GIANNA

I park my BMW in the B&B’s lot. Now that I’m actually here and not tearing up the highway with the radio cranking, I have a whole lot of so now what? running through my head. The wedding invitation I tossed on the dashboard doesn’t look like a ticking time bomb. In fact, it’s real pretty, hand-printed on cream-colored paper in bold, calligraphic slashes. If I was the one getting married, I might pick the same thing.

Of course, before I can send out wedding announcements, I need to find a guy, date him, fall in love with him, and then pop the question. I wouldn’t mind if he beat me to the last step in the process and he asked me, but it’s not a deal killer either. I’m perfectly okay doing the asking. Cruz Jones’s face does a little hey look at me dance in my imagination. I’m not sure what I’m feeling for the man, but I have every intention of checking it out.

Just as soon as I’m free to do so.

Port Leon isn’t exactly a tourism hotspot. I count three bars, a gas station, an oyster bar and market, and the B&B. I also passed a small veterinary practice on my way into town, but otherwise Port Leon consists of weatherworn clapboard houses and riverbank. If you want groceries or a home-cooked meal, you’d better be growing the stuff in your backyard, catching it with your bare hands, or hopping in your truck and hotfooting it out of town.

I grab the wedding invitation. The words printed on the front haven’t changed since I found the thing propped up on my kitchen counter two weeks ago. Dag Breaux and Riley Jones request the pleasure of your company. Dag Breaux. Luc’s brother. As I get out of the BMW, I try to convince myself that this is a smart move. I need to get out of town for a few days while the Baton Rouge police deal with the biker gang. This is an invitation to do so.

The B&B was once an old plantation house. My guestroom is pretty, with a big claw-foot tub that might fit two if those two people don’t mind getting real, real close. Since I don’t need to be imagining sexy times with Luc Breaux—or anyone—I fish my cellphone out of my bag, half-surprised that I even have reception this far out. Cruz Jones gave me his number in case I need to get in touch with him, and look at me, I’m currently parked in his town.

“Jones here.” The sheriff’s rough tones are comfortingly familiar. He’s a big, no-nonsense man. We hit it off—or so I think—but everything has been strictly professional, despite the frisson of sexual chemistry that has me thinking that ten years is too long and I really need some me time. Now that Luc is back in my life, dating is out of the question.

“This is Gianna Lynn.” And… here’s the awkward moment I’ve been dreading. What if he doesn’t remember me? What if the interest is all one-sided—on my side?

“Ms. Lynn.” Warmth fills his voice, like he’s just been sitting around waiting for me to pick up the phone and make the call. “What can I do for you?”

Quickly I recap the threats from the Baton Rouge biker gang. “The local police are handling that, but they believe it would be wisest if I leave town briefly. Give them some room to work without worrying about my personal safety.”

Is that a growl? Impossible. I simply have growly men on the brain.

“They don’ wan’ to worry about your safety? Boo, you come to Port Leon, and I’ll personally make sure no one gets near you.”

“About that… I’m already here.” I drop awkward conversational bomb number two. Cruz, bless his heart, doesn’t miss a beat.

“You got a place to stay?”

“I’m booked into the local B&B.”

In the ensuing silence, I can practically hear him running scenarios in his head. “That’ll do,” he says finally. “I can have some guys keep an eye on the place when I can’t. No one’s gettin’ to you, not in my town.”

“Thank you.” What’s his anti-wolf policy? Thinking about biker gangs and wolves seems surreal now that I’ve put some miles between myself and Baton Rouge.

“I’ll come out now. Check in and make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Ah. That’s the thing.” I look down at the wedding invite in my hand. “I’m supposed to be attending a wedding reception.”

“I’ll drive you. The Breaux do?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.” His chuckle is rueful, husky. God, he has a nice laugh. That’s not grounds for happily ever after, but surely it could be a start? He’s downright hot, he’s clearly a paragon of responsibility who saves lives on a daily basis, and I like the way he laughs. He has to be a better choice for me than Luc Breaux. “The thing is, I’ve got an invite to the wedding reception myself and a command appearance to make.”

“Dag Breaux and Riley Jones request the pleasure of your company?” I ask lightly. Is Dag a werewolf like his brother? Does Cruz know?

“Uh-huh. That would be the one.” There’s a pause. “I’d still be happy to take you out.”

And… once again, I’m not sure what he means. Misunderstanding would be an embarrassment of epic proportions. Plus, I’m really, really not free to date. Not that I don’t want to be but… it’s complicated. And I have no idea what to do, because my rulebook and libido aren’t talking to each other.

That’s the thing about Cruz Jones. He’s a big man, rough around the edges, more backwoods than city boy, but he makes me feel… happy. I like being around him. He’s comfortable.

He’s the antithesis of Luc.

