You do not want Denise Hammond.

Yogi had repeated that mantra multiple times since last night. Unfortunately, all those attempts to convince himself only seemed to reinforce his desire.

It was as if Denise’s scent was a living thing, like one of those tangible teasing vapors from old cartoons—the kind that wrapped around, tweaking his senses and lifting him up until he was panting and drooling.

The universe was asking for a lot if it wanted him to keep his hands off her.

Too many times, he’d pictured himself biting her sarcastic tongue at dinner the night before. By the time the meal was over, he could barely concentrate on her actual words. He was too focused on her lips to even notice she was conversationally tearing him a new one in novel and snarky ways.

After locking her in the bedroom for the night, he’d gone on a quick run, followed by a very cold shower. He promised himself that by the time the sun rose, his affliction would be gone. That it was merely an aberration.

Yogi’s willpower around the opposite sex was better developed than that of his peers. He wasn’t a monk, but he’d been selective in his choice of partners, so much so that it had become a game for some of the women in the pack. They pursued him so often that wagers had been made over whether he’d succumb. Usually the winning side was the one laying odds on his restraint.

Except this time, he was rooting for himself to lose.

Yogi didn’t know why that scrawny idiot Max wanted to see other people, but he had been around humans long enough to know they were frequently shortsighted and unappreciative of atypical women. If a woman had curves, then she wasn’t skinny enough. If she was slim, she was too thin and needed implants to give an idealized hourglass figure.

Humans didn’t even put real women on magazines anymore. Everyone was airbrushed and altered to the point that they didn’t even look human. Models ended up looking like the fae, with their too-perfect faces and proportions that didn’t exist in nature. Sometimes, even bits that should be there weren’t, just like a failed glamour. It was unnerving.

Yogi knew a few of his kind who appreciated a svelte figure. But most werewolves were attracted to women with lush curves. Just like Denise’s.

The idea of handing her over to the Averys on a silver platter was swiftly becoming an anathema.

It has to be done. Even if he somehow managed to convince Denise there were better things to do with her whiplash tongue, Yogi wasn’t ready to settle down.

Stop thinking about her damn mouth!

After serving Oliver and Denise a big breakfast, he bundled them into the Jeep and headed for the Colorado border.

A little voice nagged him to drive in the opposite direction and head for the Canadian border instead.

Shut the f-up little voice.

To his surprise, Denise was going along quietly. She even offered to hold Oliver in her lap—although the pup didn’t leave her much choice.

“Have a change of heart?” he asked after a few miles had passed. “Does this mean you finally believe me that being our guest won’t be so bad?”

She picked at the fur on Oliver’s ears. “No, not really. I think it’s going to be a huge inconvenience. I have things to do, plans in motion. An extended stay in one place will put everything on hold. But…I guess I do believe that they’re not going to bump me off or anything like that.”

She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. “If I’m wrong, you’re the first person I’m coming back to haunt.”

It wasn’t exactly enthusiasm, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “Everything will be fine. I’m sure you’ll even be able to take care of some of your business interests from Colorado after a while,” he promised before lapsing into a reverie of his own.

He was quiet so long even Oliver noticed. The pup barked at him repeatedly from Denise’s lap.

“What’s eating you?” she asked him, an adorable pucker between her brows.

“Nothing.”

“Do you think they’ll be trouble?”

He frowned at her. Had she guessed he was growing reluctant to give her up? “Trouble?”

“One of the first things you said to me was that there was history between Oliver’s family and your own. I assume you meant the bad kind.”

He was surprised she remembered that. Most women would only be able to recall seeing their first werewolf shift.

“Yeah, it’s the bad kind, but don’t worry. That won’t affect their reception of you.”

Denise stiffened. “Right,” she muttered. “Something tells me they won’t be rolling out the welcome wagon for me either.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Most of them will love you.” Or at least, the single males would.

That was the problem.