he wasn’t strong enough to be your mate.” Look at me, dispensing relationship advice. I’m even more surprised than you are.

The face Rain makes this time is sort of disbelieving. She’s the most surprised of all. “Are you harboring a secret Neanderthal streak? You think a woman needs a firm hand?”

I told you I’m not Ann fucking Landers, right? If Rain wants answers, she’d do better asking a Magic Eight ball. Still, I give it a shot. I’m a dick, but not that big of a dick.

“I think you need a fair fight,” I say, trying to find the right words. This would be so much easier if I could just draw her a picture. “Someone who can push back when you push, give as good as he gets. Someone who’s strong enough to be whatever you need on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.”

“Are you discriminating against the other days?” Her eyes laugh at me.

“Well it depends,” I lean toward her just a little. “Maybe in this hypothetical relationship, you’d be taking turns giving the commands. Or maybe Thursday, Friday, and Saturday are good days to play sexy dom. Take his orders and let him make you feel good. Sometimes it’s not a bad thing, letting go, not having to be the one in charge.”

She chokes. “Do you talk to everyone you just met this way?”

“Don’t talk much,” I admit. Whatever I’m gonna say next is drowned out by the growling of her stomach. “You want me to fix that? Or is that taking too much charge for you?”

“Why don’t you drive me to the clinic and I’ll buy you a burger?”

She fires right back and I like that about her.

“So we’re having a dinner date now? Awesome.” I wink at her. “You stay put and I’ll go grab us some take out. You can thank me later. I’m partial to sexy lingerie and blow jobs.”

She’s still sputtering when I slip outside and bolt the door behind me. My house may be pretty, but it’s also built solid. It’ll take her a good long while to get out on her own, especially since I’ve left her hands tied. And even if she does get out, she’s facing a long walk, a longer swim, or trying to figure out how to hotwire my truck. I’ve got plenty of time.

I fucking love hunting, so that’s what I do when I come out here. I run down my dinner and eat it on the spot. Don’t think Rain’s gonna be into that though. Might have to barbecue that shit for her. I strip down and shift.

Christ, I love running as a wolf. Sticking around in my human skin gets itchy and uncomfortable. Everything’s way more complicated as a guy. My wolf runs, he hunts, he marks his territory. If he’s bad ass enough to bring it down or hold it, it’s his. I run through the bayou for the better part of an hour, just letting the fresh air clear my head, feeling the ground beneath my paws. Eventually I stop with the joy ride and get down to business. It doesn’t take long before I spot dinner. A quick run, a snap of my teeth, and I’m at the checkout in the wolfie grocery store with a nice, fat rabbit.

Mission accomplished, I lope back to the house. When I reach the edge of the porch, I shift back. T-shirt, jeans, boots, knife—I put myself back together. Slamming through the front door with a dead rabbit in one hand and a blade in the other with my dick waving in the breeze won’t endear me any to Rain. Although on the other hand, she’s dealt with the shit I’ve tossed her way so far—so maybe she could deal with wolf-me too.

You know.

If it weren’t completely, totally against pack law.

In fact, it’s probably the only law I haven’t broken. And while breaking it now just to maintain a perfect record of evil-doing appeals, I opt instead to make a discreet entrance into my own goddamned house and toss the rabbit into the sink. And then since I’ve got blood and furry bits on my hands, I even do the soap and water thing instead of shifting and licking them clean. It’s like leaving a forkful of frosting on your plate—it’s a fucking waste.

“Honey, I’m home,” I holler, giving her a heads up so she can stop trying to escape. Because I’m sure she’s made one attempt after another since I left an hour ago. Joke’s on her though as my place is way the hell out in the bayou. She’s stuck with my ass now.

“You’d better have brought food,” she yells right back. She sure sounds like she’s right where I left her. After stepping outside to turn on the big-ass grill I’ve got on the deck, I go hunting for my girl and find her in the living room. As I mentioned before, I’m light on furniture—don’t need that much—so it’s not hard to spot her.

Rain’s parked on the couch. She’s got her legs up, her head back, brown hair spilling everywhere. She looks amazing even if I did just drag her out a window and stuff her down behind a car seat. Her shirt’s all twisted, exposing an inch or two of imminently lickable collar bone, and my wolf promptly suggests we do just that. Maybe press our mouth, our nose against that soft, sweet hollow and drink her in. She’s totally mate-able.

