Research, Emma repeated as a silent mantra as Aidan helped her out of the SUV. The cobblestone drive curved in front of the house, and as Emma walked along it toward the distinguished couple standing by the front door, she was reminded of a tour of Hollywood homes she’d taken while on a vacation in L.A. several years ago.

This elegant two-story mansion would be suitable for any major movie star in the country. Or any head of state in any foreign country. Jane Austen would have loved this house, but a Regency home would have been surrounded by formal gardens. Instead the forest hovered all around the house, protecting it from prying eyes.

For this place wasn’t owned by a head of state or a member of the English nobility. It was owned by a pack of werewolves and no human had seen it since they’d moved in. Unless she broke the trust Aidan had placed in her, no other human would ever see it besides her.

Although she had to be careful not to behave like a reporter gathering information, she felt a certain responsibility to record every detail she could remember. She wouldn’t ever present it as fact, but she could certainly disguise it as fiction. She would get to write about this house and the werewolves who lived here, because Aidan had promised that her publishing career would continue. She was choosing to believe he’d make good on that promise.

So she took in the butterscotch color of the stone, the steep pitch of the red slate roof dusted with snow, the twin chimneys rising high into the air, the multi-paned windows catching a stray beam from the setting sun, and the twin wrought-iron balconies at each end of the house. She wondered if she’d be given a bedroom with a balcony. The romantic in her had always yearned for one.

As she neared the front door, Fiona Wallace stepped forward and held out her hand. “Welcome to our home, Emma Gavin.”

Emma clasped Fiona’s hand and felt quiet strength there. Aidan’s mother had yellow-gold eyes very similar to her son’s, but Aidan had inherited his high cheekbones and square jaw from his father. After Emma shook hands with Fiona, Howard Wallace extended his hand to her.

His grip spoke of power that was all the more intimidating because he didn’t flaunt it with a crushing handshake. Here was a man used to being in command, and she sensed that he didn’t like losing control of a situation the way he’d obviously lost control of this one.

“Thank you for coming,” he said simply. His grey eyes seemed to see right through her.

She doubted he missed much, so she’d be wise to be perfectly honest with him. “I don’t know that I had a choice.”

His laugh was deep and infectious, rumbling upward from his barrel chest. “True enough. But now that you’re here, let’s get you inside and find some wine and a warm fire, shall we?”

Emma could see why Aidan’s father was such a successful businessman. He operated on the assumption that everyone agreed with his plan, whatever that might be. In this case, Emma found herself ushered inside and guided along a marble hallway.

Someone took her coat, and then seamlessly, she found herself in a cozy sitting room where a cheerful blaze crackled in a large stone fireplace. She chose what turned out to be an infinitely comfortable easy chair, sat down, and took stock of her surroundings. Fine art, predominantly landscapes, adorned the walls. The furniture looked very Ethan Allen, but Emma suspected it was far older than that.

She couldn’t have scripted a gracious welcome any better if she’d written it herself. Someone, perhaps a butler of sorts, appeared at her elbow and asked whether she preferred red or white. She chose red, and shortly thereafter was sipping an exceptional wine as yet another person—female werewolf, probably—served some kind of wonderful pate on thin slices of rustic bread.

Searching for Aidan, she found him leaning against the mantel, wineglass in hand, as he talked with his father and Roarke. Emma had been spared the burden of making any conversation for the time being, and she was grateful to be allowed to get her bearings. But such a period of calm couldn’t last.

Fiona took a seat in the chair next to Emma’s, settled back with a sigh, and took a hefty swallow of her white wine. “How was your trip from Chicago?”

A memory of the oral sex episode with Aidan flashed into Emma’s mind and she quickly squelched it. “Fascinating,” she said. “I’ve never flown in a private jet before.”

“Aidan hates flying. When he was a little boy I used to sing nursery rhymes to him during the entire flight so he wouldn’t freak out.”

Emma decided sharing her method for soothing a jumpy Aidan wouldn’t be a great idea. She angled herself so she could look squarely at Fiona, mother of Aidan, wife of Howard, matriarch of the Wallace pack.

If Emma left out the last part of that description, she’d have no problem picturing the nursery-rhyme singing going on. But trying to imagine a werewolf mother singing “Ring Around the Rosie” blew her circuits.

“You look dubious,” Fiona said.

