GIANNA

The dream starts off so good. Wrapped up in the quilts in Luc’s bayou cabin, I snuggle deep in the bed, listening as rain tap-dances on the tin roof, singing the kind of song that makes me want to smile and belt out country tunes. In the dream, I’m not alone, and as dreams so often go, things are absolutely fucking perfect. Awake, I’d assume the good-news vibe means bad things lurk right around the corner, but the dream me simply digs her butt deeper into the mattress and enjoys the moment.

The three of us are tangled up in the sheets together. My head rests on Cruz’s chest, and Luc spoons me from behind. Their arms are wrapped around each other, and I can’t tell where one starts and the other ends. That’s part of the perfect thing. The musky scent of sex hangs in the air. I’m boneless and the best kind of sore because my wolves rode me hard and loved me well.

I’m dreaming and I know it. Somehow, that’s okay. I don’t particularly want to wake up, so dream me runs her hands over the nearest male chest and…

I wake up.

I’m alone in Cruz’s bed. Our bed. When I pat his side of the bed, the sheets are still warm, so I roll over and take his spot. I’d like it if he came back and we picked up where we left off last night when I finally fell asleep because we’d worn each other out and I couldn’t keep my eyes open another moment, not least because we weren’t getting anywhere on the talking front and the sex had been so good he’d about killed me.

My vagina is deliciously sore, and my butt muscles ache from all the preorgasmic clenching. Lifting the sheet, I take inventory. Running my hands down over my breasts and my stomach, I trace the faint red marks from Cruz’s five o’clock scruff. He left marks on my thighs too, as if he’d tattooed himself on my body, inside and out, and when I sift a finger through the hair on my pussy and into my folds, I’m still wet and slick.

Bringing my fingers to my nose, I inhale Cruz’s scent on my fingers.

“That’s a real pretty sight,” Cruz drawls from the door.

Oh. God. Busted. I shoot upright in the bed, the sheet falling to my waist. My naked waist.

He pads across the room and crouches down beside the bed so his face is level with mine. Dropping a kiss on my nose, he grins. “Good morning, boo. Someone’s feelin’ naughty.”

Deflect. “Is that for me?” I point toward the mug in his hand. “Gimme. I could kiss you.”

He hands over the mug with another lethal smile. “I can work with that.”

I’ll bet he can. Cruz is insatiable when he gets started. I take the first sip, closing my eyes as the rich coffee hits my tongue. He’s fixed it just right, with enough sugar and cream for a small army.

“Do you have a minute?” I roll over, sitting up in bed. Last night’s wolf attack is seared into my brain, as is Cruz’s confrontation with Luc. The sex may be amazing, but nothing else is right in paradise and we need to talk about it. Cruz is bare-chested, and I shamelessly enjoy the show. But he’s more than a gorgeous ass, and it’s not fair to him, whatever it is that’s happening between Luc and me.

“What’s up?” He keeps his eyes on mine, but surely he should have some idea of what’s coming, shouldn’t he? Or does he really believe that kicking Luc out followed by last night’s sex marathon has resolved all our relationship issues and we’re now on the smooth path to monogamous happily-ever-after?

I guess I get to be the one to puncture that morning-after glow.

“We need to talk,” I say, leading with the age-old cliché because it’s the truth. We absolutely do need to get some words out there in the open. This idea I’d insisted on, that the three of us could somehow forge a relationship together? Yeah. It’s so not working. I feel like the rope in a game of lupine tug-of-war. “How am I supposed to make this thing work?”

“The three of us?” He gets straight to the point.

“I’d hoped we would settled this last night.” I set my coffee down. God. Werewolves are still men at heart. “We didn’t do much talking last night.”

Nope. We’d had sex. Angry sex, hot sex, and then, at the end, damned kinky sex. What we didn’t have was a conversation.

He grins. “Actions bein’ louder than words, I’m not complainin’.”

“You made promises. You said you would try a threesome with Luc and I.”

He curses, but he sure doesn’t look remorseful. “I didn’t make guarantees, shug. What’s Luc got that I don’?”

“You want a point by point comparison?”

He gives me a look. “I’m lackin’ that much?”

It’s not a question of what he’s not, but I don’t know how to convince him of that. This isn’t a competition and I’m not comparing one man to the other. This is about complements, and making a whole.