Off limits.

I need to get those words tattooed on my dick. Her eyes narrow as if she just might be able to read my mind. Or maybe she knows exactly what the ten inches of hard-on punching the front my jeans means. I’m real happy to see you. Let’s be friends.

“Untie me,” she orders, twisting so she can shove her hands at me. “And then we’ll talk.”

Funny how someone who’s lolling around all tied up still manages to look and act like the Queen of Sheba. Rain’s as used to giving orders as I am. See, we both make life and death decisions. We’ve got a team of people depending on us. You can see it in her face, in the way she weighs her options and then decides. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t take shit. Once she’s decided, it’s game over. Right now, she’s decided she’s done with me.

“Now.” She waves her hands at me. Pretty sure she flips me the bird too because I have the urge to paddle her sweet butt.

And that’s how I know that I’ve got a chance with her. Her words may be all about the no… but her body? She’s thinking about it. She hasn’t dismissed my request out of hand. In the handful of hours that we’ve known each other, she’s told me what’s wrong with me, what to do for Keelie Sue, and how, exactly, she wants me to go fuck myself. I respect that.

Still, I pull out my hunting knife from my boot. It’s a twelve-inch blade, so it sends a message. I get what I want in this life by taking it or fucking it. And since she’s made it clear that my dick isn’t of interest, that leaves force.

She doesn’t flinch at the sight of my blade, though. My girl’s got a spine of steel. Instead, she winks at me.

Fucking winks.

I practically come on the spot.

She lifts her wrists toward me. “That’s a big knife.”

I slice her wrists free, careful not to cut her skin. “That’s what all my ladies say.”

She rolls her eyes and then shoves me out of the way so she can hop off the couch. “Mine’s bigger.”

“Really?” I eye her pants. Pretty sure I didn’t get the lady parts wrong.

She groans, stretching and doing some kind of wiggly, yoga move thing. Her shirt rides up, exposing a sun-browned stretch of skin that just begs for a good kissing. My cock is rock hard, and I reach down and give it a good, hard squeeze to settle it down since Rain’s distracted with her gymnastic performance. I think she catches me, but that’s her fault for looking.

“You suck,” she announces, as if this is news to me. She pads toward the kitchen.

I follow. “Tell me about this knife of yours.”

“Big.” She stretches in the other direction. “Sharp.”

Huh. That doesn’t sound like fun.

“You gonna show me?”

She looks at me over her shoulder. “Just as soon as you drive me home, bad boy.”

I hate waiting. I chew on Rain’s offer while I watch her. She’s definitely worth a glance or six. The scrubs hug her ass, the cotton clinging to her curves as she struts into my kitchen like it’s hers. She’s tiny and yet not, all lush curves that would be fucking awesome to dig my fingers into and hang on. She’s not fragile—she’s strong. She’d ride me as hard as I rode her.

She brushes against the door, trails her fingers over my counters. I can’t tell if she’s checking for dirt (I’ve got a cleaning service because I’m a wolf, not a pig) or marking my territory as hers. I kind of like option two.

And then she looks into the sink. “Jeez.”

It comes out more whisper than shout.

You’d think a woman who births babies for a living would be okay with leftover dead animal, but she actually takes a step backward. If I were a gentleman, I’d back up before she slams her ass into my dick, but that new leaf of mine doesn’t cover accidental sexual encounters. It’s more of a fig leaf in that regard. I consider moving—just long enough that she makes contact and I steady her hips with my hands because it’s like her entire body is making like a box of pop rocks and trying to dart in forty different directions.

“It’s dinner,” I inform her. She should have seen me catch it.

“You eat bunnies?” She wriggles, looking uncomfortable. The hard on I’ve got for her is just biology. I think about telling her that—I want her for her super smart mind and all the crap she’s learned about birthing babies. I can get pussy from dozens of other women, so I don’t need to mess up our relationship with sex and I wouldn’t go where I wasn’t invited anyhow. Loud, enthusiastic consent is my personal rule. Instead, since the longer she eyes the rabbit remains, the paler she gets, I go with the dinner diversion.

“Limited choices out here, sweetheart. You want fish instead?” I guess I could wrestle up a gator for her but who wants something that tastes like a combination of chicken and a really chewy rubber boot?

Her eyes narrow. “I’m a vegetarian.”

That’s gonna be a challenge.

“Huh,” I say. “You might have to explain that one to me.”

