- -
- 100%
- +
But the heady scent of lilacs wouldn’t allow him to turn away.
So what to do?
The woman wore a short skirt that looked like one of those tartans the Highlanders wore, along with a blousy red top that emphasized her ample cleavage. Sky-high heels matched the blouse color. And white ankle socks with a delicate ruffle kept drawing his eye down there. She was short, a good head shorter than him, even in the heels, but the shoes did make her legs look long and slender.
“You keep staring at my legs like that, I’m going to have to slap you,” she said.
“Sorry.”
She offered him a smile and a shift of her hips. “I don’t do things like slap men.”
He took that as a sign it was okay to approach. But only a few steps. “Couldn’t help but stare. You’ve amazing gams. I, uh...did you have a previous engagement you forgot to tell me about?”
She rubbed a palm up one of her arms. A black fish swung near her waist. What was that? A purse?
“Sorry. I suddenly got a weird vibe about you. No offense.”
“Really? Because if you think I’m weird I do take offense from that.”
“No, I don’t think you’re weird weird. Just—hey, weird is good, right?”
“Still offended here.”
Her wince was accompanied by a shrug. “I’m usually much better at explaining myself. I think you’re a...” She bit her lower lip. Her lips were so red and plump. Kissable. Yet juxtaposed with her appeal was also her strange fear of him. What had he said to her to make her flee?
“I’m a what?” Lars prompted.
“I’m not sure how to say it. You said the lilac scent was familiar to you.”
It had been in his nose since three nights ago when he’d been out of his head and had woken in the morning knowing he’d shifted again without volition. It had been happening with a disturbing frequency lately. And each time he risked being seen by more than a few humans.
Yet, he also sensed this woman wasn’t necessarily human.
“I did, and do, smell lilacs,” he said. “There’s only wildflowers growing out where I live. I keep bees. They make me happy.” Ramble much? Just out with it, you idiot! “So anyway, the lilac scent stood out to me the moment I entered the brewery. Let me see if I can approach what I think we’re both trying to avoid. Okay?” He took a step toward her.
She clung to the bus stop pole fiercely.
“Tell me,” he asked, “if the rumors I’ve heard about the owners of the brewery are true?”
Thankfully, no one else was out on the sidewalk, and the streetlights illuminated their conversation. Around the corner, the band could be heard singing a Billy Idol tune. Lars would love to give a rebel yell right about now. Anything to release his anxiety over talking to this goddess of a woman.
“What?” She teased a bright curl about her forefinger and her stance relaxed. That wasn’t a motion that Lars could look at for long without wanting to do it himself. Tangle his fingers in her hair, that is. “That we spike the beer with a little something extra?”
“Is that a rumor? Huh. No, I’m talking about the one where you bewitch the beers. Because you’re witches.”
“Oh, that one.” Her shoulders dropped. The fish purse slid down her arm to dangle near an ankle. A heavy sigh preceded her nod. “Well, we try to keep things as normal as possible for the human patrons. But...” Her pretty blue eyes dallied with his. “You have a problem with me being a witch?”
“Nope. I was raised by a wolf who was married to a witch.”
“Which means...” She teased her tongue along her upper lip as she eyed him carefully. “I’m guessing you’re not human either, are you?”
Lars dared a few steps closer to her. He cast a glance around toward the parking lot across the street—no one in the vicinity—then said quietly. “I’m a wolf.”
“Shit.” An accusing finger pointed at him and Lars couldn’t be sure if it might possess a magical zap. “It’s you.”
He actually flinched. “I...don’t even know what to say to that.”
“You were the wolf the other night, weren’t you? The werewolf in my backyard.”
“Uh...yes?”
Talk about being caught out. Guilty as charged.
“Oh, I can’t do this.” She started across the street but avoided the parking lot.
If she’d been waiting for the bus, did she not have a car? Was she veering off course to get away from him? He’d gone about this all wrong. He’d scared her when he had only wanted to meet her and get to know the compelling woman who had not left his thoughts for days.
“Muriel, wait!”
“It’s Mireio! And don’t follow me, please. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”
“You shouldn’t be. I can’t remember much.”
“What?” She suddenly stopped in the middle of the street that stretched down a quiet area between the parking lot and a closed restaurant. “So you admit it was you the other night?”
