How to Tame a Werewolf: Seven Brides for Seven Shifters, Book 3 (12 page)

Ian smiled into her mouth as her pleasure overtook her. His lids lowered and he gripped her shoulders from underneath as his orgasm ripped through him. When he opened his eyes the intensity of his pleasure caused his irises to go supernova. The blue sparked in pinprick bursts of light while the amber sunburst flared with passion.

Sweat soaked and trembling, they lay there for a good long time. When her brain started working again, Rue panicked. She tried to sit up but Ian held her to his chest and chuckled. “I’m wearing a condom, Kitty.”

She sighed and melted back into him. “When did you do that?” she asked.

His tsk was somehow gruff and masculine. “You keep calling me your magic man but clearly you don’t believe it.” He kissed the crown of her head.

“Oh,” she said, realizing she’d come much too far. “I believe it.”

In the silence that followed Ian dozed. Rue tried to enjoy the afterglow but her gaze kept darting through the tall grasses in the planters around them. She couldn’t shake the sense someone was watching them.

Worried by the possibility of an unseen stalker, she kept watch for the rest of the night.

Chapter Fifteen

There were a couple of ways to make a man torture you. Rue had taught herself those lessons well. For example, you could strand him with the dinner bill, or knock him off a bridge and crack his head open; you could also ditch him at an airport, or seduce him into breaking his vow of chastity.

“Trust me,” she mumbled to herself as she shoveled another pile of literal tons of fermented grape skins out of a 12,000-gallon steel tank. “All those methods encourage, maybe even beg a man to take vengeance on your fragile little soul.”

A week ago she’d woken up in Ian’s bed after the most mind altering, addictive sex in the known universe. The pile of blankets on the couch had led her to believe he’d carried her inside from the terraces after sex, put her in his bed, and slept on the couch. Since they really hadn’t established perimeters for what to do after sexing each other’s brains out the separate sleeping arrangements made sense.

The pair of boots he’d stuck in her face with the command to “Get ready to go to work” was perfectly understandable as well. He’d told her he was going to work her into exhaustion. She’d accepted that as her punishment for ditching him and, um, stuff.

Taking a break she looked around at the hills of what looked like bright purple raisins but smelled luscious and ripe. Who knew so many discarded grape skins went into making wine? She sighed and, much like she’d figuratively done with her life, she kept shoveling.

Every morning, when Ian assigned her some task that required she break her back, her fingers, or at the least her nails—and also made her stink like she’d launched a boycott against baths—she’d accepted her assignments without grousing.

Somewhere around midday each day she got to shower, change clothes, and go work with Cora in the Somerfield offices or at The Grape Escape site. And that worked for her. If Rue had ever planned to be married, which she hadn’t…she’d want a mother-in-law as phenomenal as Cora. Underneath that perfectly polished exterior, featuring diction sharp enough to cut, and impatience with anything subpar, Cora Somers was supportive and kind and funny as hell. On top of that she was one hell of a teacher too.

Actually, so was Ian. Rue had learned so much about running the vineyard in the time he’d been torturing her. When she had questions he taught her more than the how to do things, he also taught her the why.

Therefore Rue didn’t have a problem with most of the work she’d done in the last week. Secretly, she’d enjoyed it all. Her one complaint was Ian refused to talk to her about what happened between them. Neither one of them planned for romantic fireworks, but their bodies and their animals ganged up on them. They needed to figure out what their attraction and…
feelings
for each other meant. Especially since Rue had worked herself into a small panic worrying that her
feelings
for Ian might mean bad luck for him.

But the wolf refused to say anything to her that didn’t have to do with wine barrels, bung plugs and tartaric acid. Oh, she couldn’t forget “Put on this safety gear and shovel that into this.” He’d told her that last thing more than a few times regarding various piles of stuff.

In the evenings he often went to handle pack business. At least, that’s what he mumbled on the way out. From what she could tell he and Garrett Westlake had spent a lot of time together. She wondered how that was going. The two men respected one another but they didn’t seem to like each other very much. Rue would’ve worried Ian’s time with Garrett meant he saw a lot of Lennox but the tension between the alpha couple was just as clear as the begrudging respect between the two males. Rue had noticed it on her own but Cora had confirmed that Garrett and Lennox were separated because Lennox had certain issues Garrett “quite literally couldn’t live with.”

Rue sighed. Although Ian said he no longer loved the lovely Lennox, seeing her caused him pain. If he were over what had happened on their wedding day those feelings wouldn’t be as intense as they were. Rue knew that. She just wished Ian recognized it too.