“As if.” She smacks my hand off her hip and marches over to my fridge. Pretty sure she already knows what’s inside, but she’s welcome to look if that makes her happy.

I get busy with my knife and start turning Mr. Bunny into something grill-worthy. Vegetarian rules out rabbit sushi for sure.

The fridge door slams shut. “If you’re going to kidnap me, you could at least feed me.”

“Trying.” I nod toward the rabbit and she makes a face.

“But I don’t think you kidnapped me.”

Maybe she’s the one who needs an explanation—or possibly a dictionary.

I open my mouth. “You saying you came with me voluntarily and the duct tape was just a kink on your part?”

She waves a hand as if the past few hours are nothing more than an Etch-a-Sketch and she’s resetting shit to a blank page. “I think we need to work on your communication skills.”

Maybe she’s crazy. Maybe her too-big, too-smart brain has diverted all the oxygen and brain food and shit from day-to-day stuff so she can focus on helping women have beautiful, healthy babies? Yeah. I don’t really care. I just need her to fix Keelie Sue, so if she doesn’t want to slap a kidnapper label on me, I can humor her.

“I do need your help,” I allow.

She nods. “Successful communication usually takes the form of a question and a request.”

Please. Guys like me? We don’t ask. We order, demand, seduce, and possibly flat out dominate.

“Would you really stop me from walking out that door?” she asks me. “And is your name really Fang? And you’ve got a pregnant girl stashed away somewhere?”

Her forehead puckers in the cutest frown, like she’s seriously trying to figure me out. I like having her attention focused on me.

“You think I’d lie to you?” I finish with the rabbit. Pretty sure she’s not gonna eat it, which means I need to come up with an alternative. The pizza guy doesn’t like making the trek out here. I could call one of the prospects, but I’m not ready for my pack to know what I’ve done. Ask forgiveness, not permission. I should get that tattooed on my ass. Or maybe my dick. Did I mention that my dick’s huge? I’ve got more than enough room for all those words.

Rain sighs and shoves her hands through her hair. It’s full of waves and kinks from being twisted up in that knot all day. I decide it’s like hair happy hour, all her curls kicking loose. “Did you ask me for my help?”

I shrug. “This seemed easier.”

“I have patients. What if one of them goes into labor? What if someone else needs me tonight?”

Goddamn, she won’t let it go, will she?

“You got a good point. What if I bring your purse in from the truck so you can keep an eye on your pager and phone,” I suggest.

She raises an eyebrow. “How about you take me home?”

“You want me to take you, sweetheart, you just say the magic word.”

Naturally, the next words out of her mouth don’t include please, do me now, or God, yes, Fang, that’s what I was thinking and what other awesome mind-reading powers do you possess? Because while I’d be happy to show her my secret sexy-times powers, she’s still focused on work. She probably should address those workaholic tendencies of hers and I have just the dick to help her with that problem. I’m such a giver.

She stabs a finger at me. Busted. “Do you ever not think about sex?”

“Nope.” I slap the rabbit in a cast-iron skillet and shove it into my ten-thousand-dollar oven. I’m hungry and I’m definitely not a vegetarian.

“There’s more to life than sex,” she says.

“Sex keeps you in business,” I point out. “Gotta make all those babies somehow.”

I like sex—it’s one of the few things I’m good at. Practice makes perfect and all that jazz.

“I don’t need a penis to make a baby.” Swear to fuck her cute little nose turns right up in the air.

“Organic’s better. Plus, a turkey baster’s nowhere near as much fun as me.” I shut the oven door. Not sure how long roasting a rabbit actually takes, but now I have to magically rustle up a vegetarian course. In the meantime… “How about we negotiate?”

Her nose comes back down and her gaze meets mine. “I’m listening.”

“Stay with me tonight. I’ll feed you something that didn’t used to have legs or a face or whatever the fuck it is you object to and while we eat, you do some listening. If you want to leave in the morning, I’ll take you back to the clinic, no hard feelings.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m not the one who committed a felony.”

True.

Some guys send flowers and some guys sweep you off your feet—literally. Me? I toss you over my shoulder. It’s the take-out version of a relationship.

I point to the oven. “You can eat that and ignore the fuck out of me.”

She shakes her head.

“Or you can give me a chance and I’ll find you something better.”