“That didn’t come out right at all, did it? Not that I wouldn’t be happy to be datin’ you, boo, but I’m bettin’ your current situation doesn’t make for a social life.”

“Yeah.” I debate telling him the truth, but I have no idea how to explain the situation in which I find myself. How do I say: I’ve got a biker gang stalking me that just might allow werewolves as members, plus my long-lost fiancé recently surfaced, and dating isn’t on the table for me until I sort out my feelings for him. Oh, and by the way—he’s a werewolf and his brother’s marrying into your family.

“My life is complicated,” I admit.

“No worries,” he says, sounding like he means it. “When you’re ready for somethin’ more, you know where to find me. In the meantime, why don’ you let me drive you out to this reception and we’ll have us a little bit of a good time.”

He sounds like he’s proposing a trip to the dentist or forty hours of overtime after putting in an eighty-hour week. Unhappy doesn’t begin to cover the way he says reception. Or maybe it’s just a guy thing, not wanting to get dressed up and dance.

“You don’t like weddings?”

“That’s not it at all.” He exhales. “I’ll be there in five. That work for you?”

“If you’re sure it’s no problem.” I like the idea of not showing up alone. Luc might have left the invitation for me, but I have no idea why he wants me attending or if I’ll even see him there. The man redefines confusing, and that just pisses me off. I like things black and white.

Cruz groans. “It’s no problem at all. That’s my sister gettin’ her sweet self married.”

CRUZ

True to my word, I show up in five. Looking anxious is a bad move, but sweet baby Jesus… I took one look at Gianna Lynn strutting her stuff in the courtroom, and I was a goner. The effect her sassy-assed business suits have on me should be illegal. I bet I’m not the only man who imagined pushing that skirt up to her waist and eating her pussy. And then she opened her mouth and did her lawyer thing, and while the sexual chemistry had still been there, I’d also discovered a whole lot of respect for her. She’s damned good at lawyering. She owned that courtroom, and once she started arguing, her possession of the place had nothing to do with her skirt or her sex. Nope. She was all brains and soul, and I got harder on the spot.

So helping her out now is a downright pleasure. I’ll get close to her however I can. When she’s ready to start looking about her for a man, I plan on being the lucky guy. By the time I put my truck into park, she’s out and waiting for me on the B&B’s front porch. She’s every bit as sexy gorgeous as I remember. She wears some kind of sheath dress in pink cotton. When she comes down the porch, all tap-tap-tap, her fancy heels flash red soles, and the little straps and buckles wrapped around her ankles make me think of bedroom activities.

I swing down from the truck and come around to meet her, smiling like a loon. She’s pressed her long curtain of dark hair into a straight sheet and painted herself a pair of deep pink lips with smoky eyes. She’s gone all out. But underneath the war paint, she looks nervous, like she’s a fish out of water and knows it. I have no idea how she ended up here either, but I’m grateful. That’s the truth, pure and simple, and I’ll make the most of my opportunity.

“It’s good to see you.” I come to an awkward halt in front of her, not sure if I should pump her hand, kiss her cheek, or fall back, because she’s smiling at me and her smile rocks my world.

“You too.” Her hands are full of an enormous tote bag and a silver-wrapped present, so the friendly handshake is definitely out. She doesn’t look like the kissing type either, so I settle for popping open the passenger-side door for her.

She nods toward the little gift bag I toss into the front seat of my mud-splattered truck, trailing crazy ribbon everywhere.

“The invitation didn’t include a registry card. Hell. I’m practically a wedding crasher. I haven’t met the bride or the groom. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Interesting. “You got an invitation?”

She waves the cream-colored card, but I’m not surprised. Gianna has gorgeous manners. She’d never randomly crash a wedding. “Groom’s family.”

Well. Shit. Because my baby sister is marrying into the Breaux clan and every last one of them is a werewolf. Does Gianna know that? If so, it might make my own dating life easier. Or not, I guess, depending on how she feels about wolves. I have my own secret to share if we’re going to have a future together.

“So you know one of Dag’s brothers?”

She chews her lower lip. “Luc.”

Oookay. The pack Alpha. She’s not messing around with her friendships. I’ll need to tread carefully unless I want to incite a war between the packs. I measure the distance from the ground to the truck and then eyeball her dress. Fuck it. “All aboard.”

Wrapping my hands around her waist and lifting is a quick one-two-three.  It feels damned good to finally get my hands on her for more than a brief hi-how-are-ya and a handshake. She squeaks in surprise and pokers up, but there’s no way in hell she climbs up into my truck without flashing the world her panties, and I don’t think that’s her thing. Not that I’d mind, but I’ll be a gentleman even if it kills me.

And it just might.

I deposit her on the seat, and she hangs on to her big-ass tote bag and the gift-wrapped present like they’re walls she can’t throw up fast enough. Yeah. I might have moved too quickly there.