“Second best,” he growls. “I’m second best in your mind. I wan’ to be first. First now, tonight, and for the rest of our lives. I wan’ to be the one who gives you what you need. Marry me.”

He’s thinking or and I’m holding out for and. Both of us are about to be disappointed.

“You don’t have to jealous of Luc,” I say carefully, trying to feel my way. Cruz shakes his head.

“For every memory he’s made with you, I wan’ to make one, too. Touch you where he touched you. Love you more.”

More. Cruz insists on comparing himself with Luc, and I get the feeling Luc may very well be doing the same thing. I think in terms of complements; they insist on comparisons.

CRUZ

Inviting Gianna here wasn’t a simple thing. I’d had pack politics to deal with, both mine and Luc’s. I took a chance. I introduced her to my family as the woman I’ve asked to stand by my side. I’d happily buy her a ring, stand her up in front of a minister, and give her the words too—but she’s already given those things to Luc. So, yeah, I feel as if I’m the consolation prize, the third wheel in her fairytale happily ever after with the other Alpha.

And I don’t fucking like it. Not one bit.

When she shoves out of bed, I follow her. Not that she’s gone far—she’s standing just inside my walk-in closet, grabbing clothes from her suitcase. When I come up behind her, she whirls and glares at me. Definitely pissed off. Still, when she drops her gaze down my body, my dick immediately gets hard. My wolf thinks angry sex would be just dandy—my furry half is all kiss and make up. Fuck.

“Looks like you don’t mind being my booty call,” she says coolly.

I do mind. It’s hard to be valued for my dick when I want to be her man. I offered her everything—my heart and my soul—and she’s turning me down. There’s no other way to put it.

“Gianna.” After her name, I have no idea what to say next. How I fix this and make things right between us again. Her hair is tangled, and she has pretty pink marks from my stubble on her breasts and her stomach. Mine. That’s all I can think, because I inhale and the scent of our sex hits me hard, the way our scents mingle on and in her body driving me wild. It’s the sexiest thing ever—and she sure looks as if she’s leaving me.

Ignoring the werewolf trapping her in the closet, she rearranges a few more things in her suitcase and zips the lid closed with a vengeance. The lid makes a soft thwap that can’t possibly be satisfying.

“You wan’ to slam things around, I’d start with the door.”

The pink flush on her cheeks gets brighter as her eyes narrow. She doesn’t need a power suit and four-inch heels to own the room. I fucking well feel as if I’m standing in a courtroom and she’s judge, jury, and opposing counsel rolled into one.

“You’re right,” she says.

I am? I don’t need my wolf to smell a trap. “Boo—”

“Don’t you boo me. I thought we were working out a relationship.”

“Me too.” I’m officially ass-deep in landmine territory.

“The three of us,” she continues, talking right over my admission. “I should have known there was a problem when you said you wanted a week alone, but getting to know you better seemed like it would be easier if it was just the two of us. I didn’t think you wanted to cut Luc out of our relationship altogether. That last night in the bayou, you said you wanted the three of us to find some way to make this work.”

Fuck. I had. Right up until I hadn’t.

GIANNA

“I didn’t think you’d really want a threesome for keeps.” He grabs a T-shirt and pulls it over his head with strong, sure fingers. We could be discussing the grocery list or the electric bill, he’s so calm and laid back. Just once, I’d like to get a rise out of him, force him to react.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how most humans date. You all like to have one at a time. And because you called it off the next morning. That second reason being the most important one.”

Okay. He’s got me there.

“I got cold feet, but I want this. I want the two of you for keeps. And since when are we playing by human rules? I thought you guys did things your way.”

He nods slowly. “You’re right there, Gianna.”

I have no idea what he’s agreeing to, or what I really just said, but the light in his eyes warns me that I’m in plenty of trouble.

“I’m a wolf,” he says, as if I could ever forget.

“I know.” I hate the breathless note I hear in my voice. He turns me on, gets me going, and we both know it. I’m not used to feeling this out of control of my body.

“I’m going to mark you. Make sure every wolf can scent me on your pretty skin.” He presses his mouth against my throat and heat sears through me. “Anything goes, but we like it dirty.”

There’s so much more to life than sex, and yet… it consumes me right now.