“I think so?” He approached with his hands splayed up and out. “When I’m in werewolf shape I know things and see them as the wolf, but my wolf mind shares space with my man mind. Things get a little confusing.”
“Not confusing enough for you to be unable to find me tonight.”
“It was the lilacs. I smelled them that night. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about them since. Or of the soft woman I saw standing in the doorway.”
“Oh, my goddess. You do remember that! I was naked!”
He offered a weak shrug. “Yes?”
“You said things were confusing. Do you remember me naked or not?”
He wobbled his hand before him. “Kind of? I don’t have a good image of you, just sort of a memory imprint of seeing something really nice.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” Gripping the purse strap with both fists, the fish wobbled before her as she took an exaggerated step backward. “You are freaking me out.”
“I don’t want to. I’m not like that. I’m not a guy who can—Do you know how hard it is for me to walk up to a woman and talk to her?”
“Couldn’t have been that hard. You followed me out here!”
“I wanted to start over and hoped that maybe you’d talk to me.” He stopped moving closer, knowing he’d blown it. He should not torment this beautiful woman anymore. Where the hell were his manners? “Forgive me. I’ve no talent approaching women. I mean, I do it all the time. Not like a stalker or anything—ah hell. I just... I’m embarrassingly awkward when it comes to this kind of stuff. I wanted to see the pretty woman who smelled like flowers once more. Sorry to have bothered you.”
He forced himself to turn and walk off. Idiot, Lars! Way to spoil the chick’s night. And to spoil his chances of getting to know her better. Yes, he’d seen her naked. And he remembered that image much better than he would ever admit to her. Soft, generous curves, and so much golden light glinting on her skin, which still had beads of water on it. Hell. His werewolf had been attracted to her. He was attracted to her.
“Wait!”
Now across the street, he stopped and turned back to her. The tiny witch toed the opposite curb with one of those sexy shoes, and offered a shrugging smile. “It was a remarkable beginning, that was for sure. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lars. I couldn’t be sure if you were leering at me that night—”
“Oh, never, no. I mean, I don’t know. Honestly? I might have leered a bit. You’re worthy of a long, lingering look.”
She clutched the weird purse tightly, and he realized what he’d said.
“I’m not saying anything right tonight.” He checked his watch. Almost midnight. Shit. He had to stop by the compound, and soon. “It was nice meeting you, Muriel.”
“Mireio.”
“Right. You make great beer. And you have the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever had the chance to look into. But I promise I won’t come back to the brewery. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
He turned away again, and this time when she spoke, his shoulders straightened.
“Can we start over?” she called.
He nodded, and turned a look over his shoulder. All his anxiety swept downward and flooded out across the sidewalk. Offering her a confident smile, he said, “I’d like that.”
She approached him and, as she did, tugged something out of her purse. It was her cell phone, which she handed to him. “Put your number in there for me, and we’ll try again.”
He almost shouted score! but controlled his nervous energy. If she knew how much courage it had taken him to cross the taproom to talk to her, and then to follow her after she’d run out on him...
And now he was entering his number into her phone. Some kind of awesome, that.
“I’d like to get to know you better.” He handed her back the slim pink phone. “What would you think about going out for something to eat tomorrow night?”
“I have to work tomorrow night.”
“Oh.”
“But lunch tomorrow could work. Why don’t you stop by my place around noon? I think you know where I live, right?”
“I should be able to figure that out.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Lilacs. Thanks for the second chance, Mireio.”
“It’s—oh. Right. Mireio.”
He winked at her, because he’d known her name since she’d first told him, then turned and wandered off. Halfway across the parking lot he turned and waved at her. She remained in the middle of the street. Probably waiting for him to leave before she returned to the bus stop. He wouldn’t be rude and force her to wait long. Picking up his pace he aimed for his truck around the corner.
He’d talked to the girl! And it had turned out almost okay. Which was about how he rated his life right now. Almost okay, with a side of what the devil. The almost okay waited for him right now, so he shoved the key in the ignition and fired up the truck.
As for the what the devil? He’d been having weird symptoms for over a year, more than just shifting without volition, so had finally gone to see a doctor a few days ago. The doctor told him he’d give him a call in a week when the test results were complete.