“Thank you.” She sounds breathless, but not pissed off. I can work with that. “Next time, I’d like a heads-up before you go the caveman route, okay?”

Yeah. I can do that too. I give her a slow smile. Shut the door and leaned in. “Sure, boo. I’ll let you know before I touch you again.”

She gets real busy in her bag, so score one for me. I’ll bet I’m not just Cruz the Sheriff in her head anymore. Good. I’d be happy to let her get to know me any way she wants. Emphasis on want.

GIANNA

The wedding reception is picture-book pretty. White tents dot the edge of the bayou, tables and chairs decorated with lots of tulle and ribbons and… lavender. Apparently the bride likes purple. Which may explain Cruz’s uncharacteristically purple tie. He’s dressed to match his sister’s decorations, which is unexpectedly sweet.

He parks the truck in a field more than half-filled with beat-up trucks and cars, grinning up at me when he opens my door. I’m still trying to figure out how to negotiate my dismount when he pats his shoulders and announces “Hold on.”

Figures he likes this part of the job. Flashing him my panties is almost a given. Since I have to get out of his monster truck somehow (and flirting a little doesn’t seem so bad), I place my hands on his shoulders. The heat of him radiates through his jacket and shirt, and not just because the sun’s beating down hard on this part of Louisiana. I jump and his hands find my waist, guiding me down. Easy-peasy, and if I lean against him for a minute when I land, that’s a happy accident.

Reaching around me, he grabs my things and insists on carrying them for me. He should look ridiculous. Instead, my bag and all those ribbons just make him look more masculine. Life isn’t fair. He also steers me straight over to the bride and makes the introductions with easy good humor. Thank God. Unlike Luc, Cruz has beautiful manners.

Riley Jones, the bride, wears a simple knee-length white shift and a crown of daisies and roses. She’s kicked off her shoes and stands barefoot on the grass. The big man next to her is a scary motherfucker—the family resemblance to Luc is clear—but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. The groom might not be tame but… he’s happy.

The antique crystal candlesticks I brought come from nineteenth-century France. There’s nothing practical about the gift, but I like imagining the stories the crystal could tell. If candlesticks could talk, which they can’t. I’m not that crazy. Not yet.

“Congratulations,” I say warmly, handing over the gift-wrapped box.

Riley takes the present with a smile of thanks. The rings on the other woman’s finger flash as she squeezes Cruz with easy affection. I try—and fail—to imagine my own family hugging and kissing like that. Or celebrating anything good. I don’t need a McMansion to be happy, but not living in a fog of drugs definitely helps.

“You brought a date.” Riley beams and throws her arms around me in an ambush hug.

I’m no hugger, but I force myself to relax and hug the other woman back. Why not try something new? “We’re—”

Yeah. What are we? Coworkers of a sort. Possibly interested, although I’ve done my best to ignore that possibility. Even if I hadn’t possibly entered into a Vegas quickie marriage, Luc and I still have a relationship we need to resolve before I start a new one.

Cruz steps into the breach easily. “Gianna here hasn’t decided yet if she’s going to give me the time of day. We’re not dating.”

Riley smacks his shoulder lightly. “But you could be. You’re thinking about it. Tell me you’re thinking about it.”

Humor lights up the eyes of Riley’s husband, making him seem more approachable. “Riley here believes that love is contagious.”

Riley mock scowls at her new husband. “You make feeling something sound like a disease.”

Dag’s answer is to sweep his bride up into his arms for a long kiss. With the meet and greet clearly over, I let Cruz tug me in the direction of the bar set up along the riverbank. He shoots me a rueful grin. “Should I be apologizin’?”

Okay. So I’ve tried on the fantasy of dating Cruz. He could be my new man. My treat to myself for finally taking care of my not-quite-marriage. Once I resolve this mess with Luc, I just might be interested.

“You want to see me?” I prefer being specific.

Cruz hands me a flute of champagne, his hand settling on the small of my back. “I’d love to get to know you better, boo. You tell me when and where.”

The low growl behind us makes me choke on the first bubbly swallow. Maybe I’m jumpy and paranoid after my run-in with the Baton Rouge wolves, but the noise sounds angry and terribly wolf-like.

Someone curses and tension sweeps noticeably through the assembled guests. As if they’ve all looked out the windows of their trailers only to spot the purple-black clouds of a tornado barreling down on them, that sound heralds nothing good. “Ah, hell. What’s got his back up?”

He?

A hard arm slides around my waist and draws me back against a familiar chest. Luc’s scent surrounds me. “She’s not available.”

Cruz stills. Danger radiates off him, his body shooting to DEFCON 3. “She tell you that?”

Right. Just what I need. Two dumbass males beating their chests. I expected better from Cruz, almost as much as Luc’s possessiveness surprises me. He left me alone for ten years, and that absence hardly qualifies him as having a prior claim. “Um. Excuse me. She has a voice.”

