Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
It’s absurd, but my body heats in reaction–just as it did with all the other gentlemanly gestures he’s made. I stop right in front of him–too close–and lift my face to his. “What now, big guy?” I taunt.
His gaze dips to my lips. His eyes glint icy-grey. “Get in the car, Aubrey.”
“I didn’t ask for a ride.”
“You’re getting one,” he counters.
One corner of my lips twitches. I hold out my hand. “Is this how it works?”
He’s so smooth. His palm is already engulfing mine, a firm, steady presence for me to lean into as I lower myself into the car.
I hold my hands out to take the supplies on my lap for the trip, but he slams the door, walking around and depositing them in the trunk before getting behind the wheel.
This suddenly feels like a date. Why is Billy really here? Is he interested in me?
Is that why he offered me the job?
The idea seems crazy, but I can’t come up with another reason. Unless Brick ordered him to suck up to me or something.
But even sucking up wouldn’t require him to play taxi driver to me–the lowly “Cafe Girl,” as he calls me.
“What’s with you and the security guy?” he demands as he peels out into traffic.
I lean my head back on the headrest and give a soft chuckle.
Well. I guess I have my answer. I wasn’t imagining it. William White the III is interested.
In me.
The last guy in the world I would ever hope to attract wants in my pants. The antithesis of what I look for in a partner.
My lady bits tingle with sudden blood flow.
Huh. I’m turned on by the idea of screwing my “no way” guy.
If that’s not the strangest and most unexpected twist in my life story, I don’t know what is.
Billy
“Jealous?” Aubrey asks.
“No,” I scoff, way too quickly. The second I saw Aubrey rise to tiptoe to hug the muscular security guard, my wolf went wild. Even now he’s howling, demanding I pull her into my arms and replace the stranger’s scent with mine.
But that’s ridiculous. There’s no reason I should be so possessive about this human. I grit my teeth and taste blood when the razor edge of my fang grazes the inside of my cheek. My canines ache, which also doesn’t make sense. The only reason my fangs would sharpen is when I’m preparing to mark–claim–my mate.
And there’s no way in hell this human is someone I would claim. I just need to get laid.
And let my wolf out. That’s why I’m feeling feral–full moon is coming, and he’ll need a run. In the deep woods, surrounded by pack and far, far away from any human. Even ones that smell like honey and nutmeg. Especially that kind.
Aubrey’s delicious scent fills the car, making my mouth water. She’s parted her legs, releasing a bloom of scent into the air. I bite back a groan.
“Hmmm,” she hums, turning her head to hide a smile. The movement makes light flash on her silver piercing, and I have the urge to lean in and press my mouth against hers, tasting her flavor off her tongue. The silver would burn, but that would be part of the fun.
I shake my head as if that will jostle these thoughts out of my head. Kissing her is just a forbidden temptation, and I’ve always risen to a challenge.
My cock rises. I just need to remember that the goal is to make her beg for me.
“Why would I be jealous?” I force my shoulders to relax.
“No reason.” She leans back in her seat, totally relaxed. The movement sends more of her scent wafting my way, and I grip the steering wheel tighter, as if that will help me hang onto my control. “You seem to be going out of your way to spend time with me.”
“You’re the one who took the job at my place.”
“You’re the one who offered.” She turns to study me. I focus on the road, but my wolf preens under her undivided attention. “Or were you in the market for a mural before I came along?”
“No,” I admit. I don’t usually share my true feelings with anyone outside my inner circle, but this doesn’t feel like a concession. I could be baiting a trap, luring the human in one confession at a time. “I like your work.”
“Yeah right,” she snorts. “Name one piece of mine that you like.”
“The wall at La Résistance,” I say, surprising myself. “Not the one outside, the small one by the bathroom. With the Brooklyn bridge in the background. That’s your work, right?”
I sense her surprise. “One of my earliest public pieces, yes.”
“I like it.” I sound grudging, and I am. I don’t want to like anything made by a human–especially not this one who drives me insane, but the mural is colorful and wild. “It has…heart.”