“Give me the chance,” he whispers against my skin, and I’m powerless to hold out .To say no, or to insist that he honor what I believed were the original terms of our bargain. He’s my Cruz and, as much as he infuriates me, he also makes me want to hold him close.

So there’s only really one answer I can give him.

“Gianna?” He makes my name into a kiss, drawing the syllables out into a caress.

“Yes,” I answer, melting back into his arms. I’m just conceding the battle, I tell myself. Not the war, not the fight for the three of us. I let him scoop me up in his arms and carry me back to the bed, because things are easier there. He just holds me though, rubbing a hand over my back as if he’s lost in thoughts of his own. I don’t think he’s remembering Luc though, not the way I do. Eventually, I have to break the silence.

“Do we have plans for today?” Feeling shy is silly. He turned me inside out last night, and I loved every minute of it. Plus if I don’t meet my wolf head on, he’ll decide he’s the boss of me. That might be fun in bed, but out of bed… not so much.

“I can think of a few things.”

I’ll bet he can.

“You know how to shoot?” he continues, as if he hasn’t just got my girly bits all excited.

“You want to go hunting?” Because I’d vote to stay in bed instead.

He tugs lightly on my hair. “Not exactly. I wan’ to know that if the Breed ever surprises you, if they make it up that road another time, and I’m not here, you know how to shoot their asses.”

I set my mug on the bedside table. “Off the record?”

“Sure.” He grins. “I’ll refrain from arresting your ass just this once if you’ve been a bad girl.”

I stick out my tongue at him. As if I’d admit to my big bad sheriff that I’ve shot more than one illegal gun growing up.

“I’ve got a better use for your tongue. Scoot.” He nudges my hip with a hand, and I move over so he can sprawl beside me, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him. He hasn’t bothered with shoes or socks, which is strangely sexy. His bare feet are as strong and sun-bronzed as the rest of him.

“I’ve shot a time or two.” My father owned a gun, and he hadn’t been the only one. I’d grown up in some rough neighborhoods. I definitely advocate gun safety—but also understand why someone might feel better knowing that if and when trouble kicked in a window or door and stood in the middle of the living room demanding cash, self-defense was a viable option.

He nods. “I thought we could go out and get some target practice. That way, if there’s a problem and I’m not around, you’ve got things.”

“I’ve got things anyhow.” His insistence on taking care of me is… bemusing. Strange. Not in an unpleasant way, but I’ve been taking care of myself since I was twelve. I know when to ask for help if and when things exceed my capacity, but even then I’m the one doing the asking.

He’s telling.

“I know you do, but I’m here to help.”

I give him a look. He doesn’t need to do that. I have this covered.

CRUZ

I head downstairs, leaving Gianna alone to get ready. She likes her space, and while taking her back to bed seems like the best idea, she has to be sore. Last night was amazing, but I damned sure hadn’t been slow or gentle. She met me more than halfway though.

Plus she has me pretty much wrapped around her fingers. I’d like to believe that I’ll always be here to stand between her and danger, but sometimes life springs surprises. I definitely don’t want her getting hurt if there’s something I can do to prevent it, so the shooting lesson is insurance.

When she finally comes downstairs, ready to go, her hair is slicked back in a tight braid that emphasizes the fine bones of her face and the violet shadows under her eyes. I haven’t let her sleep much.

“Are we going to a shooting range?” She keeps up with me effortlessly when I lead the way outside even though my legs are twice the length of hers. Her black yoga pants hug her ass, inviting me to hook a finger in the waistband and tug. I’m also pretty sure she flashed me a lacy thong when she bent over to tie her sneakers.

“Sort of. We’ve got our own homemade range down on the bayou’s edge. We can shoot there.”

After yesterday’s near-wolf attack, teaching her how to protect herself is even more important. Exhibit A is the Breed’s fieldtrip into my territory last night.

“Okay.” She pats the bag of gear I’m carrying. “You want a hand with that?”

“I’ve got it.” She’s not carrying our guns.

The slightly grumpy look on her face is a clear reminder that Gianna likes to pull her own weight. I understand that need, so I’m not surprised when she holds out a hand in silent demand. It would serve her right if I gave her the big-ass gun case. The case looks like a sports duffel, which is good. There’s no point in advertising that you’re armed to the teeth. I’m not sticking her with its weight, however, not when I’m here to carry it for her. Instead, I pass her the smaller case that holds a pair of Glocks. Empty, it weighs in at a measly three pounds. With the guns, it leaves her toting less than ten pounds. It’s the best I can do.