She opens her mouth. Here it comes. I’m familiar with the speech about how I suck, I’m living down to expectations, and/or I’m the biggest regret my hook-up’s ever had. And it’s not like I’ve done anything to inspire confidence in Rain. In a few short hours, I’ve lied to her, dragged her out a window, tied her up, untied her, and marooned her in the bayou with a big, nasty stranger. I should apologize and let her go, but I’m all in and I suck at apologizing anyhow. It requires me to actually care and I ran out of fucks to give years ago. So I give her my best, panty-melting grin and wait for her to lay into me.

“You’re incredible.”

That’s not a compliment, in case you were wondering.

“True story.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Tick tock, sweetheart.”

“You really don’t care that you kidnapped me, do you?”

You’d think Dickish Ex would have taught Rain a few things about just how low men can go, but she actually sounds surprised.

Might as well tell her the truth.

“Not at all.”

“And you’re not worried about going to jail?”

And once again…

“Nope.”

“And you’re still planning on asking me to deliver Keelie Sue’s baby?” Her eyes spark. Her hands do an angry flutter-dance as she tries to get her shit under control.

“Here’s how I see it.” I lean back against the counter. “You’re nice. I’m not. You’re gonna look after Keelie Sue because it’s the right thing to do and she needs you. And even if you weren’t such a nice girl, you’d do it because otherwise she’s stuck with me and we both know I’m gonna fuck it up. Royally.”

She shakes her head. “You better be providing one hell of a dinner.”

She makes a shooing motion at me.

I think my mouth may fall open.

“Dinner,” she enunciates slowly. “Ooooone chance. Go.”

I go.

I end up raiding the neighbor’s house. She’s about two million years old, owns an equally ancient shotgun, and she cooks in her spare time. Since she makes Methuselah look young, she has a lot of spare time. I’ve run by her place more than once, drawn by my nose. Rabbit’s awesome, but Mrs. Miller makes the best pie ever. Usually, I stop in and flirt a little. Chat her up. She’s lonely and she likes looking at my pretty face. Sometimes, though, I just sneak in and liberate whatever smells best, which is what I do tonight. On my way back out, I check out the leaky sink I fixed on my last visit to make sure my repair’s holding. I need to get to her toilet this week and I make a note that her porch has a rotten board on the southern edge. If she falls and breaks a hip, I’ll be pie-free and unhappy about it.

Even in my human form, it’s a quick ten-minute jog back to my place. The advantage of not going furry, however, is that I’m still wearing pants when I step inside. I’m already pushing my luck with Rain. Walking around with my junk out and proud isn’t gonna endear me any.

We pop my dinner party cherry and eat at the big formal table. This works out better than it sounds because we don’t do the stupid king and queen thing you see in the movies, with his and her ends. Instead we cozy up together. Partly, this is because I have a limited supply of plates (one) and silverware (one fork, two spoons, a shit-ton of knives). I slap dinner on the plate, set it down between us, and wait for her to dive in.

The rabbit looks good. Its skin is crispy golden, with little rivers of juice running all over. That part’s for me. The rest of it, however, is for her. There’s a bowl of green salad, a half-dozen dark purple tomatoes, a selection of cheeses, and a box of Triscuits. I’ve also got some kind of berry pie. When I stab the crust with my knife, blue leaks out. It’s a pretty impressive spread, if I do say so myself. Rain, however, is less than impressed.

Or maybe she just knows me already, which makes me fight back a grin. Never smile like a smart ass when your pack member is chewing you out.

She levels A Look at me. “Where did you get this from?”

She’s so onto me.

And because she’s downright adorable, I settle for a wink. “Grocery fairies.”

She doesn’t believe me for obvious reasons. I spear a tomato with the fork and lift it to her mouth.

She snatches it out of my hand, which is part disappointment, part expected. Rain’s fierce, but she’s not a wolf, and she’s most definitely not my wolf. Even if I kind of wish she were.

We take turns with the fork until Rain’s consumed most of the salad and decimated the cheese and crackers. I nudge the pie dish toward her.

She makes a face. “I totally shouldn’t.”

“Should.” I nudge her pretty pink lips with the pie-laden fork. “You know you want it, baby.”

“Fang.” She says my name in that kind of accusing, bad dog way, but that’s a mistake. See, she has to open her mouth to get my name out and I pop the fork in.

