How to Tame a Werewolf: Seven Brides for Seven Shifters, Book 3 (5 page)

Anything you want, Mr. Spock. The bridge is yours. Take command. Beam me up.
Rather than let him know she would score first place as the wackiest woman he’d ever meet, she simply said, “That’s fine, Spock. Although, be warned, if you stay I might ask a favor from you.”

He smiled again and the blue blossomed in his eyes. “I might ask the same of you.”

It was her turn to lean back in her chair. She wondered if he knew his eyes were blue when his animal wasn’t in control. That flickering gaze made her curious about what he’d been through and her curiosity brought her back to the most important question. What could he possibly want?

He didn’t answer but he hadn’t finished talking. “I have a strong feeling what I want will be a lot harder for you to give. But I’m going ask for it anyway and I’m going to do everything in my power to get it.”

Chapter Six

“Stop fidgeting,” Rue said, as she and Spock walked down East 5th Avenue. Before she could ask him that favor she’d mentioned last night she needed to make sure he could pull off the deception she had planned. He looked like Ian Somers but she was pretty sure he didn’t act like him. Not only that, Rue felt bad for even thinking about the colossal whammy she wanted to perpetrate on Somerfield Vineyards. But she had two days left before the dream of working there went poof for the hundredth time. Only two days to turn in her application for the
sommelier
job! Desperation made women do strange things.

“I’m not fidgeting. I’m not a pup,” Spock said, deadpan and wincing. “Your ex had these tailored to his body and he’s light in the ass.” He grabbed the crotch of the pants and tugged. The gesture made a couple of women in sunglasses giggle as they passed by.

“My boys are crowded.” Spock turned to her and threw his arms out. “Tell me the truth, do I have a camel toe?”

“More like moose knuckle,” Rue said. “I’ll buy you some new pants once we leave the salon.”

Spock stopped walking. “Why are you taking me to a salon?”

Rue did a little fidgeting of her own. “I told you. It’s to say thank you for helping me out three times in one night. You’re like a genie and it’s time for me to pay my debt.”

She glanced sideways to see if he bought it. He leaned in. Thank goodness her five-foot-eleven height didn’t give him far to go. Any more of a height advantage would make his lean more intimidating. His movements were feral and his eyes had gone solid amber again.

“No offense, sweetheart, but you’re lying. That’s a bad way to get me to do you a favor.”

Well, damn. She didn’t know whether to head butt him and run or nip that bottom lip and kiss the life out of him.

“I’m not lying but I’m not sure if you can do what I need yet.” She grabbed his shirt and tugged him into a coffee and donut shop. Good thing the power had come back on. Rue needed coffee and donuts bad. “The salon will answer that question for me.” She grabbed a pair of tongs and started shoving donuts into a waxed bag.

“You want Boston crème?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Churros?”

He held up five fingers and wiggled them.

She handed him the first bag of donuts, grabbed an empty bag and filled it with the long cinnamon-and-sugar-covered pastries. That done she took the donuts back and pressed the Churros into his arms. He finished the first one before she’d ordered their coffee.

“Whether what I have in mind works out or not…” Rue said. She arranged their coffee onto a carryout tray, while he took the donut bag from her, “…you’ll come out of the salon looking amazing. Therefore it’s thanks from me to you no matter how you look at it.”

Spock pondered that for a moment. “You do know I look amazing no matter what? The barista gave us everything at half price and wrote her number on my coffee cup.”

Rue glared back at the cute woman behind the register, who immediately pretended to wipe the counter down. “Dis-re-spect-ful,” Rue mouthed at the barista before opening the shop door and pushing Spock through it.

“What if you were mine?” she said, pointing him across the street.

“I don’t think she cared.” He glanced at the crosswalk, a half a block away. He clearly couldn’t be bothered because he cupped the small of her back and guided her directly across the street. Traffic? Fuck traffic.

Several honks and one screeching stop later, Spock leaned against a streetlight post (thankfully on the sidewalk). Rue kept walking until she realized he wasn’t on her heels like he had been all morning. She turned and went back to where he waited.

“You’ve not coming with me, are you?” she asked.

“Not until you tell me what you want.” He studied her from his height advantage. She got up on her tiptoes. He laughed and his eyes turned blue.

Good, maybe the man would be easier to deal with than the wolf.

“Lay the full story out like a documentary,” he said.

Or maybe the man and the wolf were the same guy. “Remember that vineyard I mentioned?”

“It’s always on my mind,” he said.

