A sure bet, she silently acknowledged, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Just make sure you make it back,” she commanded, studying him with open concern.
He might be the biggest, baddest Were on the block, but there was a psychopath out there who had a gun with silver bullets and wasn’t afraid to use them.
“I promise.” His lips nibbled a path up the curve of her neck, halting just below her ear. “And, Sophia.”
She shivered, her body instinctively arching against him. “Yes?”
“We need to talk.”
Pulling back she regarded him with a wary frown.
The words were as good as a cold shower.
“Why don’t I like the sound of that?”
“I just need you to know... .” He bit off his words, his expression impossible to read.
“What?”
There was a pause, as if he was considering his words. Then he gave a short shake of his head.
“Later.”
Okay. Her vague unease became downright worry.
“Luc?”
“Sorry.” He leaned down to steal a searing kiss that sent bolts of excitement through her before turning to head for the door. “Can’t be late for our tee time.”
She watched his departure with a jaundiced frown, knowing it would be a waste of time to try and force him to reveal what was troubling him.
He would confess when he was good and ready.
Throwing her hands in the air she headed to her shower.
“Men.”
The exclusive country club south of town was precisely what Luc had been expecting. A large clubhouse designed in a tudor-style with attached pool, tennis courts, and stables all impeccably maintained.
The surrounding golf course was equally well-manicured. The fairways were narrow with deep sand bunkers and a line of overhanging trees that might have posed a challenge for a human. Luc, however, possessed the strength to simply hit his ball over any obstacles to the distant green, more often than not ending up mere inches from the flag that fluttered in the summer breeze.
By the time they’d reached the back nine, his physical superiority had accomplished precisely what he desired.
Morton had gone from a casual companion to a furious cur who was fuming with a frustration that reddened his round cheeks and made his eyes flash with sparks of crimson as he tried to hold back his wolf.
Unlike pure-blooded Weres, the curs were at the mercy of their beast, and while Luc didn’t want the man to shift, he did want him so preoccupied with controlling his temper that his defenses were lowered.
Who knew what he might reveal?
Putting away his club after holing out on a par five, Luc joined his companion in the golf cart, nearly being tumbled out as the cur stomped on the gas pedal.
“Nice shot,” Morton gritted.
Luc sprawled back in the seat, smiling with a lazy arrogance custom-designed to infuriate his companion.
“Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Morton scowled. “It was a hole in one.”
“A little competitive there, champ?”
Looking remarkably like a marshmallow with his square, squishy body covered in a white shirt and matching pants, Morton gripped the wheel of the golf cart and struggled not to do something stupid.
“My name is Morton, not champ,” he snapped, “and when I do something, I like to do it well.”
“Don’t we all?”
The pale eyes glowed with a crimson fire. “Some more than others.”
Luc chuckled, reaching over to slap the man on the back, hard enough to rattle his teeth.
“You know, Morty-boy, if I didn’t know better I might think you didn’t like me.”
The cur clenched his teeth, no doubt counting to ten.
“How long are you planning to stay in Chicago?” he at last demanded.
“Hoping to get rid of me?”
“I would think the suburbs would be a bore.”
Luc offered a taunting grin, covertly studying the tension emanating from the cur.
So far all he’d managed to pick up was Morton’s natural aversion to an obnoxious companion. Time to up the ante.
“True, but there are benefits,” he drawled. “Sophia is smoking hot between the sheets.”
The male hissed. “Typical.”
“Did you say something?”
Without warning the cur veered the cart off the path and headed into a thick patch of trees. Turning in his seat, he studied Luc with a revulsion he no longer tried to hide.
Luc hid a smile. Action at last.
“Sophia is revered among our people, but of course a man like you would only consider your own pleasures.”
Luc paused at the fierce words.
There was an edge of crazy that he’d been looking for, but he didn’t sound like a man intent on killing a female.
Of course, there were always those bastards who were willing to murder the object of their fantasy if they couldn’t have them.
He slouched against the leather seat, pretending he didn’t notice the cur was a breath away from shifting.
“She may be revered, but she needs a good banging like every other woman.”
More crimson fire in the eyes. “Animal.”
“You seem abnormally interested in my relationship with Sophia,” Luc mocked. “Don’t you have your own female to worry about?”
Morton belatedly attempted to hide his obsession with his beautiful neighbor.
“I merely believe Sophia deserves a more worthy male.”
Luc lifted a brow. “A male like you?”
“I would certainly appreciate her fine qualities.” The crimson gaze flicked over Luc with a dismissive annoyance. “Unlike you.”
“If you think she’s so fine, then why haven’t you made your move on her?” Luc deliberately widened his eyes, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Or have you already tried and been shot down?”
“Certainly not.”
“No doubt for the best.” Luc gave the cur another slap on the back, barely resisting the urge to unleash his claws and rip out his throat. The mere thought that the creep had been secretly lusting after Sophia made his wolf ache for blood. “Just between us, I don’t think she would ever be interested. I believe her exact words were that you were ‘a sorry excuse for a cur.’ ”
Morton flinched at the insult, but there was a grim set to his jaw. As if he’d made his decision and nothing was going to sway him.
“That’s only because she doesn’t know me.”
“You think you’ll grow on her?” Luc chuckled. “Like fungus?”