But he wasn’t going to worry about that. He’d been invited to a pretty witch’s house tomorrow for lunch.
So he did indulge in a shout out loud. “Score!”
Chapter 3
Lars strode up the sidewalk to the little red cottage placed at the end of a cul-de-sac. He didn’t recognize the area by sight, but by scent? He’d been here before. Yet, besides the naked woman, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He remembered someone screaming, and then the sight of a beautiful woman—naked. He wasn’t going to tell Mireio that as werewolf he saw things as he did when in man shape. His instincts and thoughts were more animalistic, but he did recall sights and sounds and smells.
And she had the sweetest curves on that tiny package topped with red curls and a Kewpie doll smile.
Now as he took the steps up to the door, he inspected the flowers he’d picked up at a gas station on the way here. Blue daisies. He liked blue. Her eyes were blue. But the flowers didn’t have a scent and now he studied them closer, they actually looked...dyed.
“I can’t even do flowers right.” Thinking to toss them aside in the little flower garden that hugged the front of the redbrick house, he paused. “She’ll see them there.”
For once he would like to get it right with a woman. It would be a bright spot in his life. And he really needed one. But his nervousness around the female sex could never be allayed by his usual confident alpha surety. Women made him go all stiff and fumble for his words. And hiding the stiff part could sometimes prove a problem, as well.
Smirking at that thought, he grabbed the door knocker and muttered, “Please let her like me. Give me this one, okay?”
Who he was asking, he wasn’t sure. He believed in the possibility of God, so if there existed a higher power, he hoped his words would, at the very least, be noted by some force.
Rapping the knocker a few times, he then waited. After ten seconds the door swung open to reveal the flour-dusted face of a witch who sported a surprised look on her face. Hell, he should have called first. But she had told him to stop by for lunch. He must have misunderstood. Par for the course with him.
“Uh...?” Thick black lashes blinking over her blue eyes, she glanced to the flowers in his hand. “Oh! Right! Lunch! I forgot.”
“I should have called.”
“No, that’s fine.”
“You weren’t expecting me. I can leave and—”
“Don’t be silly.” She grabbed him by the wrist and coaxed him over the threshold. “Come in! I was baking some bread.”
“It smells great.” He followed the scent toward the kitchen more than he followed her. Yeast and warmth and crisp browned crust. Mmm... He scanned the many loaves on the kitchen counter. He counted eight but also noted the oven light was on and there was another loaf inside. “That’s...a lot of bread.”
“I know, it’s crazy!” She flung up her hands in surrender, then noted the flour on her fingers and wiped them across her pink frilled apron, which was covered with a white dusting of flour. “Whenever I get the urge to bake homemade bread I always go overboard. I really like the kneading process.” She punched the air with a tiny fist. “Gets out some of my frustrations.”
Lars wasn’t sure if he should sit on one of the stools before the kitchen counter—that might seem too presumptuous—so he stood there holding the bouquet with both hands. Feeling out of his element and, as usual, awkward. “You’re frustrated?”
“It’s because of a decision I’ve been mulling over recently. A witch thing. A spell, actually. So, you brought some pretty flowers for me? I love blue.”
“I do too. I can’t smell them, though. It’s kind of strange.”
He handed her the bouquet and she pressed the oddly colored blooms to her nose, then sneezed. “Whew! Nope, no smell, but I think I got a petal up my nose. Ha! Sit down. Oh, we were supposed to go out for lunch, right?” She glanced to the oven.
“We can do it some other time. I can see you’re busy. It was nice to see you again today. I thought I freaked you out last night. I know I handled things wrong.”
“Don’t worry about it. Today’s a new day. And I have an idea. Because I certainly need to do something with all this bread. How about sandwiches and lemonade out on my patio?”
Spend time with the sexiest woman he’d met in a long time? “I’m in.”
* * *
The opportunity to have lunch with the sexy werewolf was just the thing to knock Mireio out of her incessant worrying over how to locate a vampire for the immortality spell. It would also complement the fruitful results of her bread-making endeavors. Sure, she would hand out loaves to her girlfriends, and freeze a couple, but seriously, what witch needed that much bread?