“You could’ve said yes and skipped the sarcasm.” She blinked at him and sighed. “There’s a job opening there. They need a new
sommelier
for a wine bar they’re opening called The Grape Escape and—”

Spock dropped his usual calm. “They need a what for a what?”

“A
sommelier
, it’s a wine expert,” she said. He opened his mouth to say more but she wanted to get it all out. “And I need that job. For all the reasons we talked about during the blackout.” She paused not wanting to say the words she typically avoided. “I need that job because Somerfield is the last place my family was happy and because,” she balanced the cardboard coffee tray in one hand and grabbed his arm with the other, “my brother died twelve days later.”

The wild intensity Spock so often gave off softened. He cupped her cheek. “Then you’ve got to go after that job. What’s stopping you?”

She allowed him to comfort her because no one else did. And she needed that simple touch; as much as she needed to know someone cared about her. “I don’t have the credentials for the job. I can do it and do it well. That’s why I’ve been working at a Wine Cellar, well, more like a closet for the last few years. I’ve picked a lot up. But my Groupon classes and stock girl positions aren’t going to impress Cora Somers.”

Spock nodded, his thumb rubbing circles over her cheekbone. “I can see that,” he said.

“But I think she’s a fair lady. If an applicant secures a hell of a recommendation she’ll consider that equal to training.” Off Spock’s puzzled look Rue went on. “I don’t know anyone with the clout to give me the referral I need and I’ve only got two days left and you—”

“I what?” He dropped his caress from her face. She grabbed his wrist and held him in place.

“You’re a double for the missing vineyard heir, Ian Somers,” she said.

His mouth dropped open and he gawked at her. Once again his expression clearly communicated his thoughts. This particular expression blared with incredulity.

“It could work. Okay, you’re an inch or two taller and more rugged. But you could fool anyone who doesn’t know him well. Or hasn’t seen him in awhile. That’s why I need a favor and you’re the only one who can pull if off.” She peered up at him and kept talking. “There’s a party here tonight and it’ll be filled with the wine elite from all over the state. If they think you’re Ian Somers and you lead them to believe I have his blessing that’ll be all the recommendation I need. I’ll make sure the news gets back to Cora Somers. And if too many questions come up about it, I’ll tell his family he’s not ready to come home.” She held up both hands. “Which I know is kind of iffy on the integrity scale but which also has to be true since he hasn’t gone back yet.”

“Maybe he’s dead,” Spock said with the emotionlessness of a true Vulcan.

“Don’t say that.” Rue watched him work through a variety of expressions. “It’s one night,” she said.

She expected her new friend to be stunned but he didn’t look stunned at all. Instead, he appeared contemplative, maybe slightly amused or bemused she couldn’t really say. When he gently tugged out of her grip she let go. Pushing off the streetlight pole, he walked a few paces away from her. After barely a second he turned back.

“You want me to go to a party and impersonate Ian Somers?”

“Um, yes?” she said, far more questioningly than she intended.

He laughed. “How am I supposed to know how Ethan Somerland—”

“Ian Somers,” she corrected.

He bit down on his lip. “How am I supposed to know how this guy acts? How he speaks? How he moves?”

“There are a few videos out there. And he’s been missing for a couple of years. Most people will attribute any weirdness from you to eccentricity or him being a little crazy.”

“Crazy, huh?” he asked. That devilish eyebrow shot up as he finished the question. “If I do this, what do I get out of it?”

Suspicion hit Rue in the gut. Something seemed weird about how easily he’d taken everything in. “What do you want, Mr. Spock?”

“I warn you,” he said. “You’re not going to like it.”

Rue shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of choices left. This matters to me.” She set the coffee down at the base of the streetlight and moved to face him. Resolute in her decision to give him whatever he wanted, she took hold of both his biceps. The muscles were hard and warm beneath her fingers. He was her last viable chance at becoming a part of Somerfield Vineyards. If she could make a home for herself there she knew she could use her family’s happiest memories to bring them back together again. They’d forgive her. They would. She just had to convince this man to help her.

“Name it,” she whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

He dipped so close to her that the tips of their noses touched. “In exchange for impersonating a vineyard heir to help you land the position of
sommelier
,” he said
sommelier
with flair, like someone who’d been saying it all his life, rather than someone who’d learned it minutes ago, “give me the bottle of 1993 Reserve.”

The words punched Rue in the gut much harder than her earlier suspicion had. She stammered before she said, “My Somerfield?”

“The one and only,” Spock replied, his gaze unwaveringly amber.

“Why?”

