A Werewolf in Manhattan (4 page)

Emma concluded the man must be both well paid and well respected, and her estimation of Aidan, already hovering at good, moved into the excellent range.

Aidan exited the car with the same fluid grace with which he’d entered it. He held out his hand to Emma. Anticipation thrummed in her veins as she placed her hand in his and absorbed his warmth and strength. She wondered whether he had a girlfriend, which was a totally inappropriate thought because
she
had a boyfriend.

Once he’d helped her out of the car, he released her hand, which was the right thing to do. They were mere acquaintances, after all. This wasn’t a date, and she’d do well to remember that. He was humoring her desire to party a little.

“This way.” He lightly touched the small of her back to guide her toward a black enameled doorway.

When he used a card-key to open the door, he verified her suspicion that he was taking her to a private club. No wonder she’d never heard of it.

The black enameled door opened into a small lobby, decorated in grays and blacks with a splash of red here and there. On their right was a narrow stairway carpeted in red, but no sign indicated where it led.

“Jessie’s is upstairs.” Aidan gestured for her to climb the carpeted steps. “I think you’ll like it.”

She had no doubt she would. So far, Aidan’s world had seduced her with luxury, and she expected the same from this exclusive club. Soft jazz filtered down to her as she climbed the stairs. She was aware of Aidan behind her, his footfalls amazingly light considering his solid build.

She’d never realized until tonight how graceful he was. She felt like a klutz in comparison, but then, she’d never claimed to be coordinated. Aidan would be a marvelous dancer.
And a marvelous lover
. The thought had no business showing up in her head, but there it was, taunting her with possibilities.

At the top of the stairs, a silver-haired man in a tuxedo moved out from behind a tall reception desk and shook Aidan’s hand. “Aidan. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to be back, Sylvester. This is Emma Gavin. She writes—”

“The werewolf books.” Sylvester eyed her with obvious curiosity. “This is indeed a pleasure. I’ve read them all.”

“Really?”

“I find them fascinating,” Sylvester said. “So detailed.”

“Fortunately, I was blessed with a good imagination.”

“You certainly were.” Sylvester exchanged a glance with Aidan. “Table for two?”

“Please.” Aidan helped her off with her coat.

His touch produced the same electric charge as when he’d helped her put it on. She would have to get over that. While Sylvester hung their coats on a rack behind the desk, she gave herself a talking-to.

Her self-talk continued as she followed Sylvester through an arched doorway.
Having a drink with Aidan is a onetime deal, and she ... whoa
. Had they somehow wandered into an alternate universe? The club seemed to be nestled in a forest, a forest on the second floor of a brick building in the middle of Manhattan.

She couldn’t help staring. “Wow.”

“I thought you’d like it.” Aidan sounded pleased.

“I love it.” She wasn’t sure how the owners had managed the effect, but the trees arching over the small dance floor seemed real, as did the ones scattered around the perimeter of the room.

Tiny white lights winked like fireflies in branches, which curved to create intimate bowers for each rough-hewn table. To her right, a live jazz trio played on a moss-covered knoll.

Sylvester led them to a table near the back of the room and pulled out Emma’s chair.

“Thank you, Sylvester.” She glanced back at him. “This is quite a place.”

He smiled at her. “A waiter will be over soon to take your order. Enjoy.” He laid an affectionate hand on Aidan’s shoulder before leaving them.

Aw.
Emma didn’t need more reasons to admire Aidan, but she was getting them anyway. He obviously inspired friendship and respect among his associates. “Thank you for sharing this place with me,” she said. “I thought we’d just find a little tavern somewhere, but this is breathtakingly beautiful.”

“There’s more. Look up.”

She did and was dazzled by the night sky, complete with stars, peeking through the foliage. The effect was so real she would swear someone had slid the roof back, except they were in the heart of the city, where the lights blocked out the stars completely.

Aidan settled into the chair across from her. “What would you like to drink?”

She continued to gaze upward as she tried to figure out how they’d created the effect. “Chardonnay is fine.”

“That’s it? Nothing more exotic?”