Being a vocabulary junkie, Emma appreciated the use of the word dubious. She might get along with Fiona, except she’d never get the chance. “I’ll admit I’m in over my head. I thought werewolves—you, basically—were imaginary.”

“I’m sorry you discovered otherwise, Emma. It complicates things.”

The wine on a somewhat empty stomach had apparently affected Emma’s good judgment, because she leaned toward Fiona and asked, quite clearly, “Will I be killed?”

Fiona recoiled in obvious horror. “Good heavens, no. Did someone say that?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Aidan told me some pack members were suggesting that was the best way to handle the problem.”

Fiona tsk-tsked and shook her head. “It’s certainly not. You’re a well-known author. There would be all kinds of media interest and police investigations if you turned up dead.”

Emma blinked. So it was fear of reprisal that kept her from ending up in a shallow grave on the Wallace estate. She supposed that was some comfort.

“Emma, I have to know…” Fiona lowered her voice. “I have to know exactly how you feel about my son.”

Emma decided to hedge on that one. “What do you mean?” She still might not be out of the woods, so to speak.

If she admitted to having a major crush on Aidan, she might be wiped out on the grounds of sheer audacity. She’d figured out from the fact that no humans had set foot in this house that humans shouldn’t be jonesing on a werewolf. It just wasn’t done.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Fiona said. “And I’ve seen the way you look at him. Unless my instincts are off, which is always possible now that I’m going through menopause, you two have forged a bond.”

“Not exactly.” Better to diffuse this potential bomb. “Aidan needs to find a werewolf mate and I would never want to interfere with that in any way.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Emma Gavin, you’re crazy in love with my son, and if you could figure out a way to be with him permanently, you’d grab it. Am I right?”

“Oh, God.” Emma drained her wineglass.

“Am I right?”

Emma turned her head to discover Fiona watching her the way a hawk watches a rabbit. “Yes, you’re right. But I’m not an idiot. I realize Aidan is the crown prince of the Wallace pack. Hooking up with me gets him absolutely nowhere. In fact, it causes him an untold amount of problems. So all I want is to disappear from his life so he can get on with finding the perfect she-wolf, or whatever it is you call his mate.”

Fiona nodded. “That would indeed be wonderful and a great solution to the sticky situation we’re in, except for one thing.”

“Which is?”

“My son is crazy in love with you.”

Everything in Emma rebelled at that idea. She shook her head violently. “No, no, he’s not. That would be a disaster.” I will protect you with my life. But that was duty, not love. Wasn’t it?

“I completely agree it’s a disaster,” Fiona said. “You’re miles away from the daughter-in-law I had in mind. Nadia is the daughter-in-law of my dreams.”

Emma didn’t like that any better than the concept of Aidan being crazy in love with her. “He doesn’t love Nadia, at least not in the way a man should love a woman he plans to marry and spend his life with. I’d go so far as to say he never will love Nadia that way. To think of him marrying Nadia would be a tragedy.”

“Hm.” Fiona sipped her wine. “So what’s he supposed to do, be a lone wolf with nobody to keep him warm at night?”

“Of course not. There are plenty of fish in the sea. Or werewolves in the woods. I’m sure there’s a perfect mate out there waiting for him, once he no longer has the responsibility of Nadia hanging like an albatross around his neck.”

“Hm,” Fiona said again. She finished her wine and signaled to someone on the other side of the room. “I don’t think you understand the werewolf way, my dear.”

“No, but I’d like to. Roarke warned me not to ask too many questions, but I’m a writer. I’m all about the questions.” She accepted another glass of wine from the butler-type person who arrived with red for her and white for Fiona.

“Then let me tell you how a werewolf chooses a mate.” Fiona took another hefty swallow of her wine.

“Fiona, are we going to have dinner soon? Because I haven’t had a lot to eat today and this wine is potent stuff.”

“We’ll have dinner in about fifteen minutes. Drink up.”

“Okay.” Emma took another sip. She didn’t want to waste wine that tasted so good she wouldn’t be surprised if it was several hundred dollars a bottle.

Fiona raised a finger. “Werewolf Mate Selection 101.”

“I’m listening.” Emma chalked this up as the absolute weirdest evening she’d ever had in her life. But it made for great research.

“The first thing is the smell.”

“Oh.” Emma couldn’t ignore all the references Aidan had made to her scent.