“Thank you.” She hefts the case and starts striding down the path in front of us. “This way?”

Since she’s on the right path, I simply fall in behind her. Answer enough, in my opinion. I alternate between watching her and scanning our surroundings. It’s early and the sun has just come up. Although it will hit eighty by afternoon, right now the air is still nighttime cool. Her braid bounces back and forth, as sassy as her ass in those too-tight pants of hers.

“What are we shooting today?”

I like the sound of we. Together we’re a pair. “We’ve got a pair of Glocks in there. It’s light and easy to learn to use. You can drop it in the bayou, and it’s still going to fire just fine. We’ll start with that, then move you up to something that packs a bigger punch. I’ve got a Remington and a Browning shotgun in my bag.”

She shoots me a sidelong glance. “Are we planning on shooting elephants?”

No. Werewolves and skin hunters.

“You’ve seen shifters in wolf form.” I don’t need to scare the piss out of her, just make her a little cautious.

“You think I’m going to need to shoot a werewolf?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“I think we need for you to be prepared,” I hedge.

“Next time you piss me off, you can shift and then I’ll plug your ass. Just for practice. How’s that?”

I grin. “Works for me.”

The homemade range out beyond the plantation house has several sets of targets that include an old swing set with metal targets suspended from it. A dirt alley had various distances marked off along the side and targets at the end. Walls of dirt surrounded the range, ready to absorb any bullets since the goal here was practice, not shooting up the local wildlife. My brothers and I have been coming out here for years.

Taking the gun case from her, I set it down on the picnic table Jace had dragged out here.

“So now what?”

I lift the gun out of its foam cradle and eject the magazine. “First, we load.”

She leans against me, watching intently. Fuck, but I love that look on her face. She makes me feel like the only man in the world… and yet I’m not.

Not yet.

“Got it,” she says. “Next step please.”

I drop bullets into the magazine until it’s full, then push the magazine into the handgrip. The magazine locks in place with an audible snick. The world isn’t a safe place, and she should have every advantage. I pass the gun to her.

“This is your Glock. It doesn’t have a conventional safety. Instead, you’ve got three safeguards to make sure you don’t shoot by accident.”

I’ve been called out to more than one accidental shooting during my tenure as sheriff. Shot in the hand, the foot and—on one really bad day—the head.

“You don’t think we should be starting with the shotgun given the size of you wolves?”

I shake my head. “The shotgun’s a better choice for taking down a charging wolf, but you can’t carry it around with you. Think of the Glock as office wear. The rifle’s your weekend date. Have you shot before?”

“You bet.” She flashes me a grin. “Just don’t ask about the legality of said weapons.”

I’d bet she was a sweet teenager. I can imagine her focusing down the barrel, lower lip caught between her teeth as she aimed. A bouncy ponytail or—better yet—two braids to keep the hair out of her face as she shot. I wish I’d known her then. Hell, I just wish I’d known her first. Or last. Last works for me too.

“Okay, rules first. Always treat your gun as if it’s loaded. Don’t point it if you won’t shoot it. Your finger stays off the trigger until you’re ready to fire. And be aware of what’s around and behind your target—you only want to shoot the bad guy. Pluggin’ me isn’t goin’ to make me happy.”

“You think I’m going to remember all that if there’s a werewolf charging me?”

She had a point.

“Are you right-handed or left-handed?” I ask.

I should know the answer to my own question, but when I’m around her, I spend way too much time thinking about how to get her into bed. More talking, less fantasizing. I’ll bet Luc knows if she’s right-handed or left-handed.

She waves a hand at me. The hand not holding the Glock. “Right.”

“Okay. Wrap your right hand around the grip. Your trigger finger goes down the side of the barrel. Use your left hand to support the pistol.”

She transfers the gun to her right hand, meticulously following my instructions. She likes rules, likes knowing how things are supposed to be done. The trick is getting her to deviate some. I love the way she does what I tell her to do, even if she worries about following my lead in bed. She does it though, and that’s so damned sexy I could howl.

