Is it fear of gift giving that drives wolves into seclusion over the holidays? The inability to find that special gift that says, “I just want to have fun without worrying you’ll start looking at minivans.” Well, I’m going to do you wolves a favor.

All we want is to not be alone over the holidays. Not because we think being alone reflects poorly on our self-worth. But because the only thing worse than Special Dinners are Special Holiday Occasions.

If you really feel the need to give, an expensive bottle of champagne with dinner would be fine. Or a ski weekend at Taos for those who like the Grand (but commitment-free) Gesture. That will give you a place to wear that tasteful, yet totally nonintimate thick fleece pullover we’ll be buying for you.

Chapter 5

Good evening, dear.”

Tanzy transferred the cell phone to her other ear as she juggled the handles of her shopping bags. The second major spree in the past week. Christmas shopping was hell, but someone had to do it. “Hi, Aunt Millicent,” she said, bumping her hip against Big Harry’s front door. “How is Frances?”

Riley appeared as she stumbled into the foyer, just as he had after the last foray. She smiled and mouthed “Thanks” as he helped unload the packages from her arms. Such a well-trained sheep. Leave it to Aunt Millicent. She wondered absently if he would do the actual shopping for her as well. Now, that was a worthy sheep perk.

“Not too well, dear,” Millicent was saying. “That’s why I’m calling.”

Tanzy sank to the lower step of the grand staircase. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” Really sorry. “Is there anything I can do?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Before leaving, I was able to cancel all my engagements but one. I had arranged for Walter Sinclair to take my place and make the presentation, but—”

“Presentation?” Tanzy glanced over to see Riley lining her packages up inside the tiny elevator tucked behind the staircase. He gave her a questioning look, but she just nodded and waved him on. “What presentation?”

“My annual scholarships at the Crystal Charity Ball.” She sighed. “I do so dislike using that term, charity. Those children have had enough misfortune without being tagged as a charity.”

Tanzy merely nodded as Millicent continued to wax rhapsodic about tapping into the energies of youth. It was truly wonderful what her great-aunt did for San Francisco’s underprivileged, but she’d heard this speech many times. It was Millicent’s version of the “I walked five miles uphill in the snow to school” speech that all elders felt genetically compelled to pass down.

Tanzy wondered absently what her speech would be. Or if there would ever be anyone to give it to. For some reason her gaze drifted to Riley as she forced her thoughts in a different direction. Namely coming up with substitutions for good old Walter Sinclair, who was cofounder of one of Millicent’s many foundations. Because she knew where this was headed.

“I’m certain your calendar has been booked for months, but this is vitally important and I’d appreciate it if you’d clear your slate for this event.”

Tanzy felt the tiniest flush darken her skin. In fact, she’d turned down several major seasonal events in the last week. She simply wasn’t up to facing the whirl with her arm unadorned by a man. Not that she couldn’t handle going solo. Under normal circumstances. But her conversation with Rina regarding Special Dinners last week hadn’t done a lick of good. They’d merely moved on to Special Holiday Occasions and ambushed her there. And with her social circle all but dancing the Rite of Spring around her, the last thing she wanted was to broadcast in any way that she needed pairing up.

Usually in cases like this, she called on Carmine. He of the dashing manners and the tailor-made tux. Carmine was hands down the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. He was also gay and deeply incloseto. But the Rite of Spring had apparently sprung him, too. The last she’d heard, his latest lover, Brice, was looking pretty serious. Tanzy privately bet Brice would have Carmine dancing out of the closet by Valentine’s Day if not before.

Which left her with no backup. She’d meant to get around to that, but she wasn’t up for faux fun with unavailable men this year anyway. Again her gaze strayed to Riley.

“I’ll fax you the words I’d prepared for Walter. Of course, feel free to edit and revise, dear. You’re the professional, and I’m sure you can say what I mean better than I can.”

Tanzy opened her mouth to suggest any of three or four other perfectly suitable candidates, but what she said was, “I’d be honored to, Aunt Millicent.” She smacked her forehead repeatedly with her palm.

“If you have no special suitor or beau, I’m certain Riley would be happy to escort you.”

Tanzy clutched the phone a little tighter and tried to get as tight a grip on her control. Had it really come to this? Now even her eighty-two-year-old aunt was setting her up. A fate she’d thought she was eternally, blessedly immune to, considering Millicent’s matchmaking history.