“Howard chose me on scent alone. He also liked the way I looked, fortunately, because that has a bearing on how the children will turn out, but my scent is what closed the deal.”

That got her attention. “You and Howard didn’t marry for political expediency?”

“No, we married for lust and love and pheromones. Why do you ask?”

“Because you expected Aidan to make a practical, politically beneficial marriage! How could you?”

Fiona drank more wine. “Logically the chemistry should have been there. We had both their birth charts done. We brought them together several times as children so they’d have a shared history. They’re both beautiful. It should have worked.”

“It did, in a way. They’re fast friends.”

“I still wonder, though, if you hadn’t come along…”

Emma shook her head. “You can pin lots of things on me, but I’m the savior in that situation. Those two would have had a boring, miserable life together fulfilling what they saw as their duty to both packs. You would have made your son into a martyr, and I can already tell you’re not the kind of mother who would want that.”

“No, I’m not. I’m the kind of mother who wants the best for her son.” She gazed at Emma over the top of her wine glass. “And whether I like it or not, he seems to have chosen you.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Yes, he has, Emma. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. First there’s the attraction of scent, and then there’s the sexual exploration phase. Last of all there’s the binding.”

“The binding?”

“Yes. If you have to ask what that is, it hasn’t happened between you two yet. But I predict it won’t be long judging from Aidan’s behavior. He shows all the signs of a werewolf seeking a binding experience.”

The wine had definitely taken its toll and loosened Emma’s tongue. “The thing is, Aidan’s promised me I won’t end up having to stay here.” She realized belatedly that sounded ungracious. “Not that it isn’t lovely, but I have a whole other life.”

Fiona laid a hand on her arm. “Emma, much as it pains me to say this, I predict your life is about to be joined with Aidan’s.”

Emma opened her mouth to protest that unsettling prediction, but dinner was announced. Aidan came to take her in, and after two glasses of wine, she was glad for a strong arm to lean on. She had much to think about. If Aidan truly loved her and wanted her to stay, would she? Would she have to give up everything else—her career, her mother, her friends? Fiona almost made it sound as if she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, but she wasn’t about to abandon her independence, not even for Aidan.

“I caught a little of the conversation you were having with my mother, but not all of it,” he said as they walked into the dining room with its immensely long table. Fortunately the places had been grouped at one end so they wouldn’t have to shout at each other during the meal.

“All things considered, she’s been very gracious.” Emma glanced up at him. “Although she’s not happy about it, she claims you show all the signs of a werewolf seeking a binding, whatever that is.”

His eyes widened.

“Of course I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“I do.” Aidan helped her into a chair at the table. “And she’s wrong.”

“That’s what I thought.” Of course he wouldn’t consider marriage to a non-Were. That simplified things, and no, she wasn’t disappointed to discover she was right and Fiona was wrong. Well, maybe a little, but this was for the best. Deciding to live for the moment, she proceeded to enjoy one of the most delicious meals she’d ever had the pleasure of eating.

* * *

A binding. As always, his mother could read his moods better than anyone. He’d been fantasizing that very thing ever since that first night of sex with Emma, but he was determined to reject the concept.

Fiona had some good reasons for being unhappy with the idea, and he would honor those reasons. No human had ever been bound to a member of the Wallace pack and Aidan wasn’t about to be the groundbreaker with that concept. He wasn’t about to put his parents through the drama of it.

As the meal progressed, Emma seemed to be having a great time, but one family dinner didn’t a lifetime make. She would always be an outsider here, and she’d never accept the kind of restrictions on her lifestyle that a binding would dictate.

As his mate she’d be privy to all the secrets of the pack, and pack members wouldn’t be at all happy with that. They’d demand that she be sequestered here on the estate, and his parents would probably demand it, as well. Emma already knew more than was good for her. Binding her to him would be a supreme act of selfishness on his part.

Wine flowed during dinner as it had before dinner. His parents were excellent hosts and Aidan remembered many a dinner party where the entire table had been filled…with Weres. After dinner the tradition was for pack members to shift and take a run through the woods.

As the plates were cleared after dessert and the after-dinner liqueurs were being savored, Aidan’s mother rose and came around to his chair. “I’m sure Emma must be tired.”

Aidan glanced over at Emma. “Are you tired?”

“Not particularly.”

“Even so.” Fiona’s voice was gently insistent. “I think it’s time Aidan showed you to your room.” The message was clear. It was time for the outsider to make herself scarce.