The wedding guests all turn to watch, forming a loose circle around us. Riley should sell tickets—she’d make more than enough to fund a honeymoon in the South Pacific.

“It’s not like I asked him if he wanted to fuck me right here on the floor,” I continue.

Collectively the guests freeze. Oops. I’ve put my foot in it. Their faces ping-pong between Luc and Cruz as if in expectation of a bloodbath. What the hell is it with people living out in the bayou?

“That’s where you draw the line?” Luc drawls while Cruz narrows his eyes as if he’s putting two and two together and doesn’t like the math at all. Too bad, so sad. I warned him that my life is complicated—and we’re not dating. In all truth, we barely know each other.

I pull hard, and this time, Luc lets me put a few inches of space between our bodies. Mighty generous of him, but I’ll teach him manners later. “What makes you think I’ve drawn a line?”

“Shug, you always have a line.”

Cruz decides it’s time to insert himself into our conversation. Being a wiser man than Luc, he starts with me. “You know this Breaux?”

“Is that a problem?” Is there a difference between Breauxs? And just how many of them are there?

“Gianna damn sure knows me,” Luc growls, angling his body between me and Cruz. The possessive move pisses me off more. Unfortunately my heels and the meadow aren’t on speaking terms. When I try to step away, my foot wobbles, the heel sinking deep into the ground.

“Gianna?” I can hear the concern in Cruz’s voice. Mr. Fix-It isn’t happy.

“Luc invited me,” I admit.

“Shit. You’re in a relationship with him.”

“I proposed to him, and it was temporary insanity,” I growl.

“Do the words blue moon mean anything to you?” Luc directs the words to Cruz. Yep. I definitely hate the way my bayou boys like to hold a conversation over my head.

Cruz swears. “If she don’ wan’ that pairin’…”

“We’re discussin’ it,” Luc snaps. “Back the hell off.”

Cruz hesitates.

“Okay,” he says finally. “But there are things you need to know. How much did she tell about that biker gang up in Baton Rouge?”

Okay? Cruz will disappear into the sunset that easily? I don’t want a fistfight or male posturing, but I also don’t want Cruz giving up on me that easily. Damn it. Confused doesn’t begin to cover my state of mind.

Someone turns the music up, and Riley begins urging everyone to dance. To pretend that whatever’s almost happened hasn’t, and that the tension between Cruz and Luc isn’t palpable.

“She told me enough. The Breed are huntin’ her. They’ve sent over a dozen wolves after her. You know much about them?”

“Enough.” Distaste is clear in Cruz’s voice. “They’ve been holdin’ themselves a membership drive and, last count, had almost sixty of the meanest patch-wearing motherfuckers signed to their motorcycle club. They’re responsible for at least half the drug sales in Baton Rouge, and they’re running weapons.”

“They’re goin’ to need a few more members,” Luc says, his voice cold as ice. Remembering the way he laid into the wolves attacking me, I shiver. Somewhere inside those wolves were men. I don’t want to know if he killed them.

“I don’ wan’ Gianna anywhere near them.”

Luc jerks his head. “We’re in agreement on that. She’s stayin’ here with me.”

Whoa. Rewind. Since when does Luc get to make decisions for me?

“Boo.” Cruz looks at me, and despite the full four feet of space separating us, I feel the tension radiating off Luc. What kind of relationship does he think the sheriff and I share?

“Use my name,” I snap. I’m not a pet. I don’t do cutesy.

Cruz nods as if I’m God handing down the ten commandments to Moses. “Gianna Lynn. If you need me, you call. I’ll come.”

“Anything Gianna needs, I’ll provide,” Luc counters.

And… definitely time to intervene. “She’ll be making her own decisions, taking care of her own business.”

Cruz ignores Luc. Hell, he ignores my feminist manifesto as well, and I honestly don’t know how to make either male stop and listen, although banging their heads together is starting to look like an appealing option. “You call. I come. Remember that.”

“Got it.” It would help if I knew what—who—I want. Tension thickens the air, as if I’ve been pitchforked into the middle of some kind of alpha male pissing contest and I’m the prize.

“Out here in the bayou is Luc’s territory. I own Port Leon.” What. The. Hell. Cruz explains the spatial division as if he’s laying out property lines. I’m pretty sure I’m still in the state of Louisiana and not some alternate universe or an Ilona Andrews novel. “You come back to town and you let me know what you want to do, okay? I’ll back you up. Or tell me to come for you, and I’ll be here with bells on.”

That offer earns him another growl from Luc. Maybe I need to have him checked for rabies. Or a muzzle.

“Stop it.” I slap Luc’s chest and stalk away. I’m not taking anyone up on any offer. That’s the truth, plain and simple.

Of course Luc follows. Not ready to face the wedding guests, I blaze a trail out into the garden. Please let me not have ruined Riley’s big day. I don’t know what the ethics code is for wedding guests, but spoiling the event with a massive fight seems like definite bad form.