She needed to talk to him. Not just about their thing but also about the eerie feeling she continued to have, as if someone was watching her from just past the edge of her senses. Her instincts told her danger lurked nearby. She couldn’t prove the threat but that eerie feeling was a cold sensory wind in her mind. Those extra senses had something to do with her healing ability. Since she’d turned thirteen she had a certain awareness of the life around her. Plus, as Rule #2 dictated, she couldn’t give up. Between the stalker and their…
feelings
, Ian Somers was going to talk to her.

Finished with shoveling the fermented grape skins out of the first fermentation tank, Rue rinsed the whole thing down with a high-pressure hose and climbed out through the hatch. She’d barely gotten out of her baseball cap and the acid green safety suit Ian insisted she wear, when he strode passed the tanks looking delectable in soft khaki trousers and a dark green Henley.

“Ian,” she called out, jogging to catch up to him.

“Hey, Kitty,” he said, without looking at her. His unbroken pace forced her to trot to keep up with him. They walked out of the heavy doors of the fermentation facility into the sunlight.

“Did you finish your work?” he asked. He looked so stern and sexy. Rue wanted to jump on his back and nibble on his ear. Or maybe that was her cat. The ocelot in her still got off on preening for him. She wanted him to admire her creamy fur and markings as he petted her. Since she and her cat would have to get him to look directly at her in order for him to admire her, she’d need to fix the fact he kept avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, Trash Man, Spock, Magic Man, Ian Somers, my sometimes lover,” she said, stopping cold and scowling at him. A few passing vineyard workers snickered. Reddening, Ian begrudgingly walked back to hear her out.

“I’ve finished my work.” She began ticking things off on her fingers. “I don’t have to go to The Grape Escape because your mother and I have finished the preliminary orders and hiring. She’s gone for a visit with a friend.” Another finger. “I’m not going to go away. And, yes, the sex messed with my head too.” She’d reached her pinky so she poked him in the forehead with it. (There were benefits to being tall.) “With all of that accounted for, you’re going to have to talk to me.”

Ian cupped her chin in his large rough palm. “Talk to you about what?”

Damn. She forgot.

Since she had no idea what she’d been going on about, Rue leaned into his touch and purred. Ian gripped her chin a bit harder. “You know what position I’m in. I need to slow down.” He put hard emphasis on each word of his last statement. “I’m on the verge of losing my pack because I lost control of my emotions over a woman. Now, when I need to fight to be alpha, all I can think about is a woman.” He shook his head and his grip softened. “How am I supposed to prove I won’t go emotionally nuclear when all I can think about is burying myself in you, talking to you, playing games with you, asking you for your opinion?”

He released her chin and stalked off in his original direction. She followed him but he refused to listen to her. She needed to talk about the situation because she worried her heart was changing. That could be bad. Especially with the stalker she sensed waiting in the shadows. Even now, Rue could feel cruel eyes on them. She scanned the area in a careful turn until she faced Ian again.

He stopped so abruptly she ran into his back. Those amber eyes looked down at her over his shoulder. “Let’s talk this out later.” He pointed at his great grandfather. “Pop-pop and I are leaving to go see my friend Juliana’s babies at her Sip and See.”

Pop-pop grumped. “Yes, we are. Now get in the car, Rue.”

Ian’s protests were lost in the white noise of Rue’s newfound sense of wonder. The sight of the car parked behind Pop-pop stunned her. Ian owned a cherry 1967 Impala ragtop painted in a metallic blue, two shades darker than his natural eye color. She swallowed hard. Such a hot car. American heavy metal at its best.

Pop-pop pointed from Ian to Rue with his cane. “I think your car just gave your woman an orgasm.” With that said, the elder man climbed into the backseat and waited. When the pair of them didn’t move fast enough the old guy poked the steering wheel and honked the horn at them.

Rue rushed to jump into the passenger seat before Ian could leave her behind. “Put on your seatbelt,” he grumbled.

“Do you care if I die?” she asked sweetly.

His amber gaze blazed with feral intensity. “Don’t play with me, Rue.”

“Okay, sweetie, okay,” she fastened the belt. “I don’t know why you’re so pissed. Playing with each other is what we do best.”

A few minutes later they arrived at Averdeen Manor, the place where Pop-pop said Juliana Perlas (mate to Daz Warren,
damn her!
) was holding a Sip and See for her twin baby wolverines.

Rue immediately felt safe at the huge Queen Anne-style home. She wanted to find a sunny spot on the expansive porch that wrapped around the house, and stretch out for a nap. Averdeen Manor seemed alive with magic and Rue immediately understood what Lennox had offered her at the party after the pack meeting: sanctuary. That’s what Lennox’s home was. In that moment Rue began to think of Lennox differently; no one who was selfish or manipulative could live in the place, much less be its owner, without impacting the aura. Even the sense of being watched by malevolent eyes eased when Rue stepped out of Ian’s car and onto Averdeen grounds.