Aidan braced himself for an argument from Emma. To his surprise she smilingly agreed and pushed back her chair with a convincing and ladylike yawn. The tension eased from his shoulders. If she’d take her cues that willingly, convincing his parents to grant her freedom might not be so difficult.

Aidan tucked his linen napkin beside his plate and stood.

“I had Angelina put Emma’s things in the blue room,” his mother said.

“All right.” The blue room was at the opposite end of the house from his room, and his mother had surely done that on purpose.

“What a fabulous meal,” Emma said as he walked with her toward the winding stone staircase leading up to the second floor. “I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.”

“Did you think we’d throw some bloody bones on the floor and start gnawing on them?”

“No, of course not.” She glanced at him as they mounted the wide staircase side-by-side. “Well, maybe. You’re free to do whatever you want here, after all.”

“And what we want is a civilized meal complete with the good silver and excellent wine. We gave up raw meat two hundred years ago.”

“I didn’t mean to be insulting.”

“No insult taken.” But he was in a mood, and he knew it. He was facing sexual deprivation, and he’d discovered that he didn’t like the idea one damned bit.

“Aidan, I know this must be awkward for you. Just so you know, I plan to keep well away from you for however many days I’m here.”

They reached the top of the stairs and he turned to her. “That won’t be hard to do. The bedroom my mother chose for you is at the end of the hall going that way.” He pointed to his left. “And mine is at the end of the hall going that way.” He pointed to his right.

“And there are hidden cameras in the chandeliers.”

“Uh-huh. Placed there by yours truly. Unless I want to be caught on camera, I won’t be paying you a visit tonight.”

“That’s for the best.”

“Easy for you to say. Come on. I’ll show you to your room.” He started down the carpeted hallway lined with antique sconces and old photographs.

“Oh, wait!” She paused in front of a sepia-toned picture. “This looks like a bunch of prospectors!”

“My prospecting ancestors. The Alaska Gold Rush made them rich.”

“These prospectors are werewolves?”

“A little-known fact of history. Or make that a carefully guarded secret of history. Werewolves make excellent prospectors and miners. They can smell the gold and they have the endurance to live under primitive conditions.”

“So who’s this guy?” She pointed to a formal picture of a man in a grey morning coat and pinstriped trousers.

“That’s Irving Gentry. He moved his pack from Alaska down to the Portland area around the turn of the twentieth century. Made a mint in shipping. His descendants are involved in several Pacific Rim business ventures.”

“Do the Gentrys own a chunk of Portland, then?”

“I think that’s fair to say. They’re pretty influential there, and I think a branch of the pack is now in Seattle, too.”

“What other cities are dominated by Weres?”

He hesitated. “I wonder how much of this I should be telling you.”

“You brought up trust earlier today. It goes both ways, Aidan. You have to trust me, too. After monitoring my life for three months, you must have some idea of my trustworthiness.”

“You’re right. I know you’re trustworthy. I just have some other people to convince.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, to answer your question, San Francisco and Denver. The Stillmans have holdings all over Colorado, in fact. I’ve heard rumors of a Stillman split because one faction wants to expand to Salt Lake City and another one likes the Jackson Hole area of Wyoming. Weres go where there are deep woods and plenty of economic opportunity.”

Emma nodded. “Makes sense.” Then her eyes widened. “Omigod. Are there werewolves in Congress?”

That made him laugh. “No. We contribute to campaigns, but we stay completely out of politics.”

“Why?”

“Think about it. The media follows politicians everywhere. We don’t need that kind of attention.”

“No, I suppose not.” She wandered to the next picture. “Who’s—”

“Emma, I don’t mean to hustle you along, but unless I’m back downstairs soon, I’ll be asked what took me so long. Then I’m screwed no matter what I say. If I tell them the truth, they’ll worry that I’ve given you too much information about our history. If I’m evasive they’ll think we were up here making out.”

“Then let’s get going.” She turned immediately and started down the hall. “Is it the room on the left or the room on the right?”

“On the left.”

“Oh! Does that mean I have a balcony?”

She sounded so eager about it that his foul mood lifted a little. “Yes, Juliet, you have a balcony.” And that gave him an idea that lifted his mood a little more.

Cameras were trained on the house, of course, and on each balcony, as well, but the lens didn’t pick up every single inch of the railing. And he knew where the blind spots were.