Five minutes of fast walking, and I can barely make out the tent tops. The bayou wanders by in a lazy curve. Someone parked a gazebo right by the water’s edge, screened by a heavy curtain of purple wisteria. Soft tendrils of vine and flower wave in the sultry air. Riley and Dag couldn’t have picked a prettier spot, although I’m pretty certain my present is nowhere near large enough to compensate for the shit storm I just rained down on their big day.

Luc pads up behind me. “You don’ wan’ him.”

I’ll make up my own mind about Cruz’s sexual attractiveness. “Maybe I do.”

“He’s a wolf too. I thought you’d sworn off wolves.”

He’s a wolf?

Color me shocked. Jesus. “He’s Riley’s brother. Your brothers are here. Is it safe to infer that you invited me to a werewolf wedding?”

Luc’s slow smile transforms him. Heat sears through me. He’s sexy as hell when he’s pulling his alpha male crap, but smiling… he’s pure devastation.

“There are a few humans here,” he admits. “I’ll introduce you to my brothers. With the exception of Riley, their mates are human females.”

“Do you have any idea how bad that sounds?”

He shrugs as if he can’t be bothered by something so simple as the facts. “You wan’ me to lie to you, shug?”

“I wan’ you not to sound so damned condescending. So you have fur and a penis. Yay you. That doesn’t make you better—only different.”

He gives a bark of laughter. “What do you know about wolf packs?”

He steps a little closer, bracing his arm over my head against the pergola. His thighs brush mine. I’m dimly aware of wedding guests milling around and the happy beat of dance music. The smell of barbecue isn’t bad either. But no one comes near us, which undoubtedly has something to do with Luc’s growly mood and Cruz’s reluctant retreat.

“It’s been a long time since I watched National Geographic,” I admit. Like… never.

“You know what an Alpha is?” His mouth brushes my temple. I should protest. Should announce hands off and back off. But it’s been ten years since I let someone this close, and our couch time at my place reminded me what I’ve been missing.

Luc.

“The fearless leader?” I laugh in an attempt to defuse the situation. The garden smells good. He smells good. The sun’s making me warm and sleepy. That’s it. That’s the reason I want to melt into him.

“I’m Alpha for the Breauxs. I lead our pack. I make the decisions, and I keep everyone safe.”

“You should try democracy. It comes highly recommended.”

He groans. “Jesus, shug. The werewolf gang in Baton Rouge isn’t our only problem. We’ve got hunters riding our asses, the likes of which you’ve never seen outside your movies. Sometimes orders are the only thing there’s time for.”

I need someplace to put my hands. My heels put me almost on eye level with him. Maybe I could go to five inches. Six, if I can come to terms with Lucite and hooker territory. Since changing up my shoes won’t help me now, I settle for hooking my thumbs in the front pockets of his pants.

“I’m not part of your pack.”

“You’re my mate. That makes you the female Alpha.”

And… sucker punch. I inhale a honeysuckle-scented breath. “Instant hierarchy? Riley doesn’t want to rock-paper-scissors me for the job?”

He reaches out a hand, and I turn my cheek away. Letting him touch me right now is a bad idea. I’ll cave. “Riley would kick your ass if she thought it was in the best interest of her pack or if you ever made the mistake of threatening Dag. She’s in a hard spot right now. Dag is a Breaux. She’s a Jones. Somehow, she has to figure out how to balance the two.”

He slams his hand into the wooden post, and petals drift down around us. He sure doesn’t look happy.

“What’s wrong with being a Jones? Do you have a Montague-and-Capulet thing going on here that I should know about?”

“Cruz is the Alpha of the Jones pack.”

The sensation is like finding myself in an elevator when it drops two floors—or twenty. My stomach sinks like a rock before hope jerks me right back up. “He can’t be a werewolf.”

“Why not?” Luc leans in, sealing his thighs to mine. He’s going to wrinkle my dress.

“He’s the sheriff.”

My logic sounds stupid spoken out loud. Obviously werewolves have infiltrated law enforcement. Hell, maybe the state governor or the president is a werewolf. It could be a possibility. Luc slides a hand around my neck, warm, rough fingers stroking over sensitive skin. Anchoring me in this crazy, dizzy world.

“He’s a werewolf.” I try the words out loud. Just to test how crazy they sound.

“Uh-huh. You’re in the minority here.”

“Can you make me a werewolf?” Because that’s a big hell, no on my part.

Luc smiles, rubbing his thumb in a lazy circle over the base of my throat. “Not an option. We’re born, not bitten, although I’m happy to prove my point.”

And doesn’t that trigger the mother of all flashbacks? Luc biting. His teeth nipping at sensitive skin. I squirm. So help me, I wriggle against the damned pergola because it’s that or rub up against him.