She chews on her pie and I swear my neighbor’s been baking in the aphrodisiacs. Rain’s face softens, the corners of her mouth curving up as I slip the empty fork free. There’s a little streak of berry juice on her lower lip. All I have to do is lean in and I could lick her clean. Or, better yet, I could paint her everywhere until she’s sticky sweet with a different kind of juice. Christ, she’s gorgeous. She’s…

Talking.

I do my best to pay attention. Apparently, she hasn’t moved on from our earlier conversation about the merits of eating or not eating pie.

“Shouldn’t.” She waves a hand down her body. I’m happy to look, but I definitely don’t see a problem. I arch a brow and wait. She’ll tell me what’s wrong and then I’ll fix it.

“I’m tubby.” She makes a face as she says this.

“Why the fuck would you think that?” From where I’m sitting, my thigh pressed against hers, she’s downright awesome. Only thing better would be naked pie.

“The scale. My doctor. My ex. Not that he’s generally right about much.” She makes another face. “But this time? Yeah. Too many late nights working, too many vending machine dinners.”

I shrug. “You look great. And you deserve pie.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “It’s important to be healthy.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t know the first thing about healthy habits. I generally avoid them like the plague, plus my wolf gives me a big advantage in the healing and regeneration department. My ass is never gonna show the effects, even if I consume a tractor-trailer load of pies. But that’s not the point. Rain looks great, but even if I didn’t like what I saw, that’s my problem, not hers. She shouldn’t be re-decorating her body to make me or any other dick happy—which is what she’s really talking about, not this health crap.

I shove the fork into the pie, load it up, and chow down. I’m not much for sweets, unless you count pussy cream, but pie is an exception. The pink in her cheeks deepens as I chew. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but it’s probably not complimentary.

“You want a taste?” I toss the fork onto the table, lean over, set my arms around her, and brush my mouth across hers. Not doing the momma bird thing—because gross—but teasing her.

I lick the seam of her mouth, where her lips are tight and closed. Judging me. FYI? I don’t react well to being told things are off-limits. It makes me remember unpleasant things, like being a small wolf-cub tied up in a bitter old man’s yard, watching through the window as he has himself a roast chicken dinner. I press a small kiss against the corner of her mouth. I don’t want to remember those bad things and kissing Rain is better than a Magic Eraser.

Rain’s breath catches, her fingers curling in her lap. She doesn’t move.

I lean closer, and for a second I think about not playing with her, but then she lifts her chin, her eyes searching my face as if she’s looking for a green light. Her hands come up, tracing my arms and the tense muscles there. A shiver runs through me, and I move in.

I kiss her soft, warm, pie-sweet mouth with mine. She exhales, opening for me, and I do it again. I trace the sweet curve of her bottom lip with my tongue because I need to taste her so badly. My right hand’s cupping her head, fingers sifting through her pretty hair, angling her for my kiss.

She parts her lips, and I’m in. I forget everything but her. She makes husky little noises, whimpering, groaning, demanding, and I want to do, be whatever, whomever she wants. She tastes like fucking heaven. Her hands pull at my arms, dragging me closer, and I’m doing some tugging and lifting of my own because her tits end up pressed against my chest. I hold her tight and kiss her.

Kiss her.

And kiss her.

The hand not pinning her to me goes exploring, drawing little patterns over her arm, her side, the skin beneath her shirt. I skate my fingertips up. Rain shifts uneasily. Too much, too soon.

I pull back because I’m still working on Rehabilitated Me and I won’t undo all my good work. “Eat your pie.”

She looks more than a little speechless, but she takes the fork and jabs it into the crust. She might be doing a little mental substitution, so I slide the knife away. Just in case. And then while she’s distracted by sugar, I show her pictures of Keelie Sue and her ultrasound on my phone (the shots where Keelie Sue Junior hadn’t shifted into a baby werewolf, complete with tail) and pepper her with stories about how Keelie Sue is fucking amazing and totally deserves this baby.

She sets down the fork. There’s still most of a pie left, so I’ll save that for her for breakfast. Fruit totally counts as a breakfast food. “Fang,” she says.

She packs a world of shit into my name, some of it good, some of it not so good.

“Sleep on it,” I suggest. “Keelie Sue’s good people even if I’m not.”

The soft skin between her eyes crinkles as if she’s thinking of disagreeing with me. I want—

It doesn’t matter what I want.

This is about Keelie Sue, about doing the right thing for once in my goddamned, fucked up, self-centered life.

I hold out my hand. “Bed time.”