So she sliced up a loaf of oatmeal rye, making the slices extra thick. The steam rose with a seductive invitation as she spread on some cucumber yogurt sauce, covered that with spinach, pickled onions, peppers and some slivered carrots and radishes. Top that all with broccoli sprouts and finely shredded red cabbage, and voilà!
With a glance and a wink to the candle she kept above the stove, she felt as if her mother was watching over her. She lit the beeswax candle once a year on her mother’s birthday. It was her way of keeping her memory close.
Ten minutes later, the werewolf didn’t seem to mind that there was no meat in the sandwiches. He was on his third half when Mireio returned to the patio with a refill on the blueberry lemonade for both of them.
“This is really good,” he said. He sat on the wide-backed white wicker chair before the tiny wrought iron table. His big form seemed to suck up the chair and his knees kept hitting his elbows. It was doll furniture for the man. “What’s that sour tangy stuff in the middle?”
“Pickled red onions.”
“Love them. Thanks,” he said as she poured him more lemonade.
“I’ll send you home with a loaf of bread too, if you don’t mind. I obviously have some to spare.”
“I’d like that.” He met her gaze only briefly over the sandwich.
He was a shy one, which surprised Mireio after his bold approach last night. But she’d sensed his nervousness then, as well. And knowing what he’d known about her, it had to have been tough to get up the courage to approach her. Especially when she could have reacted badly—and did.
She noticed his distraction as he looked over the small backyard, framed in on one side by ten-foot-high lilac hedges and low boxwood on the other. As he narrowed his eyes she suspected he was remembering. Merciful moons, she might as well rip off the Band-Aid and get all the painful stuff over with.
“Yes,” she offered, “I was standing right there—” she pointed over her shoulder “—by the door that enters into the bathroom.”
“Sorry. I didn’t want to ask. It’s the lilacs. They are what brought me to your doorstep today, and to the brewery last night. The scent is heady.”
“You wolves have good sniffers. Did you happen to remember an old lady screaming from that night?”
“I, uh...” He set the remaining quarter of sandwich on the plate. “Yes?”
Mireio chuckled at his obvious confusion. “It’s okay. Mrs. Henderson is a drama queen. She stopped over the next morning. Wanted to talk about the monster.”
“Monster?”
“Yes. And get this—she’d changed her mind from her original assessment that it was Bigfoot. Now she’s sure it was a Sasquatch.”
“A—really?” His mouth dropped at the corners and his big brown eyes saddened.
“You’re not a monster.” She felt the need to reach over and pat his knee in reassurance. “But it’s a good thing she thinks that, isn’t it? If she was telling everyone she’d seen a werewolf, that could cause trouble for you. How many people actually believe in Sasquatches?”
“About as many as believe in werewolves?” He rubbed his palms on his thighs.
“Right. But don’t worry about it.” She sipped the lemonade. “So you said something like it wasn’t normal for you to tromp through yards in werewolf form. Why were you in my yard the other night? Were you lost? Had you come through the cornfield that backs up to the yard?”
He picked up the lemonade and drank half of it. The man seemed nervous again. Yet much as she shouldn’t push, curiosity was a witch’s best tool when it came to making good choices and weeding out the wrong.
“Well, I mean, aren’t werewolves much more cautious about shifting near humans? And it wasn’t even a full moon.”
“I don’t know why it happened,” he blurted out. “It’s something I’m looking into.”
“Really? Like, something is wrong with you?”
He shrugged. “I went to a doctor a few days ago and he checked me out. Said it was probably nothing to worry about. Might have been sleep shifting.”
“Sleep shifting? I can’t imagine.”
“Neither can I. The doc took a bunch of blood and did some other tests.”
“And?”
“And? Uh, he hasn’t called with the results yet. It’s nothing. I don’t think you have to worry about finding me in your backyard in werewolf shape anytime in the future.”
“Well, I’d rather you in my backyard than Mrs. Henderson’s. You have to be careful.”
“I am,” he said forcefully.
And Mireio took that as a warning to curb the conversation topic. She did love an alpha, but she wasn’t stupid. When you poke a wolf with a stick, it’ll bite.
She prodded the bread crust on her plate. “So you said you’re some kind of security guy?”
“That was just my roundabout way of saying I’m scion of the Northern Pack without actually telling anyone I’m a werewolf.”