I’m ten kinds of stupid to be standing here with him. He’s a werewolf who runs a territory in the Louisiana bayou. I’m a law-abiding lawyer with an excellent practice in Baton Rouge. It’s no Romeo-and-Juliet story, but it isn’t going to work either.

“I should leave,” I say.

His face gives nothing away. “Is that really why you came here? To tell me you weren’t interested in pursuing our relationship?”

“You bet.” I glare at him, even though the inconsistency is obvious.

“Because I’m not thinkin’ you want me to leave.”

LUC

I head deeper into the garden. For the things I want to do to my mate, privacy is the best bet. I have no problem touching and kissing her in front of the others, but I’m betting she’s shy about that. For now, I’ll deep-six my desire to show Cruz Jones exactly what the other male can’t have. And yet there was that spark of interest in Gianna’s eyes… she might not object to touching the other Alpha.

Damn it.

Is Cruz really who she wants? Have I already lost her?

She follows me, like I hoped she would. My wolf herds her, getting her to myself. Riley chose to have her reception on the grounds of an old plantation. The original house is closed up now, peacefully falling into ruins, but the gardens are lush and rampant, overgrown and bursting with color and glimpses of the bayou through the spanish moss overgrowing the trees. The place has been here almost as long as I have, which makes it older than shit. A veritable antique.

There.

I pick my spot—some kind of garden shed or former outbuilding—and have her up against the wall in a heartbeat. She makes that squeak I like so much, her mouth hanging open as she tries to figure out which way to tell me off first. While she lines up her words, she tries to punch a hole in my foot with her heel. Wrapping my palm around her knee, I tug gently up and strip her shoe off. Toss it over my shoulder just to make a point and then go for the other foot.

“Play nice,” I growl.

“You play by the fucking rules,” she counters. But she sounds breathy and I scent sweet female cream. She may be mad at me—but she’s also aroused. And all I need is one yes.

I hold her caged against the wall. “I don’ let go.”

She gives me the Look. The one that makes me want to rumple her from head to foot, concentrating on all my favorite bits between. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what I want.”

Is she comparing me to Cruz? The other man cleans up good and he plays at being civilized. Underneath the good-looking exterior though, the man is all wolf. Is that what my little mate truly wants?

“And what do you wan’?”

“To be free of you.” She slaps a palm against my chest, clearly not intimidated by my size or by our isolation.

“Too late for that, but I’ll make you a deal. Stay with me here in the bayou. Give me a week. Seven nights.”

“To do what?”

“To change your mind. To give us a chance.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” She eyes me suspiciously. Negotiating might be easier if the blue moon had picked a less intelligent mate for me. It wouldn’t be as much fun though.

“Seven days. Seven nights. You let me do whatever I wan’.”

“I’m not playing sex-slave games.”

There are so many other ways to give up control. I don’t need her to call me master, not when I like the sound of my name on her lips. I also don’t need collars, whips, or chains. Those are fun toys for some people, but I prefer my sex straight up.

“I don’ wan’ to hurt or humiliate you.”

She looks at me. My face. My shoulders. My hands. My dick. I have no idea what proof she expects to find in any of those places, but she nods like everything is settled.

“Seven nights,” she says.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll give you the nights. The days are off-limits.”

“Why?” Yeah, well, I have no problem with sex any hour of the day. I want her in my arms right now, and I’m starting to care a whole lot less about our public venue.

She shrugs. “Seven nights to get you out of my system, but I keep the daylight hours because I’ve got a life too.”

The exact meaning of her words eludes me, but the gist hurts. I’m sex on the side. Our mating is a roadblock, and the chemistry between us is something to use up. Fine. She can try. I won’t let her walk away from me that easily, and seven nights with her are seven nights more than I’ve ever had before.

“Deal.”

She stares at me, and I’m pretty certain those are a whole lot of nerves I see in her eyes. Good. My Gianna’s too used to being in control. I’ll keep her off balance, sneak under her guard, and get close before she knows it.

 “Okay,” she says and then makes the mistake of trying to duck under my arm. Catching her is simple. All I have to do is lean in, pin her between the goddamned pergola and my body. Her eyes widen as she gets the message pressing against the front of my pants.

“You’re not going anywhere. Not yet.”

“You want to have sex now?” I love the way she jumps straight to the end game. The way she says whatever she has on her mind. She doesn’t pull her punches or play coy. She’s more of a fuck me harder girl than kiss me coy.

“That wasn’t a no.” I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.

“Not here.” Gianna slaps her hands against my shoulders, her nails biting hard into my cotton T-shirt. Marking me as hers with each red crescent she carves. The small brand isn’t enough. Not for me. I want to tattoo her on my skin, wear her close every minute of my goddamned day.

Hell. She’s gotten under my skin just fine—why not let her mark up the outside some too?