Millicent had never forgiven herself for being the one to pressure Penelope into dating Frank deLange, who came from the Right Family and had Good Prospects. Unlike the rough crowd that Penelope tended to run with under Millicent’s brother’s supervision.

Millicent’s attempt at dragging Tanzy’s mother into the realm of respectability had instead ended with Penelope knocked up and alone, while Frank flitted off to Europe to finish his education, only to wind up married to some French heiress instead.

Tanzy had met Frank, whom Penelope had always referred to as “the sperm donor,” once. Which had been enough. It was one of the few times she’d agreed with her mother.

“I’ll work something out,” she assured Millicent. “Just send me your speech and the foundation contact and I’ll set everything up. When is it?”

“This Sunday, dear.”

Tanzy gaped at the phone. That was three days away.

“I’m sending Clarisse over with some dresses for you to look at. Consider it my holiday gift to you.”

Tanzy gritted her teeth and said, “You’re so thoughtful, but honestly, you don’t have to do that.” Please, dear God.

“Which is precisely why I am. Don’t sound so horrified. I’m not sending over old-lady fuddy-duddy clothes. Clarisse is quite avant-garde. And we both know a woman can’t have too many lovely things, so accept the gift gracefully, dear, and have a wonderful time. Oh, and she’s been instructed to bring along a few things for Riley as well.”

“Really, Aunt Millicent, that’s not necessary. Besides, I hardly know him—”

“Well, that didn’t seem to be a deterrent with Santa Claus, now, did it, dear?”

Millicent rang off, leaving Tanzy openmouthed and speechless. Would she forever be punished for that one indiscretion?

“I trust everything is going well with Madame Harrington?”

Tanzy snapped her mouth shut and stuck her phone back into her purse. “Oh, she’s in fine form, all right.” She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her suede slacks. “Woman will likely outlive us all. God help us.”

Riley raised his eyebrows behind his Coke-bottle lenses and nodded sagely. “I sent your bags up for you. Have you eaten?”

“Thanks, and no, I didn’t. But I’ve got to answer some interview questions for an online thing and return some calls.” Martin had beeped her three times today while she’d been out. Very un-Marty-like. She shook her head and said, “My editor has apparently decided to adopt me now that he’s sent his youngest off to college.” Riley didn’t respond to that conversational gambit, so she sighed and said, “I think I’m just going to heat up one of Helen’s dishes and take it upstairs with me if you don’t mind.” All of which was true. But it wouldn’t have killed her to sit in the kitchen with him for one meal. She still hadn’t done that, despite her excuses to Rina last week.

She wasn’t exactly certain why. He seemed nice enough. Maybe it was because, while they were cohabitating fine, doing so from a distance seemed easier on both of them. At least that’s what she was telling herself anyway.

“I hope that doesn’t ruin anything you might have planned,” she added, although she doubted it. He didn’t seem too choked up about it. But then, how could she tell? He had one expression. Shuttered.

“No, not at all,” he said smoothly, reinforcing her opinion. “I’ll be in my rooms if you need me.”

She was tempted, for just a brief moment, to ask him exactly what sort of needs he’d be willing to assuage. He was so uptight, the urge to tease him was almost overwhelming. Play nice, Tanz. She just wanted to see if she could make him blink. But she didn’t think he’d appreciate the humor in it. A more dry, self-controlled individual she’d never met.

“Are you in for the evening, then?” When she looked surprised by the question, he added, “If so, I’ll go ahead and secure the house now.”

She wanted to ask him what century he was from, but she was forced to admit that with all the hectic shopping and generally crazed holiday atmosphere out there, his calm, if dated, demeanor, inside a house that had the same eccentric blend of old and new that he did, was somehow oddly reassuring.

“Actually, I’m expecting a guest a little later. Millicent is sending over a designer with some dresses I’m supposed to look at. I can handle it, though, so don’t worry about anything. I’ll lock up the fort when she’s gone.”

Riley held her gaze for a fraction of a second longer than was entirely necessary and Tanzy felt a surprising little spike of tension. Which made no sense whatsoever. Probably it was a trick of the light on those thick lenses of his.

“Fine, then,” he said, his tone as even as always. “I’ll leave you to your business. Have a pleasant evening.”