“Nuh-uh. Make sure you’ve got both thumbs on the same side of the pistol.” Running my hands over hers, I adjust her grip on the gun. “Lock your left wrist. Keep your right hand loose. That way, your gun isn’t going to kick you into the middle of next week.”

She makes a noise of agreement. “What am I shooting?”

I gesture toward the row of cans at the end of the dirt alley. “Pretend those tomato sauce cans are the biggest, baddest werewolves you’ve ever seen. Just for you, they’re stayin’ put today, but you run into them in Baton Rouge and they’ll be movin’ fast. You wan’ to square up to them.”

She turns toward the target and I adjust her hips. Goddamn, but she looks pretty in the yoga pants clinging to her ass. Had she worn them just to drive me crazy? She shifts, her ass bumping against my dick. Probably. Gianna doesn’t like being the underdog.

“Now extend your arms in front of you. Keep your shoulders relaxed and bend those elbows just a bit.”

She brings the Glock up, nice and steady. Out in the field with two hundred pounds of pissed-off werewolf charging toward her, she may be less calm. If I do my job right, however, she’ll never have to find out.

“I’d be dead by now,” she points out cheerfully. “Unless you’re telling me werewolves charge in slo-mo.”

“Smart-ass. Sight down the pistol. You want the same amount of light on the right and left sides of the sight—even it up.”

“It’s blurry,” she complains.

“Good. Focus on the front sight. Don’t get distracted by what’s coming at you.”

“Right.” She laughs, the husky chuckle bouncing off my dick and tugging on my heartstrings. “The can is not a problem. Aim at a two-hundred-pound werewolf… and I’m betting I get distracted.”

“We’ll work on it,” I promise. Just in case I can’t be there. Or Luc. Or anyone from our packs. I’d take an assist from anyone if she were in danger, but she should be able to handle things herself too. She’d want it that way, and I’m all about the insurance. She runs through the stance a few times, getting comfortable with it and making it hers. She’s neat, methodical, and precise. Hell, I half expect her to take notes.

She looks at me. “Do I get an A, teacher?”

Hell, yeah.

I grab the safety gear from my bag and pop a pair of safety glasses on her nose. Then, because you really can’t be too careful, not when it comes to your mate, I drop a pair of earmuffs on her.

Mate. Because that’s how I think of her. Somehow, she’s turned out to be The One for me, and that stuns me. It makes me possessive and horny as hell too, but I’m a wolf and most wolves don’t share well. I yearn to pull her into my arms and kiss her, share my news flash with her, and hope I can convince her to get on the same page as me.

“Cruz?” She nudges me gently in the ribs, pulling me out of my head and back to our shooting lesson.

“Put your index finger on the trigger and pull back slowly,” I say gruffly. She does, registering the audible click when the trigger resets. “Now you could fire again. May need to get multiple shots off real quick. It’s also going to make you more accurate.”

“Charging werewolves beware,” she says lightly.

Yeah. Along with in-love werewolves. It would be easy to get used to having Gianna in my life, but she hasn’t made any promises.

Not to me.

Not yet.

GIANNA

Cruz shooting is hot as hell. His T-shirt pulls taut over his muscled forearms as he lifts the shotgun and sights. A sharp crack follows the fierce look of concentration on his face, and then the can topples. He never budges or misses.

My arms, on the other hand, ache, and I have a bruise the size of North Dakota on my shoulder from my first turn with the shotgun. I fired, the gun kicked hard, and I ended up planted on my butt. Cruz was by my side in a second, lifting me up and brushing me off. It’s not his fault that I failed to control the gun, but after two more attempts proved no more successful, he’d switched me back to the Glock.

It’s shaping up to a beautiful day in the bayou. With the sun high in the sky now, the day has warmed up considerably. I shed my flannel shirt, enjoying the flare of interest in Cruz’s eyes as I shoot in just my tank top. A bird takes off from a nearby tree, pale underbelly flashing as it wings over the treetops. The frogs croak up a storm too, adding to the sweet buzz of sound. Since we’ve avoided any snake or gator sightings, I’m a happy camper. Even the Coke cans lined up for our target practice look cheerful, winking in the sunlight.

We’ve been taking turns for the past hour. When Cruz steps back, he motions me forward and then makes minute adjustments to my stance and grip. Shooting is surprisingly enjoyable, the predictable rhythm calming. Load, lift, and fire. Problem solved.