“Don’ challenge me, shug.” The public nature of the place makes her nervous, but beneath the nerves I scent arousal. She loves these games we play together, craves the darker thrill of exposure. My Gianna plays by the rules—all of the rules. Rules are something I understand all too well. As pack Alpha, I keep my pack’s laws and I keep my wolves safe. I fight for them, watch out for them until the responsibility threatens to suck me down whole.

And I wouldn’t trade a fucking moment of my time with the pack any more than I’d give up this woman.

“You hold this for me, oui?” I fist her skirt. The stiff cotton is one of those girly colors that has so many names. Pink works for me.  The fabric cotton has been ironed into precise creases. Gianna is always so careful not to wrinkle—I’m helping her out really. Not that she’s going to see it that way. I hide my grin against her thigh.

Her panties, though…

“That’s downright pretty.” Her panties are pink to match her dress, the mesh panels so sheer I can see her skin through it and the little mole above her hipbone I love so much. And—added bonus—the patch of flowers embroidered over the crotch hides my favorite place. I run a knuckle gently over the center, and she pushes into my hand.

“The bra matches.” Her words are pure challenge.

“I’ll be findin’ that out for myself,” I growl.

She pushes away from me. “I don’t have to have this.”

She damned well does, if it’s the only thing she’ll take from me. I have a primitive urge to mark her as mine that her interest in Cruz only stokes. I’m not letting her go without a fight, not now that I have her on my turf. Cruz can fight me for a shot at Gianna, but Cruz isn’t the Alpha here. He runs his own territory in Port Leon.

I rub my thumb over her clit. “Come for me.”

She glares. Too bad for her. She let me in her panties, and then she challenged me.

“Seven nights.” She makes a show of looking around. “It sure looks like afternoon to me.”

“Sue me. I’m cheatin’.” I work my fingers into the mesh. She’s wet as hell, so she likes our games just fine. I run my thumb down her slick crease. Then my finger. Do it again because I love the way her lashes drift down and she chews on her lower lip as she tries to hold back those sexy little whimpers.

One quick, hard tug, and her panties hit the ground.

“More,” I demand, working my fingers into her pussy. She arches up to meet me with a groan, stepping out of her panties and hooking a leg around my waist. I take her on a hell of a ride, touching and rotating, working my fingers into her in deep, luscious circles until she’s panting and riding the edge. One hard squeeze of her clit and she spasms, coming against my fingers in fierce ripples. Eyes squeezed shut, face pressed against my shoulder, her nails digging permanent gouges into my flesh. She’s fucking gorgeous.

“Just wait until it’s dark,” I promise, giving her ear a short nip as she relaxes into my hold.

She gives me a look I can’t interpret and walks away, her ridiculous little heels sinking into the ground. She doesn’t look back.

Nope. My little mate gets the hell out of here, but I bet she’s checking the time when she gets back to the reception and her phone. Tucking her panties into my pocket, I stroll after her.

I can show her a hell of a lot in seven nights.

CRUZ

Gianna comes strolling across the lawn toward me. She walks sweetly casual, her hips doing a roll and sway that makes me want to chase her down and kiss her. Her pink dress clings to her breasts and her ass. She’s magnificent, beautiful as hell inside and out, but she’s rumpled. Messed up more than a little. The fabric below her waist sports sharp creases like someone has crushed her skirt beneath his fingers, and there’s no missing the grass stain on her back when she turns to greet someone.

I’m almost certain she’s not wearing panties anymore.

The closer she gets, the more I smell Luc on her. Not the male’s seed, but something more pervasive, like he’s touched her skin, pressed his own against hers over and over. Shit. The other Alpha has staked his claim on her in the most primitive way possible. I think about that while I wait for her to come to me. I still want her, and this isn’t about the sex. Gianna’s a beautiful woman, but I can find that with someone else if I look. Gianna herself is the prize, the reason to play this game. I have a bad feeling she’s unique, my one and only, and I’m betting she’s just come all over my competition’s tongue.

“Hey,” she says, gliding to a halt in front of me. Her eyes flicker down. Right. I have my arms crossed over my chest while I lean back in the beribboned rental chair Riley decided matched her wedding theme. I probably don’t look too friendly. I force my body to relax. I don’t want to run her off.

I want to hold her.

Take her.

Win her.

“Hey yourself,” I say. My voice sounds gruff, as if I haven’t done the small talk thing at all while she’s been off getting to know Luc a whole lot better. Don’t think about it.

“Luc and I had some things to talk about.”

I don’t want to hear about talking either, so I gently tug her down into the empty seat beside me. I like having her that close, my knee brushing against her leg, because I won’t pull back any farther. Crowding her some, reminding her that I’m here. I’d prefer to park her sweet little butt on my lap, but I’ve already pushed my luck today by bringing Luc’s mate to the wedding as my own fucking date. Riley will kill me if Luc and I fight in the middle of her reception, and I’d deserve it. Riley has planned this afternoon for months. Violence can keep until tomorrow.