Tanzy watched him disappear down the hall toward the kitchens and shook her head. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about Riley niggled at her. She was almost tempted to follow him, nudge him a bit, see if she could push him, just to loosen him up a little, that was all, nothing more. Certainly nothing sexual. Just . . . because. Then she remembered that limp handshake, which led to images of what else would likely be limp. And she lost interest. Okay, so maybe the urge to provoke had been a teensy bit sexual. Apparently she was having Santa setbacks. It was that voice of his that prodded her, that was all.

She did smile a bit wickedly as she started up the stairs, unable to keep from wondering what it would be like to press his personal keypad number later and see if she could engage him in some hot phone sex.

“Yeah, so he could ‘bid me to come’ or something equally ridiculous,” she murmured, then shook off the odd direction her thoughts seemed to take around him of late. She only had an hour or so before Clarisse showed up, which gave her an hour to get her work done and find herself a stand-in date for the ball.

Riley downed the rest of his beer in one long pull. He considered having another. Hell, he considered downing the entire six, but he closed the door to the monster fridge and leaned back against it. Tanzy Harrington was a piece of work. And then some. He’d run himself ragged tailing her all over town. Who knew buying Christmas presents could be a full-contact sport?

He had to admit she had pretty damn fine taste, though. Those suede pants she had on looked like the guy had tanned the leather right onto her body. He rolled the cold bottle across his forehead.

“She’s getting to you,” he muttered. No, no, she wasn’t. Her leather pants were getting to him. And her slinky silky shirts, and those fuck-me-now heels she wore. And it wasn’t her doing the begging, either. What was it about spike heels—on legs like hers—that made a normally aggressive alpha male want to be tied up and whipped just for grins?

“Jesus,” he groaned, then pushed away from the cool steel doors. Just the mention of some dressmaker wrapping her up in God knew what kind of creation had made him take a moment to regroup. And it was a moment he couldn’t afford. She was a very intent person. It would be a lot easier if she was just some rich, self-centered, spoiled brat whose thoughts were solely focused on “What can I have and where can I get it?” But he was discovering that was not Tanzy Harrington.

Oh, she was definitely rich—and with her own earnings, he’d learned. She didn’t even need Millicent’s millions to bankroll those shopping sprees he was learning were as crucial to her as water was to human survival. And yes, maybe she was a little bit spoiled. She was aggressively focused on what she wanted, and how she was going to get it, and more often than not, she succeeded. But there was nothing wrong with being hungry, motivated. Which was precisely what got to him. He identified with that drive, that hunger. It was what had gotten him to the NFL. And it was that same discipline, if not exactly a hunger, that got him through job after job with his dad.

The one thing Tanzy wasn’t was self-centered. Quite the opposite. In fact, she missed nothing. Maybe that was what made her so interesting in print. She had an eye for details, paid attention to nuance. And all with a sense of humor so wry and sharp a man could bleed to death if he got too close.

Of course, there were other elements of her hunger that got to him, too. Just for a moment there, in the hall, he swore he felt her staring holes in his back. Big, hungry, Could-I-have-him-if-I-wanted-him? holes. It was the tiny flicker of disappointment he’d felt when she’d opted for the stairs that had driven him straight to a cold one. Or three.

He tugged the steel door back open, but opted for one of Tanzy’s stash of Cokes this time and fixed himself a roast beef sandwich. Heading upstairs, he thought he might catch a bit of the Lakers game before digging into work and making his call to Millicent. Ernie was working on the employee listings from the service provider and he hoped something would pop from there. He was so deep in thought, he almost ran flat into Tanzy on the turn just before the third-floor landing. She stopped short, as if not quite prepared to see him, either. “Hi,” she said after a momentary pause.

“Good evening,” he replied, just barely remembering his persona in time. He moved to one side to let her pass. Praying like hell his stupid pleated sheep trousers were baggy enough to hide his half-aroused real wolf self. Suede pants should be outlawed, he thought, trying like hell not to look at them. Surely they endangered some form of wildlife.

Yeah, he thought, men.

He started to continue up the stairs, when she cleared her throat and said, “Um, Riley? Do you have a moment?”

He turned, opting to say nothing.

A moment passed, then another. “I, uh, well—”

How interesting, he thought, biting down on the urge to smile. What could make the normally word-savvy columnist so tongue-tied? And what in the hell did it have to do with him? His urge to smile faded. “Is there a problem?”