She met his gaze. She always ordered chardonnay, and if she intended to break out of her rut, she should experiment with a different drink. “Any suggestions?”

“The bartender makes great coffee martinis.”

“Oh, my God, I have to have one. I
love
coffee.”

“I know.”

“How would you know that?”

He blinked. “Uh, don’t all writers drink coffee?”

“Not necessarily. Some guzzle gallons of tea, and others survive on Coke. The clichés aren’t always true.” But she thought it was cute that he had such a definite idea of how a writer should behave.

Aidan signaled a waiter and ordered them each a coffee martini.

“This is wonderful.” Emma was grateful for her interesting surroundings because without them she was likely to stare at Aidan the whole time. “It’s like a movie set.”

“We called in some film people to help with the staging.”

“
We?
Oh, wait, I should have guessed that right away. Private club, your favorite hangout. Of course it belongs to Wallace Enterprises.”

“Yeah, it does. I—” He stopped speaking and glanced toward the arched entryway as a tall blond guy with a build similar to Aidan’s walked into the club. “Looks like you’re about to meet my little brother, Roarke.”

“Is he in security, too?”

“No. Roarke’s an anthropology professor at NYU.”

Emma studied the man who was headed straight toward their table. None of her college professors had looked like that. Roarke might be younger than Aidan, but he wasn’t
little
in any sense of the word. She could see the family resemblance in his square jaw and strong nose. “No slackers in the Wallace family, are there?”

“Not so you’d notice.” Aidan rose from the table to greet his brother. “This is a surprise.”

Roarke didn’t smile. “I know.” Barely disguised tension radiated from his powerful frame.

Aidan didn’t seem to notice. “I’d like you to meet Emma Gavin, the author of the werewolf books.”

“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’ve heard plenty about your books.” Roarke still looked grim.

“Good things, I hope.” She wasn’t sure what to make of Roarke’s stern behavior.

“Very good. Sorry to interrupt, but I need to see Aidan for a minute in the foyer.”

Something was wrong. Maybe some security issue had come up, something only Aidan could handle. And yet, Roarke had sent her a wary glance before leaving with Aidan. Crazy as it sounded, she had the feeling that she was part of the problem.

 

Roarke spun around to face Aidan the moment they were out of the room. “What the hell are you doing?”

At the challenge in Roarke’s voice, the hairs on the back of Aidan’s neck rose and he fought back a snarl. Reacting like a wolf wouldn’t help matters any. He kept his response mild. “What I was assigned to do.”

“You were assigned to watch her, not bring her into our private club! I counted at least six Weres in that room.” He turned to Sylvester, who leaned casually against the reception desk, arms crossed. “Sylvester makes seven.”

“So? We’re allowed to bring business contacts in here. We’ve always done that.”

“She’s not a business contact. She’s a threat to our survival.”

Aidan worked to control his temper. “If Dad would wait for my report instead of sending you over to chew my ass, he’d discover that Emma is no danger to us. She doesn’t believe in werewolves.”

Roarke’s green eyes glittered. “I suppose she told you that.”

“She did.”

“And you, despite your obscenely high IQ, believed her.”

“I did. I do.”

Roarke blew out a breath in disbelief. “Come on, Aidan. She can’t be making all that up.”

“Just because you and I aren’t that creative doesn’t mean she isn’t. But the problem goes beyond that. It’s possible a rogue has contacted her by e-mail and plans to confront her in person.”

“Did you consider that
she
contacted
him
?”

“No. We’ve kept a close eye on all her Internet activity. This is something new, and if it is a rogue, I’ll make sure she never meets him.”

Aidan could have said,
We’ll make sure she never meets him
, but he was no longer willing to share responsibility for Emma’s safety. He would be in charge, which was the only way he could guarantee she’d be all right and the pack’s anonymity would be protected.

Roarke’s belligerence faded. “Have you seen the e-mail?”

“Not yet, but I will. In fact, now that you’ve brought that up, let me take care of something.” Pulling out his phone, he sent a brief message so his tech crew could start the reverse trace.