“You get everythin’ settled?”

I have to know if I still have a chance. It’s late afternoon, the time of day when the light takes on a gold tinge as the sun thinks about packing it in for the day. The color painting Gianna’s cheeks is a really pretty pink, however, that has nothing to do with the time or the weather. Right. Because it’s awkward telling your date that you’ve just snuck away for a quickie with someone else. I wait patiently. She’ll tell me or she won’t, and then I’ll know where I stand.

“Luc wants me to give our relationship a chance.”

Usually I’d be all rah-rah supportive. No matter how much I play the field or enjoy women, I believe in the mating bond and settling down with the one perfect someone. My pack doesn’t have this blue moon dating service bullshit that Luc’s pack does, but that doesn’t make our feelings any less intense or valid. So I stretch my legs out a little more, brushing against her bare legs. She jumps, but doesn’t move away. Victory. Maybe this thing with Luc and her is only sex.

“Commitment is important,” I say, because fuck me if I have a script for this and I need to add some words to the silence.

She nods enthusiastically but then makes a face. “We might have been almost married for ten years, but right now it feels more like ten hours.”

I’m more interested in the past ten minutes.

“But you’re going to give him his chance.”

“It’s only fair.” Her blush deepens. “He asked for a week and I agreed.  I don’t know what I want, but he and I made promises to each other, even if we didn’t think them through, and we need to work it out. Is that a problem?”

The unspoken for us has my damned wolf whining in happy agreement. I can probably come to terms with sharing her body for the moment. It’s her heart I want one hundred percent.

I shook my head. “Hell if I know, but it won’ make anythin’ easy.”

“You boys don’t do easy.” She flashes me a smile that makes my insides melt into a puddle of happy.

I figure my slow grin is answer enough. “True.”

The wedding winds down around us, the caterers moving in to break down the tents. As we gather round to see the happy couple off, Riley shifts. One moment she’s the bride in white, and the next moment a small fox streaks over the bayou banks. Dag changes too, tearing after her while everyone cheers.

“Your sister is a shifter.” Gianna’s words come out part statement, part sigh.

 “You didn’t know about that? Luc brought you here. We all assumed that meant you knew.” Tread carefully.

“I knew he was a wolf,” she says grimly. “Not that the place was a menagerie. I’m spending the next week with Luc,” she reminds me, blurting the words out as if she’s tried to work her way up to them and then given up on finesse.

I bet Luc has every intention of using his week to convince her to make their relationship permanent. It’s what I’d do.

“I can’t be getting’ in the middle of that.” But I want to. The words tumble out of my mouth before I can apply the verbal brake. “You goin’ to give me the next week?”

The way her face turns scarlet is so cute. Maybe it’s a human thing, being embarrassed at the possibility of having sex with two guys. It’s different for me. The sex is important, sure, but the emotions that go with it were key. At the end of the day, sex is just a case of body parts getting along and having a real good time. Apparently I can accept Luc in her bed as long as I’m the one she holds in her heart.

“Please,” I add roughly. “You give him a chance, you give me a chance. Then you do any deciding you need to do.”

Her short, jerky nod surprises the hell out of me. Holy mother of… she agreed.

“Is that a promise?” Pushing your luck, wolf man.

“Yeah.” She stares at me, surprise painted all over her face. “It is.”

It’s no fucking shock that Luc picks this moment to intrude, striding over to us with an unmistakable note of possession in his eyes.

“Time for us to go,” he announces.

Luc drops his hands onto Gianna’s shoulders in a clear message. I watch carefully. I don’t think the other male would hurt Gianna, but mating bond or no mating bond, I’m not letting her go until I’m damned sure she’s safe. As if he doesn’t care about his rival’s presence, Luc strokes her collarbone and the sensitive hollows there. Nothing hurtful. Shit, no. Luc has it as bad for Gianna as I do, and that just leaves the situation more fucked up than ever. When Gianna chooses between us, there’s every chance war breaks out between the packs.

“It’s not night yet,” she says, and I catch the warning there, although I don’t know what the hell the two of them are talking about because they’re continuing a private conversation. Yeah. I’m not that much of a dumb shit. The two of them have an inside thing going on.

“Sun’s down soon,” Luc counters, following his words with more fingertip action. Gianna melts against him, and I discover that defeat is a hollow, achy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Still, she promised me a week. That’s something right there. She hasn’t chosen yet.

I stand up. Choice or no choice, watching Luc touch Gianna isn’t something I can deal with right now. “Take care of her.”

“I will.” Luc’s no-bullshit gaze holds mine. His two words sound too much like the wedding vows Riley and Dag traded earlier in the day.

Luc can fuck off.

I drop a kiss on Gianna’s cheek. “I’ll see you in a week.”