“Right. Gotta be careful. But since I know... What does being a scion entail?”
“At the moment? Not much.” He chuckled and his shoulders relaxed. The wicker chair creaked as he settled into it. And those sexy dimples returned. “The pack I grew up in has been shrinking every year. A few years ago, Ridge Addison handed over the principal reins to Dean Maverick, which bumped me up to scion, his second-in-command. But there are only two other pack members at present, and the only one who lives on the compound is Maverick and his woman, Sunday.”
“I know Sunday. She’s good friends with one of The Decadent Dames owners, Valor Hearst.”
“I know Valor. I’ve sold her queen bees for her hives. I’m also a beekeeper. I think I mentioned that last night?”
“That’s so cool. I love bees. They’re so fluffy.”
“And industrious. They fascinate me. And Sunday is awesome. Lately she’s been helping me with...a project.”
Mireio leaned across the table and caught her chin in hand. “What sort of project?”
“Just something—” he held his hands in the air to suggest something bread-basket sized “—small.”
A small project that he obviously didn’t want to talk about. The man was either shy or shifty. Mireio would stick with shy. And he was a cute shy, so that made his reluctance to expound easier to accept. On with the next topic. “You said you’ve been remodeling a house?”
“Yes, my cabin. I’m fixing it up. I intend to add on two rooms to the back before winter. I live about a run away from the pack compound.”
“A run?”
“I can jog back and forth from the cabin to the compound in about five minutes, or take a leisurely stroll in fifteen minutes. I moved into the old, single-room cabin years ago. I’ve got the outhouse all finished, but now—”
“Wait.” Mireio set down her lemonade and sat up straight. “You have an outhouse? Like...no indoor bathroom?”
He laughed, and the sound of it felt like rough water rushing over river stones to Mireio. And for a water witch that was a very sexy sound. “It’s how the place was when I moved in,” he said. “But thanks to my remodeling it’s all modern and has running water with good quality plumbing in the outhouse. Not a hole in a board.”
“Whew! For a second there you had me worried. I’ll have you know the bathroom is the most important room in my house. There are not too many nights I miss my bath.”
“You were taking a bath the night I saw you standing outside the door. Uh, sorry.” He rubbed a palm over his face and swiped across his beard nervously. “I have to stop bringing that up. It’s rude of me.”
“Not rude, just...” Mireio sighed. “So you’ve seen me naked. Just gives you something to desire, doesn’t it?” And she sat back, satisfied that she’d stepped beyond the weirdness of the event and made it something she could control. If not a little weirder. Ha! Go, Mireio! “Anyway, my bathtub is huge. It’s because I’m a mermaid.”
Lars’s jaw dropped open. “You are? So you’re like a mermaid witch?”
“I mean, figuratively I’m a mermaid. I love water. I work water magic. I think I was probably a real mermaid in a past life. You know?”
“I can imagine you swishing around in the sea. But would your hair have been green?”
“Maybe.” She twirled the ends of her hair around a fingertip and fluttered her lashes at him.
And Lars fell into that puppy-dog, lovestruck expression again. Oh, dear, but he had it bad for her. And she wasn’t beyond encouraging him, because now that she was getting to know him, she really liked the strong silent alpha.
Had she intentions to avoid a relationship? Silly witch.
“Mireio!”
At the shrieking female yell, Lars sat up abruptly, kicking the table and upsetting the plates. Mireio made a grab to keep them from falling onto the stone patio. “It’s just Mrs. Henderson,” she said quickly, as if to calm a spooked dog.
The old woman popped around the back corner of the house with a notebook in hand. She wore an olive green pencil skirt that Mireio imagined she’d probably worn in her heyday back in, well...whenever the skirt had been in style. Her black-and-gray hair was piled into a messy bundle atop her narrow skull and on her feet were the ever-present and quite beaten pink bunny slippers.
“Oh.” Mrs. Henderson eyed up Lars. “I didn’t realize you had a guest, Mireio.”
“Mrs. Henderson, this is Lars Gunderson. Lars, Mrs. Henderson, my next-door neighbor. We were just finishing lunch. And I have a loaf of oatmeal rye for you that I’ll bring over once it’s cooled, Mrs. Henderson.”