A skinny golden brown grandma sat on the porch enjoying the fall day in a swing. Her hair was pulled into a big kinky bun at her nape and she wore a tracksuit covered in sequins and zipped up to her chin. Rue immediately liked her when they stepped up onto the porch. Especially when she spoke in a crisp crackling voice. “Hullo, Rue, I’m Gran. I’m glad you finally made it. It took you a while. Much longer than I expected.”

Both Rue and Ian stopped cold. What and how? Pop-pop was unaffected as he moved to an Adirondack chair forming an L with Gran’s swing. Making himself comfortable, Pop-pop sat down, set aside his cane and glared at the Monopoly board on the white wicker and glass-topped table in front of him, then at Gran. “Genevieve Averdeen,” he said, his Egyptian accent suddenly thick. “You have stolen some of my properties, yes?”

“Don’t mess with me today, Amon.” Gran stood indignantly, and straightened her sparkling purple tracksuit jacket. “I’ve been waiting to see Ian.” Turning to the younger man she gestured. “Come here.”

Ian grinned, walking over to fall into the small woman’s arms. She hugged him tight, pounding his back with tears in her eyes. Rue was so taken with the reunion she nearly missed the flash of red behind Gran’s back. Unfortunately, Ian didn’t miss it at all. At least he didn’t miss getting hit. Gran rained whacks with a red duck-billed umbrella down on his neck and shoulders like an avenging angel. Ian ducked and dodged, stumbling backwards to pound on the front door.

When Daz Warren opened up, Ian dashed inside without a word. Rue remained on the porch, staring at Gran. “What?” Gran asked, puffing up with a smirk. “You looking to avenge your mate?”

Rue shook her head. That’s not what she wanted to do at all. She walked over and wrapped her arms around Lennox’s grandmother. She now understood what Ian had lost. The women in this family were powerful and they carried enough love within them to heal better than Rue’s ability could. Rather than chastise Ian the way every other person in his life had, Gran had shown him how much she missed him in a way that made him laugh. No guilt or apologies required. Rue hugged tighter and sighed when Gran’s thin arms wrapped her up with surprising strength.

Gran gently pulled back, shooing Rue away. “Alright. Alright.” She grinned and patted Rue’s cheek. “You go on in and stop mussing my sequins.”

Daz held the door open for her. He grinned and Rue decided he was a demon from hell, sent by the devil to lay waste to the women and gay men of planet earth. He exuded sex and power.

“Don’t tell me you love me. I’ve got other guests who need my attention,” Daz said.

Rue saw she needed to set the YouTube star straight. “It’s not love, Mr. Warren. It’s an admiration strongly resembling obsession. And it’s necessary for me to finish telling you all about it since I got interrupted last week at the party.”

Daz nodded, stroking his short dark beard. “My mate carries a shotgun,” he offered.

“Understood,” Rue said as she moved past him into the house.

Laughter followed and Daz called out to Rue, “Come meet her.”

Daz led her to an elevated sitting area on the far right side of the den. His mate Juliana, or Jules as most people called her, sat on a small loveseat and held court. Jules had fabulous black glossy hair that fell in a single thick wave over her shoulder. As a show of personal style, the curvy Filipino woman had a blue strip dyed into it. At least Rue guessed the blue dye was a style choice until Jules said to another guest, “…and I told Daz, fuck that shit.” Ah okay, blue strip explained—as in curses a blue streak.

“Blue,” Daz said, going to stand beside his mate. “Meet Ian’s future mate, Rue.”

Jules’s light brown eyes lit up. “Hey, girl, it’s good to meet you.”

“Hi,” Rue said. “It’s nice to meet you too, honey.” On a sly glance at Daz, whose dark copper-bronze skin enhanced his gorgeousness, she added, “Congratulations.”

Jules tugged on her ear. “Yeah, sometimes I look at him and yell out ‘Goddamn, Dashiell Warren. Goddamn!’” The couple shared a laugh at what must be an inside joke. “Oh, but did you mean the babies?”

Rue grinned. “Oh yeah, there are babies. Where are they?”

Both Daz and Jules frowned. “One of them has to be with Garrett. At least one of the two is always with Garrett.” This time the look the couple shared held amusement tinged with sadness.

“You looking for us,” said a baritone voice bordering on bass. Garrett walked into the room, all six-foot-five inches of broad-shouldered muscular wolf with a tiny bald baby nestled in the crook of his arm.

“There’s my little Brielle,” Jules said, her motherly love filling the room with warmth. Rue studied Garrett and wondered if she’d looked like that when her father held her as a baby. The two shifters weren’t that different. Both were tall, broad-shouldered brown men of visually indeterminate ancestry and ancient bloodlines. But while you had to guess what mixture of cultures had made Garrett into a hawkishly handsome man, with Abasi Gray-Sayf you’d bet on North Africa and you’d be right.