Cruz’s need to protect me amuses me, concerns me, excites me. He’s acknowledged that I can handle matters myself, but at the same time he’s made sure I have the tools I need. He’s a law-enforcement pro, a bona fide sheriff and, I suspect, a man with the heart of a warrior. He’s fought plenty to get where he is in life, and that’s something else we have in common.

So missing the target—two times in a row—in front of him sucks. I’d like to be perfect, to knock the ball out of the park on this one. Instead, my Coke cans mock me, standing defiantly untouched at the end of the range. “Shoot.”

Cruz grins. “That’s why we’re practicing with cans and not real werewolves.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. “Like you and your brothers are volunteering for me to shoot at you.”

Third time’s the charm, right? Lifting the Glock, I sight and squeeze the trigger. This time, the Coke can flies backward, hitting the dirt. Elation sweeps through me.

“Yeah!” I fist pump, eying my target. Cruz is an excellent teacher. He’s patient, but he also cuts me no slack, which I appreciate. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it right and only partly because I’m worried about real-life werewolf encounters. Truth is, I’m a perfectionist and competitive. Once I decide to go for something, I’m in it to win it. So I need to knock down all six targets. Mission. Accomplished.

Cruz takes my hand, tugging me toward our supplies. He’s brought a picnic lunch, which means the man wins a gold star.

“Guns and food.” I can’t hold back my grin. “You came prepared.”

“Tell me you’re not hungry.”

My stomach growls right on cue. He definitely knows what I like. Me… I just like Cruz.

I think about that while he lays out the food, comfortable with the silence building between us. Cruz isn’t much for talking. He prefers action to words. Today’s actions include cold fried chicken, biscuits, a sharp cheddar, and grapes. He’s even got a thermos of iced sweet tea. We could stay out here for days and not starve.

“Where did you get the picnic from?” From what I’ve seen of his kitchen, he’s truly not much for cooking. Coffee, yes. Suitably laden picnic basket? That would be a no.

He offers me a plate and hangs back while I dive in. It’s kind of like having my own medieval knight placing the choice bits on my trencher. “I cheated. My mom hooked us up.”

“You’ll have to tell her thank you for me. I can’t cook to save my life.” I’ve never prioritized cooking.

“While I, on the other hand, can make a mean roasted trout.”

I snag a piece of crunchy chicken skin. No diet for me this week. I can make up for it later. “Okay. I can do desserts.”

“Hell, together we’ve got half a dinner.”

“Tell me about the wolf?” I ask him when I’m finally stuffed and can’t eat another bite. “Do you hunt?”

“It’s what the wolf does.” He winked at her. “Animals. People. Sometimes, there isn’t all that much difference. We’re territorial, too. We hold onto what’s our own, so fighting’s inevitable when one wolf decides to make a move on another wolf’s territory.”

Oh, God.

See? Cruz and Luc have more in common than just me, and it’s these shared traits that point out a problem. They’re wolves at heart—not men. And like their animal kindred, they exhibit an unabashed territorialness. Sometimes it’s sexy, but other times…

Other times, the possessiveness is a problem. The longer I spend with Cruz, the less convinced I am that my two guys can make a share-and-share-alike relationship work. They’re going to force me to choose between them, and I can’t do that.

Won’t do that.

CRUZ

My throat feels as if I tried to insert a dinosaur-sized frog in there. “Do I need to apologize for last night? Not for tossing Luc out—” because that was downright inevitable—“but was I too rough afterward?”

I’d carried her upstairs and made love to her. I didn’t think I’d been too rough, but I hadn’t been gentle, either. Not that apologies are something I’m good at. Okay. In all truth, I’m really, really bad at apologizing. Generally speaking, I’m always in the right. Sheriff, Alpha, blah fucking blah. If I do get things wrong, the offended parties generally don’t make a point of telling me. Which, now that I think about it, isn’t actually doing me any favors.

Gianna sets down her chicken and stares at me. Maybe the question didn’t come out right. She makes a small, choking sound, but I don’t think her distress has anything to do with the chicken. Or, I narrow my eyes, with distress at all, because now that I look more closely, I’m fairly certain she’s laughing at me. When her eyes meet mine, humor gleams in them.

“Are you asking me about your performance in bed?”