As he put the phone away, he glanced at Roarke. “Tell Dad I’m here tonight because I’m trying to win her confidence. I’ll know soon what we’re dealing with, and depending on what I find out, Dad might need to get me assigned as her bodyguard for the book tour.”

“Aidan!” Roarke sighed. “Talk about a potential train wreck!”

Aidan’s jaw tightened. “Why?”

“You’re not the one to do this.”

“Of course I am. I’m the most highly trained security specialist we have.”

“And you want her.”

Aidan tried to stare his brother down, but it was no use. Roarke’s senses were as finely tuned as his, and they were brothers, only nineteen months apart. The minute Roarke had walked into the club, he’d known.

So Aidan said the only thing he could. “I’ll control it.”

“What, your johnson?”

That brought a snort from Sylvester.

Usually Aidan rolled with his brother’s cracks, but tonight he wasn’t amused. “The situation, Roarke. I’ll control the situation.”

“You know that’s easier said than done. Having sex with a human is risky in any context, but it’s especially dangerous with this author chick.”

Aidan’s lips curled back from his teeth. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Roarke groaned. “Damn. You’ve gone alpha. Next you’ll be marking her front door with your scent.”

“Bite me.”

“I’m tempted. Look, Aidan, don’t go on this book tour. Okay? If she has to be watched, send somebody else.”

“I don’t trust anyone else to handle it.”

Roarke threw up his hands. “I see my little intervention came way too late. Dad should never have assigned you to this gig. I’ll bet he hasn’t ever cracked one of her books, has he?”

“I doubt it, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“She writes good sex.”

“That’s not—”

“Sure it is, Aidan. I picked up a copy of
Night Shift
today and flipped through it. The woman knows her stuff. On top of that, the studly hero is—wait for it—a werewolf. You’re Emma’s dream guy. Who wouldn’t get sucked in by that ego trip?”

Clearing his throat, Sylvester stepped from behind the reception desk. “I think Roarke has a point. I’ve read all her books, and if I were twenty years younger ...”

Aidan knew then that he was in big trouble. Sylvester was a beloved uncle. Yet Aidan had the urge to go for his throat simply because the older man had indicated a sexual appreciation of Emma’s work.

Aidan raked a hand through his hair. “You’re both right. I need to take myself off this assignment. And I will after we trace the e-mail. Maybe it’s just a kook. Any of the guys can handle a garden-variety kook.”

“Then my work here is done.” Clapping Aidan on the shoulder, Roarke headed for the stairs. “I knew you’d come to your senses, bro,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re too smart to let a woman screw up everything.”

Aidan wasn’t so sure about that. His genius IQ made him very good at his job, but it didn’t seem to be helping him overcome his gut reaction to Emma. And because he couldn’t seem to overcome it, he’d have to assign someone else to guard her. He wondered whether he’d be able to do that.

Chapter 3

Their drinks had arrived, and at first Emma wondered whether she should wait until Aidan returned to take a sip. But the frothy martini, decorated with three coffee beans, called to her. Depending on the problem Aidan had with Roarke, she might not get to stay, and she wanted to know what this new drink tasted like.

Not surprisingly, it tasted like heaven. She was definitely Googling the recipe when she got back to her loft. Or maybe Aidan, who owned the joint, could get her the exact recipe, because she didn’t want a variation of a coffee martini. She wanted this one.

She took a longer sip. Chances were slim she’d get to come here again. If she told Doug about it—and she
would
tell Doug, she vowed for about the third time—she could predict the result. Because he was a man with manly instincts—although they were sometimes obscured by a preoccupation with the tax code—Doug would show up at her next signing so he could meet Aidan Wallace.

That could be interesting. The two men were about the same height, but that was where the resemblance ended. Aidan had the body of a star quarterback. Doug had the body of a star ... bridge player. She admired Doug for his mind, which was a perfect left-brain complement to her overly active right brain. But she’d never kidded herself that his body was a wonder to behold. It was okay—not fat or skinny—just sort of there. Functional.