The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf (Naked Werewolf 2)

Brilliant, I know. I was considering a career in speechwriting if this whole werewolf-leadership thing didn’t work out.

I forced myself out of the truck and considered Susie’s former home. “Susie Q” was the town’s former postmaster and the first victim of Eli’s weird string of attacks. I’d like to think that she was just a victim of opportunity, that Eli had stumbled across her as she was letting her ridiculous little wiener dog, Oscar, out to pee. Because the possibility that he spent time stalking a harmless, though eccentric, middle-aged country music fan was plain icky.

Susie saw the world through Dolly Parton–colored glasses, you might say. Platinum blond and blessed with more boobs than sense, Susie wore tight western shirts and jeans that looked painted on. But when it came to running the post office, she’d been all business, save for the fact that she kept Oscar in the mailroom for company.

Mo took Oscar in after Susie moved in with her daughter to recover from her injuries. When Susie’s daughter claimed to be asthmatic and allergic, Mo kept him. As a rule, werewolves don’t keep dogs. There are food-competition issues. However, Cooper considered it a mission of mercy. Susie was awfully fond of doggie sweaters.

Shaken from my reminiscing by the sound of a TV clicking on inside the house, I raised my hand to knock. But I lost my nerve, turning on my heel and preparing to dash for the truck. I’d taken a step when I heard the door open behind me.

Double damn it.

“Maggie?”

Nick was looking all cute and rumpled, wearing sweats and a Tribhuvan University T-shirt. His hair was mussed, and he was limping a little, but he didn’t look too bad.

“Hi,” I said hesitantly. “I just wanted to say thanks for the pie. That was very thoughtful. And I didn’t get your calls. I left my phone in my truck a few days ago, and the battery died. I hardly ever use it; I don’t know why Mom gave you that number. Well, uh, see ya.”

“Wait,” he said, wincing as he stepped toward me. “Uh, if I’d started calling sooner, I might have gotten you before the battery died. I actually hiked by the valley to try to work up the nerve to try to talk to you, when this happened.”

“Why did you wait so long?” I asked, trying to keep the demanding tone at bay.

“Holding on to some scrap of my male pride?”

“Says the man holding a special sittin’ pillow,” I noted.

“It’s a small scrap,” he said, leading me into the house. The hitch in his stride needled at me. Watching him struggle down the hall, I wondered how he’d made it back to his truck from the valley. And I felt a cold flush of guilt and fear spread through me, thinking of what might have happened to him if he hadn’t been able to get to the truck. The image of him sprawled on the dirt, defenseless, unable to get to help, tore a hole through my chest, leaving me swaying dizzily against the wall. I took a deep breath, and Nick heard the huffing sound. He turned, his brow furrowed.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asked, closing his fingers around my bicep, the warmth of his hand seeping through my sleeve. “Your face just went really pale.”

I let a long breath stream out of my nostrils, marveling at the electric tingles traveling from his hand to my arm, easing the ache in my chest. I gave him a shaky smile. “I’m fine,” I promised him, looking up and gaping at my surroundings. “I’m just allergic to suede and rhinestones.”

Susie’s house looked as if she’d decorated from Roy Rogers’s garage sale. The sofa was covered in denim-colored suede and had Bedazzled pillows made of red bandanas. There were posters for old country-western acts such as Hank Williams Sr. and Patsy Cline on the walls. There was even a longhorn skull over the mantle, where most of us would put a moose head or a particularly impressive fish.

The only sign of Nick’s presence was a pair of night-vision goggles on the wagon-wheel coffee table and a laptop on the kitchen table, surrounded by books piled in wobbly stacks. They made a nice holding pen for the random pages of loose-leaf paper strewn around, covered in Nick’s neat block lettering. There were little sketches in the margins, of wolves, of the moon in various stages. I laid my keys on the table and picked up one of the more complicated pictures, a pair of wide, heavily lashed eyes. I tore my gaze away from the little drawings and smirked at the cow skull. “I had no idea that you were such a huge country-western fan.”

He shuddered. “I’m not, but apparently, Susie’s daughter wanted to leave the house furnished for renters.”

“Meaning she didn’t want the cowboy look encroaching on her carefully decorated McMansion,” I said, snorting. He shrugged. “Doesn’t it make you feel a little weird, living in Susie’s house while reading about her attack?”

“Not really. It keeps it more real for me, reminds me that I’m dealing with actual people. Susie seemed like a nice lady. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.” He was watching my face for signs of change, deception.

I gave him a placid smile. “Susie is a nice lady, and she’s lucky to be alive. Abner Golightly, another nice person, wasn’t so lucky.”

He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I know we’ve gotten off on a, well, bizarre foot here. I know you think I’m nuts. And I know that you’re an unusual girl, so the usual dating tactics aren’t going to work with you. So I’m going to lay all my cards on the table, since that’s something you seem to respect. I like you. A lot. I like that you’re contrary and know how to say what you think. And you’re beautiful and strong and a little peculiar.”

“Peculiar?”

“I love peculiar,” he assured me, edging slightly closer, his voice husky. “Peculiar is sort of my thing.”

Bolder now, he moved closer, bringing with him that delicious scent of man and spice and woods. I watched his cobalt eyes come closer and closer to my face as he leaned toward me. His mouth was a hair’s breadth away from my lips. I was torn between praying he would kiss me and hoping he wouldn’t, so my life wouldn’t get even more complicated. I whispered, “You’re very confident, Dr. Thatcher.”

“I’m faking most of it,” he assured me as he leaned closer bit by bit.

Behind him, I saw Susie’s less-than-plasma television showing a very young William Shatner romping with a green-skinned chick in a silver bikini. On the top of the entertainment center, I saw a DVD set labeled “Star Trek: The Complete Original Series.” The man had driven thousands of miles away from civilization, and he’d brought his favorite DVDs. I couldn’t decide if that was adorable or idiotic.

“Why am I not surprised?” I exclaimed. “You’re a Trekkie.”

Just call me Maggie Graham, Moment Ruiner.