I lean forward and steal the chicken from her. She’s done with it, and I’m still hungry. “I know you enjoy what we do together.”

Her body enjoys it. The sweet clench of her pussy on my dick is all yes, please. But I’m not an idiot, and I know that Gianna’s body doesn’t get the deciding vote. If I can’t convince Gianna’s head and her heart, I’m out of the game. No matter how hard she comes or how much she enjoys playing sex games with me, I need to hear how she feels or she’ll be riding off into the sunset with Luc Breaux in a handful of nights and I’ll be… alone.

Alone sucks, and it’s a condition I’m tired of. I’m ready to settle down, and I have no idea how I was so goddamned lucky to have Gianna drop into my life the way she has, but I’m not questioning fate or Lady Luck or whatever fantastic, unearned turn of fortune brought the two of us together, however temporarily. I simply plan on making our connection permanent.

“But I want to know if you’re okay with enjoying what we do.” I have no idea where those words come from, but they hang in the air between us and there’s no taking them back. Fuck.

Gianna sighs, the good humor gone from her face. “It’s not what we do that I’ve got the problem with. It’s you and Luc.”

“What about us?” I know where this is leading, and sure enough she heads there.

“I need the two of you to like each other. To get along. To…”

She trails off, clearly at a loss for words herself.

I could connect those dots for her. Maybe. “You wan’ us to be lovers? Luc and I?”

She shrugs. “Friends, yes. Lovers? If that was what the two of you wanted, then yes to that too. But I don’t want you to be enemies, and hostility’s the only thing I’m seeing happen.”

Except when we’re holding Gianna sandwiched between the two of us. Except for then. There’s a long silence while I think about that. Once was interesting. Twice I could handle too. But forever is a long time, and there would have to be more between Luc and I than Gianna. We’d have to find common ground and I’d damned certain need him to respect me and to have my back.

Which means I’d need to find a way to feel those things for him too.

Fuck.

She rummages in the picnic basket, oblivious to my thoughts or the bombshell she’s just dropped. For her, our relationship just is. When she emerges with a Tupperware of chocolate mousse, her eyes light up.

“Your mom’s a genius.”

Glad to move on to simpler topics, I pop the lid for her. “She’s raised four wolves and kept an Alpha in line for over three decades. Genius is a given.”

Gianna produces a plastic spoon and digs in with an audible moan. I need more chocolate in our future stat.

“You plannin’ on sharin’ that?” I get the feeling that, while she might concede the battle of the fried chicken to me, mousse is a whole different fight.

“When hell freezes over,” she says and licks the spoon.

Jesus. The move has me imagining her tongue running up and down my dick just like that, tasting the heavy head as if it’s her favorite flavor of chocolate. My maman likely has more mousse stashed away in her fridge. I’ll have to take a look, because possibly I can bribe Gianna. Or coat my dick with the stuff.

I’m down nights in this fucking quest of mine. It’s like watching a vacation slip away. All that gorgeous, beautiful, special time… and it’s running through my fingers lightning fast.

“So you’re okay with—” Hell. There has to be a nice, feminine, meaningful word to describe what we’ve done in my bed. I don’t need to be a relationship expert to know that calling it fucking is the understatement of the year. She’s turned me inside out.

“The sex is great. Thanks.” She licks another bite of mousse off the spoon and digs into the container for more.

She sounds as if she’s thanking me for a real nice loaf of banana bread or a car wax. Except that there’s a gleam in her eyes that has nothing to do with chocolate and everything to do with teasing me. I like it.

“But we should still talk more,” she says, setting the mousse to the side. The spoon taps against the container, a fast rat-a-tat-tat rhythm. “It’s an important part of any relationship.”

My wolf already thinks of her as our mate, but have I pushed too hard, gone too far? I’ve had other lovers, but those women were temporary partners. I gave them pleasure and enjoyed them, but I wasn’t all that concerned with what went on in their heads, nor was I playing for keeps. If the sex stopped doing it for them, if they didn’t get their rocks off on my brand of kink, that was fine. We’d parted ways, no hard feelings. What I feel for Gianna is the opposite of casual, and I need her happy.

“Do you mind the wolf?” The words are probably too blunt. “Do I—”

Fuck if I know what I want to say next.

She bites her lip and looks as if she’s dying. She’s probably decided this is the last time we’re ever having a conversation. I’m that smooth. “No. I don’t mind.”

