Arran closed his eyes and shook his head. He was no better than an animal! Rutting his mate in the middle of a bookshop, for fuck’s sake.
“Arran,” he mumbled. “Arran Balloch.”
“No way. You can’t be,” the beautiful she-Wolf sputtered. “You’re Arran Balloch? As in A. Balloch, the writer?”
His mate’s green eyes glowed with excitement, and her lips curved into a seductive grin that sent his heart galloping. Could it be he was wrong?
“Aye,” he said, breath hitched as he waited for the hammer to fall.
He knew the way it was with Shifters, especially Americans. They preferred brawn to brain, and he was a Bull who used his noggin.
Steeling himself against the hurt sure to come from her rejection, Arran paused. He should have considered the fact a she-Wolf would be wanting someone more—well, just more.
“Praise the Goddess! I just won the mate lottery!” she screeched and vaulted into his unsuspecting arms.
“Oooof!” he grunted.
I should have braced myself for her excitement, he thought with a relieved sigh as he hugged her close.
“Sorry, I get a little overexuberant when I’m happy,” she said, nuzzling his lips with hers.
“Aye, you dinnae seem apologetic, though,” he teased.
“I can’t help it. I’m a fan,” she replied and nipped his bottom lip.
“Um, so, you’ve heard of me?” he asked, holding her sweet body close when she would have pulled away.
A man could get used to this, he mused.
“Mmm hmm,” she replied, gifting him with soft, plentiful, sipping kisses. “I really liked The Daffodil Walk and Winter at Winslow.”
“Thank you, chridhe. You know, my kind doesn’t really appreciate the finer points of the literary mind,” he murmured.
“Well, I sure do. Books are my life. Well, they were my life before I found you, mate,” she whispered shyly. “My sister and I own a bookstore. I’ve actually featured you in my reading blog.”
“Have you now?”
“Yep. I am fangirling on you.”
“I never had one of those before,” he teased, turning her in a circle. “I think I’m going to enjoy being mated to you, lass,” he murmured.
“I hope so, cause you are stuck with me, buddy,” she answered.
Her eyes glowed with her Wolf. He saw a note of possessive heat inside the jade depths and Arran’s Bull bellowed a response. She was irresistible.
His heart swelled with pride and gratitude at her appreciation just before he lost himself in her sweet kisses. Delia moaned, opening for him like a flower facing the sun.
She was made for him. Her body enveloped in his arms, all those soft curves molding perfectly to his frame. He was a big man and had to hold back his strength most of the time. But Arran knew instinctively he did not have to do that with her.
She was made for me. She can take all of me. And she likes my geeky side. I think I’m quarter in love.
A quarter in love? Who was he kidding? More voices were heard from inside the store, and he growled in annoyance. He dinnae want to share her just yet. Delia was his.
He wanted to take her home, cook for her, talk to her, and do more with her. His cock grew hard just thinking about getting her home.
Maybe I’m half in love already.
Arran was more than half. Even if his brain needed time to catch up, his Bull, his heart, and his cock—which was thumping against his jeans incessantly—all knew the truth.
Delia Crescent was it for him. Handpicked by the universe, a perfect match for him, body, heart, mind, and soul.
But, since he was determined to get her a meal, a conversation, and a bed in that order, Arran ended the kiss and allowed her to slide down his body till she stood in front of him again.
“Come home with me?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You know, you’ll no get away from me now,” he told her truthfully, a little wary of scaring her away with his need.
“Good. Because I don’t want to get away from you, Arran.”
They walked down the aisle, holding hands, and Arran felt the evidence of their matebond warm him. It was new, tentative, a little alien at first, but it felt right. He couldna wait to see it grow and strengthen.
In time. We have all the time in the world.
“You know, I’m a pacifist Bull Shifter. I mean, I hate fighting and violence. Is that gonna be a problem for you, lass?” he asked, testing the waters.
“Ah, and you think American Werewolves are a bunch of gun-wielding, brawling badasses all the time, huh?” she asked, grinning up at him like a wildcat.
He reached out to tuck a curl behind her ear, loving the softness of her short hair. His Delia was lovely, she was.
“Not exactly,” he replied. “But you are American. Obvious given that accent, but I’m thinking you’re less Wild West, and more East Coast gangsta.”
“Oh, ha ha! Look at you with the American jokes. You’re gonna give me a complex,” she teased, and he kissed her again.
“Naw, I love your accent, mo chridhe. What part of Jersey are you from, anyway?”
“South Jersey. Hey, what does mo chridhe mean?”
“You’ll figure it out, eventually,” he told her.
Gods, he loved it when she grinned at him. His she-Wolf was a damn wonder. So positive and bright. Shorter than him, but perfect to kiss and coorie with. She was just so damn pretty and sweet, Arran could hardly take his eyes off her.
He was positively giddy with knowing she was his. His Bull bellowed a thunderous roar, and for a moment he thought he heard her Wolf’s howling reply. One look at her glowing green eyes and he knew he had.
“We have a lot to talk about,” she whispered, but she was smiling still, and Arran’s heart felt lighter than it had in forever.
“Aye, how about we go to my place, then? We can talk there.”
“I would really love that.”