“Because it’s valuable,” he said, his expression emotionless.

“I can’t.”

“That’s my deal. You won’t need that one bottle once you have the entire vineyard at your disposal anyway.”

“But it’s—”

“It’s the tradeoff,” he said. “I don’t mind being used. I’ve been used before. This time I want something out of it. I won’t walk away with empty hands again.”

Those words shook Rue out of her shock. She’d struck a very painful nerve by asking him to help her deceive an entire family. She could see it in the way the wolf stalked behind his eyes. It hurt her to dredge up old pain for him. She wanted to hug him and tell him to forget the entire thing. But she couldn’t. She’d come too far and had gotten too close.

She took a breath. She supposed a bottle like the 1993 Somerfield could help change his life. The market value was estimated at somewhere between $5,000 and $7,000. For a guy who’d been living on the streets that money could launch a fresh start.

Maybe she didn’t deserve to keep the bottle of Reserve. What she’d planned was dishonest and would by extension play on a mother’s quest for her son. That wasn’t okay. And Rue didn’t deserve to get away with that without paying a price. If she executed her plan she’d owe debts to Spock and to Cora Somers.

Two things happened in that moment. First, she vowed to find Ian Somers and bring him home to his mother. Second, she decided her bottle of 1993 Somerfield Reserve and everything it meant to her were the price she had to pay for both her deception and her redemption.

Dropping her hands to her side, she turned away from Spock and walked back to pick up the coffee tray.

“Deal,” she said. Saying the word burned Rue’s chest. Only one other phrase had ever hurt her more. Those words were: my brother is dead. And that fact was the lone reason she could let the bottle go despite the long gone moment of happiness it represented before death had shattered her life. Somerfield Vineyards symbolized the possibility of bringing her family back together. A job at the vineyards meant more to Rue than any single bottle ever could. Unwilling to linger on her decision, she pointed at a glass front a couple of buildings away. “The salon is over there.”

They entered Jak’s to a welcome from the receptionist and electronic dance music thumping in the background. When asked about an appointment Rue admitted she didn’t have one. What had she been thinking? Turning Spock into Ian Somers was going to max out her credit card and likely destroy her peace of mind. Still, she had to move forward.

“We don’t have any openings on the book. I don’t think I can work you in,” the man behind the counter told them.

“But I can,” a bass voice that vibrated harder than the music said.

Rue and Spock turned right to see the source of that opening. Jak himself stood there, seven full feet of Bengal tiger shifter. He had flawless russet brown skin and onyx hair cropped close on the sides and left long on top. A tight red T-shirt framed his huge arms, and the red theme continued all the way down to his high-top Air Jordan’s. In one word, he was impressive.

“All I need in exchange are before and after photos.”

Unlike earlier, Rue found it very easy to accept this trade. “Deal,” she said smiling.

Jak nodded toward his chair, framed perfectly in the front window so passersby could watch him work.

Once he’d gotten Spock smocked and settled into the chair, Jak turned to Rue. “Now, Ms.…?”

“Uhura,” she said.

Jak’s mouth twisted in a soft smirk. “Ms. Uhura, what do we want to do with this canvas?”

Already prepared for the question, she shoved the photo of Ian Somers from the Somerfield website into the Bengal’s face. He took hold of her hands and pushed the phone back a bit. “I’ve got it,” he said.

Bending to look into the mirror, Jak directed his next question at Spock. “How about you Mr.…?”

“Spock.”

Jak nodded once, slowly. “Call me Khan,” he deadpanned. “Mr. Spock, do you agree to the look your lady wants?”

All it took was a smile from Spock accompanied by tented fingers for Jak to go to work. Of course Rue kept buzzing around the two men, asking questions and adding commentary. She needed perfection, as close to a clone of Ian Somers as they could get. It didn’t take long for Jak to have her escorted to the waiting area where a glass of wine and a magazine were thrust into her hands. Her instructions: “Sit here and stop rocking the boat.”

After a couple of hours’ wait, her foot started tapping loud enough to rival the dance music. That’s when they sent another glass of wine over. She didn’t drink it so much as sip it a little.

Finally Jak summoned her to his station. As she walked towards the Bengal she took stock of her state. Her strides were steady but she had a pleasant little buzz going. Still, she wasn’t tipsy, which was good because what she saw when she peeked around Jak’s massive body would’ve knocked her on her ass. She got giddy on sight. The haircut could only be called sublime; it showed off the sunlit sky eyes that had somehow remained blue since she’d agreed to hand over her bottle.