“Actually, sort of, yes.” She smiled then and gave a little self-deprecating laugh.

And damn if he didn’t understand exactly why men threw themselves willingly under those spike heels of hers.

“Millicent has asked me to attend a little function in her honor. One of her foundations awards scholarships every year and this time she can’t be there to hand them out, so she asked me to do it. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in being my escort for the evening, would you? It’s this Sunday evening. Very last minute, I know, but she just sprung this on me.”

And everyone she’d apparently spent the last fifteen minutes calling couldn’t fill in, he thought, not sure why he was irritated to be her absolute last choice. Wasn’t the end of the line exactly where he was supposed to be?

He should be happy she’d been forced to ask. He’d have had to tail her anyway. This would make things much easier on him. “I could work something out.”

She smiled in surprised relief. “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” she said, sounding sincere. “I don’t know about you, but I just couldn’t face doing the single thing at holiday time. What is it about this time of year anyway? Must be all that mistletoe.” She paused, considering him, and for a split second, he wondered if she was thinking of finding some mistletoe and taking him for a test drive beneath it.

But before his libido could kick into full gear, she went on.

“Wait a minute. You are single, aren’t you? I mean, don’t feel that because you work for Millicent that you have to—”

Stupid. He was a mercy date. And, no matter that it was the best thing for both of them, he was really beginning to hate this whole sheep idea. “It will be fine.”

She cocked her head and looked as if she was going to push—after all, it had been a nonanswer—but in the end she shrugged and favored him with another one of those morning-after smiles. God, how did she do that? Practice, most likely. Still, he was forced to shift ever so slightly. Shift and pray she didn’t glance down.

“If you’re worried about what to wear, don’t,” she added quickly, misinterpreting his frown. “The designer Millicent is sending over will take care of it.” Just then the imperial gong Millicent favored as a doorbell resounded up the stairwell. “And there she is.” She slipped past him, down the stairs. “I’ll buzz your room when it’s your turn. Thanks, Riley.”

He stared down the empty stairwell. Buzz his room, would she? Millicent wasn’t the only one who’d perfected the hit-and-run approach to getting her way. He swore under his breath the rest of the way up the stairs.

The Lakers were down by six and he hadn’t even booted up his computer when the phone rang. “Great.” He’d almost managed to forget about the fun and excitement in store for him this evening. About as much fun as getting a tooth drilled. He snatched up the phone on the third ring.

“We’re ready for you, Riley.”

Which wasn’t the question at all, he thought. Was he ready for them? That was the question.

“The torture chamber is set up in one of the guest rooms on the second floor,” she said dryly, as if reading his mind. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Despite wishing that he were anywhere else at the moment, he found himself smiling as he hung up.

But once inside said torture chamber, it took less than five minutes for Riley to realize there was going to be a problem. He could hardly stay in disguise if he had to strip down in front of Clarisse.

Fortunately, that problem was swiftly dealt with when she had summarily dismissed Tanzy from the room as Riley strode in. He’d enjoyed the brief look of surprise that had crossed her face, but his amusement had faded all too quickly once Madame Clarisse got busy.

She was a trim woman, barely five feet in her heels, with expertly coiffed strawberry blond hair framing a face that could only be described as manicured. She was anywhere from forty-five to sixty. Obviously not still sporting the facial structure she’d been born with, but wealthy enough, vain enough, or both, to afford to slow down the ravages of time without caricaturizing herself in the process. She was French, though he doubted she’d been born speaking the language, despite the cultured accent. And she hadn’t a lick of modesty.

He winced, trying not to flinch as she measured his inseam with a quick zip of the tape measure, a tool she wielded as ruthlessly as a lion tamer wielded a whip. He’d rather face the lion.

“Your trousers.” She made a tsking sound as she snapped the tape around her neck and straightened. “Is off the rack, no?” She waved a hand. “You have the frame to carry a double-breasted style, though I will insist you take off your jacket for the measurement.

“Your legs, they are long and lean enough,” she went on. “Perfect for a single-pleated placket, seam pockets to keep the look clean.” She shook her head as she ran her gaze over him once again. “Why do you wear such clothes? Surely Madame Harrington, she pays you enough to get your suits fitted?”

