“Heather.” Lucien held my hand, his expression earnest. Curse him and his amazing body and his gorgeous lips and the way he made me feel hot even now when I knew he was about to hightail it out of town.
“Look,” I said, unable to stand it. “I know you have to leave. You said it before we ever got involved.”
It wasn’t his fault.
It was mine for being stupid enough to fall for him.
“I do have to leave,” he said, in that same infuriatingly calm tone.
I was so tempted to use my truth powers on him. My chin lowered and I stopped myself. What was the point? I already knew he was heading out for the next assignment.
Damn the man. Would it kill him to be a little upset about this? Meanwhile my insides felt like they’d turned to glue.
“I’m heading down to New Orleans,” he said, oblivious. “We’re looking into a coven of voodoo mambos turned vampire.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said, just trying to make it through the conversation with my pride intact. In a second, I was going to cry.
He caressed my cheek, which made it worse.
Could we just get to the dumping part?
“It will be amazing,” he said.
“I’m sure,” I agreed.
“If you join me,” he added.
“What?”
He looked vulnerable all of a sudden. “I could use a were who can make people tell the truth.”
Was he actually saying what I thought he was saying? “I’m not even sure it works on vampires.”
“Ask me if I care.”
I couldn’t leave with him. I didn’t quite know why, but I knew there was a reason it had never occurred to me. “You can do this on your own,” I said, making complete sense.
“It wouldn’t be half as much fun,” he said playfully.
Maybe so, but, “My pack needs me.”
“You can fly back home if they do.”
I tangled my hands in my lap. “Finnegan would never let me go.”
He untangled them. “I made it part of our negotiations this evening.”
“So you knew—”
“I think I’ve known all along.” He brushed his lips over mine. “Go with me, Heather. Let’s see where this leads.”
I pulled back, but not so far as to unwrap my hands from his. “It can’t be this easy,” I said, trying to reason with him.
Nothing in my life had ever been this easy.
It could be amazing.
“Heather?” he asked, waiting for my answer.
He wasn’t going to beg. I liked that in a vampire. Oh my God, was I actually considering this?
“Voodoo vampires, huh?” I asked. It could be interesting. And I’d never been to New Orleans.
“If I go”—I ran a finger down his chest—“will I get to sleep next to you?”
He pulled me closer. “Yes.”
A smile tickled the edges of my lips. “Kiss you?”
His voice grew husky. “I hope.”
“Would I have to let you bite me?” I hoped.
He nibbled kisses along the soft spot in front of my ear. “If you’re lucky.”
I tilted his chin my way for a long, lingering kiss.
“Okay,” I said, before I lost all control and jumped headlong into bed with him. “I’ll go to New Orleans.”
“Ha!” He let out a very unvampirish whoop before tackling me back onto the bed.
“But I have a few rules,” I said, wriggling against him. Anticipating what was to come.
“I can’t wait,” he said, propped above me.
“I will not wear high heels.”
“Done.”
“I absolutely refuse to do any more breaking and entering.”
“Prude.”
He kissed his way down my neck until I almost forgot rule number three. “And,” I said, running my fingers through his thick, blond hair, “I will not fall in love with you.”
I could feel him smile against my neck. “We’ll see.”
WEREWOLVES IN CHIC CLOTHING
TAMI DANE
Michelle Stewart waited her whole life for something exciting to happen. As an eight-year-old, she dreamed of learning she was actually a princess, inheriting a crown and massive fortune.
Didn’t happen.
As a teenager, she hoped to be discovered by an Elite Modeling agent in the mall.
Didn’t happen.
As an adult, she fantasized about being swept off her feet by her Prince Charming and living a storybook happily-ever-after.
To everyone—but Michelle—it appeared she was living that last fantasy. In reality, Michelle wouldn’t live to see any of her dreams come true....
CHAPTER 1
I think I might have just moved into Stepford. If you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t ... what are you waiting for? The Stepford Wives (I’m talking about the original film) is a classic.
Back to Stepford. Why do I think I’ve moved there? Let me paint a visual picture for you. I was driving a rusty U-Haul, twenty-five years’ worth of personal possessions, including my collection of vintage purses, packed into beat-up cardboard boxes. I was rolling past one perfectly kept home after another. The flower gardens were weed-free, grass freshly mowed. And everyone I saw was smiling.
It was damned creepy.
Maybe I’d lived in the city too long. I wanted to hear someone yell, “Fuck you!” I ached for the reassuring sound of a horn blaring in anger. Instead, I was getting happy birdsong and the distant rumble of a lawn mower.
Why did this bother me so much? Because if this suburban nirvana was anything like Stepford, there was absolutely no way I was going to fit in. I hate cooking. I kill plants. I’ve never been crafty.
And ... what the hell was I doing?
You’d better be worth it, Jonathan Stewart.
One look at Jonathan Stewart, and almost every niggling doubt in my mind immediately evaporated.
Hellooooo, handsome.
FYI, Jonathan Stewart, my soon-to-be fiancé, is traffic-stopping gorgeous. He’s also powerful, successful, generous, kind—downright perfect ... and he was standing in his driveway, wearing the world’s biggest smile.
I am the luckiest woman alive.
Now, back to my story.
Jonathan was at my door, yanking it open before I’d even gotten the truck shifted into PARK. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, pulling me out of the vehicle.
“Hello back,” I said, sliding my arms around his waist. We kissed, and I saw stars. I heard angels singing, too. Then again, that might’ve been the robins. My knees were a little wobbly by the time the kiss ended.