“So we’re okay.” I need to hear her say yes. Yes to the wolf, yes to me.

“Yeah.” That’s close enough to my fantasy words to work for me. She nods her head as well, a pretty pink blush painting her cheeks. Why does everything have to come with words? I definitely prefer doing. Doing her. Kissing her. Hell, touching her any way she’ll let me.

“Tell me how your investigation is progressing.”

Her bluntness doesn’t surprise me. My Gianna likes to play games in bed, but get her outside the sheets and she’s all business. When I don’t answer right away, she plows on ahead.

“I’m looking up case law. Working remotely.”

“You don’t need to worry about the Breed.” One way or another, I’ve got her covered. Last night was also the last time they got near her.

Now she looks frustrated. “I have a job to do, Cruz. I can’t just walk away.”

What she means is that she won’t.

She could lead a cadre of lawyers the way I do my Pack. Truly, I have nothing but respect for her, but her job is on an intersect path with mine. “You’re puttin’ me in a difficult position, boo.”

“Because wolf matters stay private?” She’s not going to back down from this, but it’s true. Wolves don’t want publicity. Hell, no one in the human world is supposed to know about our existence—and she wants to spearhead some kind of investigation?

“You can’t tell the world about us.” We need to be clear about that.

She gives me a look. “Would it be such a bad thing if everyone found out about you?”

I have to look at her, because I can’t believe she’s serious. But there’s not so much as a hint of laughter on her beautiful face.

“Wolves live undercover,” I tell her. “We always have, and we always will. You think humans react well to finding out they’re not the only species on this planet? You think we want to end up like some kind of freakish zoo exhibit or, worse yet, on someone’s hit list? You all are far too curious.”

“So that’s a no on outing the Pack.” She sighs but doesn’t look surprised. “There are some secrets that can’t be kept, Cruz. You have to know that. Having a wolf under arrest isn’t helping in the keeping-secrets department.”

“I’m gonna take care of the wolf.” I’m careful not to specify how, but her gaze flicks over my face, and clearly she reads my unspoken answer there. She and I both know that Pack law takes precedence for me.

“You like breaking the rules.” Her words sound like an accusation.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my Pack safe,” I counter. “That’s what I do for you too. I protect and defend.”

She shrugs. “I won’t let you little lady me. I’m not a toy you play with and put back on the shelf until you’re ready to fuck again.”

“That’s not it at all.” I growl. I need so much more from her than that. “But I won’ let you put yourself in any more danger.”

She isn’t wolf. She can’t sense intruders or danger the way my Pack and I can. In our world, fighting against the Breed, she’s vulnerable, and that makes me want to howl. To rip something or someone to pieces because she should never, ever be hurt.

“Is this a wolf thing? Because I have to tell you I’ve got a human thing going on called independence. I can and do stand on my own two feet.”

An unfamiliar sensation lances through me. Hurt, but a different kind than a gunshot or a bad fight causes. Even if I left my pack, I couldn’t suppress my wolf, not for the rest of my life. Shifting is simply part of who I am. She looks at me, however, as if she sees the man—and likes what she sees. So that’s something right there. I want to wrap my arms around her and hold her, rub my cheek over her skin and scent mark her.

“Me and the wolf, we’re two halves of a whole.” She can’t have one without the other. The wolf is always present beneath the man’s surface, the same way the man rides shotgun with the wolf. Separating us isn’t possible.

She shakes her head. “Luc says the same thing.”

Hearing my rival’s name on her lips makes both the man and the wolf growl, but I press the advantage she’s handed me. “He’s right. We’re on the same page about this.”

“You said something the other day,” she continues, ignoring what I said.

I’d said a lot of things. “Hit me.”

“You said I didn’t have to take orders. That I wanted to submit to you in the bedroom.”

“Gianna?” I brush my mouth over her ear. She smells perfect, like woman and that rosemary mint shampoo she used so liberally in my shower. And like my soap too, because she hasn’t brought any of her own. My scent layers with hers, forming a new scent uniquely ours.

“I’m goin’ to give you plenty more orders, in bed and out,” I tell her.

She inhales sharply, a soft rasp of sound, her pulse beating harder, but she doesn’t tell me no, and that’s all the permission I need.