Which brought him back to the problem. How frank could he be with Clarisse? He should have contacted Millicent and discussed this, but he hadn’t foreseen this particular problem. Nor had he mentioned his disguise to Millicent in their last several phone conversations. She’d approve, he was certain. But how to explain it to Dragon Lady here?

Maybe he could claim some horrible dermatological condition that precluded him from wearing properly fitted clothes. Or maybe you could get over yourself. Surely the nerd hair and Coke-bottle glasses were enough. It wasn’t like he was a lady-killer in a tux anyway. Of course, he wasn’t butt ugly, either. And maybe there was a tiny part of him that would enjoy strolling into the room, totally decked in full-tilt wolf attire, just for the pleasure of watching Tanzy’s mouth drop open.

Of course, there was also the chance she wouldn’t even blink.

He settled for saying, “I prefer my clothing to be roomy.”

“Roomy? What is roomy?”

“Loose-fitting. I don’t like to be constricted.”

She slid her glasses down her nose and looked right . . . there, then nodded and said, “You have a point.”

He was pretty sure well-traveled, thirty-two-year-old men didn’t blush. But then he’d challenge any guy in the locker room to five minutes in a room alone with Clarisse and see if they didn’t.

“I will take care of this for you.”

Riley shook his head. “I don’t mean to be rude and I’m sure you’d make me a tux that would rival Armani.” She sniffed, and he quickly amended, “Put Armani to shame. But I have other . . . specifications. Why don’t you take care of Tanzy’s dress and I’ll take care of finding something suitable to wear.”

She shook her head. “Madame Harrington was very adamant.”

That raised his eyebrows a fraction. So, Millicent had wanted him as the escort all along. He swallowed the little grin of satisfaction as he pictured Tanzy’s frustration when her other choices hadn’t panned out and she’d been forced to do Millicent’s bidding. Again.

“You tell me these specifications you desire and we will see what can be done,” she instructed.

“You will be discreet, I trust?” She looked so offended, he relaxed a little. He eyed the closed door, then sighed and slipped off his jacket.

“Oh my.”

“Can you adjust the cut to hide this?”

She looked at his shoulder holster like one might look at a deadly snake, but quickly regained her professional bearing. He could see the multitude of questions in her eyes, but she asked none of them as she went about measuring his arms and back.

He relaxed completely. Or as completely as one could around Clarisse. He should have known Millicent would have seen to this detail as she’d seen to so many others.

“The jacket, it will not have as good a line here.” She zipped her fingers down along his shoulder blades. “But you have broad enough shoulders to carry it off.” She shook her head. “A shame really, to hide such a frame as this.” She circled to the front of him, took his chin in her hand, and turned his head this way, then that. Another snort of disgust. “A waste.” She turned then and began making notes on a small pad.

Riley stood there, but she didn’t say anything else. Finally she turned and seemed surprised to find him still standing there. “You will have delivery Sunday by noon.”

He shrugged back into his jacket. “Do you need help with this?” He gestured to the narrow rack that held a number of zippered garment bags.

“If you will wheel it to the elevator,” she commanded dismissively.

He was tempted to salute, but he managed a nod. He rolled the rack to the elevator and out the front door to where a driver and car sat idling. He’d assumed Millicent had sent the ride, but the efficient way the driver dismantled the rack and carefully stowed the garment bags said otherwise. Clarisse came bustling out of the house a moment later. Riley thought she was going to blow right by him, but she paused at the last second and looked up at him.

“You are good at your job?” she asked quietly.

“It gets one hundred percent of my attention.”

She peered in his eyes, then nodded. “I would not like anything bad to happen to these people.” She jerked her pointed chin toward the house.

“Me, either.” He slid his glasses off and gave her the grin he’d been hiding since he got here. “Bad for business.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed shrewdly. Her smile was equally sly. “You’ll do,” she said, without a hint of an accent, before sliding into the car and disappearing behind tinted glass.

Replacing his glasses, Riley gave her that salute, then watched the car ease away from the curb before glancing up to the turreted tower window in Tanzy’s corner of the house.

She stood there, silhouetted by the lamplight. She didn’t wave, nor did she move away. She simply stared down at him. Riley held her shadowed gaze for several long, very unwise moments, before finally heading back into the house.

Her door remained shut as he passed by. He let himself into his own rooms, flicked off the game, and booted up his computer. And reminded himself that giving one hundred percent to the job was exactly why he was only allowed to look.

And never touch.