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

Startled, Nick blushed as he pulled away and looked toward the screen. “I simply enjoy the aesthetics and storytelling involved. I don’t take it to the creepy fan-boy level.”

“Really?” I smirked at him. “How many conventions have you been to?”

“Three, but only because my college roommate dragged me . . .” he spluttered. “Fine, there was a fourth incident as well. But just because the guy who played Chekov was auctioning off one of his communicators for charity.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You know, even when you look past the great story lines and the compelling characters, the show is worth watching because it was groundbreaking. Star Trek was one of the first network shows to reflect America’s emerging youth counterculture. At the time, television was a wasteland of picture-perfect nuclear families and white-hat-wearing cowboys. There were no flaws, no textures. It was one of the first shows to really examine class warfare, racial justice, sexual equality, the role of technology in society,” he said, ticking the subjects off on his fingers as he got more and more flustered.

I cannot explain why the “professor” tone he used while passionately extolling the virtues of geek porn sent tingles to my special places. All I knew was that I was having a hard time staying on my side of the couch. So, instead, I feigned disinterest and snickered. “And it was the first network show to feature half-naked alien chicks dressed in aluminum-foil swimwear.”

“OK, fine, now we’re watching it.” He nudged me down onto the couch and slowly lowered himself onto a special doughnut pillow. I sank into the soft cushions, watching as he manipulated the DVD system he’d obviously installed on top of Susie’s TV. Susie was sweet but not exactly techno-savvy.

He clicked on some episode called “The City on the Edge of Forever,” and the theme music started. From a little cooler he kept near the couch, he offered me a pack of Sour Patch Kids and a Coke. I wondered where to put my hands. Well, I knew where I wanted to put them, but I think that would probably be a felony if I did it without warning him first. I crossed my arms over my chest for safekeeping.

This was strangely pleasant. I’d never done DVDs as a dating activity. I didn’t bring guys home. I didn’t force them into awkward interactions with my mom or brothers. Because that could end badly. And bloodily.

I was hyperaware of Nick, the warmth from his body, the hints of his scent wafting toward me, luring me closer to him. His arm was stretched over the back of the couch as he struggled to find a comfortable position to sit. His fingers played with the ends of my hair as we watched Captain Kirk kick ass and make intergalactic booty calls. I found Spock oddly hot, though, considering my recent nerd-hag leanings, this wasn’t surprising.

Still, three episodes later, I wondered aloud, “Why would anyone on the crew put on a red shirt? Honestly, it’s like they’re standing in front of their closet, and they’re thinking, ‘Yellow? Blue? Nah, today’s a good day to die.’ “

“Red shirts meant you were part of the operations crew, who spent most of their time in the engine room or on security duty, off-camera, so the audience didn’t care much about them.” Nick tilted the bowl of popcorn we were sharing toward me. “The writers needed a way to ramp up the violence without killing off characters people were fond of.”

“Like on The A-Team or G.I. Joe.” I nodded. “When the bad guys would shoot and shoot at the good guys but never seemed to hit anybody?”

Nick’s face was a mockery of solemnity. He clutched my hands to his chest. “Marry me and have my babies.”

My voice was a little shaky when I chucked a licorice rope at him and said, “In your dreams, Thatcher.”

“Well, until humans start procreating like seahorses or penguins, you would be the designated egg bearer.”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you? You have to be the smartest person in the room.”

“Doctor of zoology. It’s what I do,” he said as he popped a few more gummy candies into his mouth.

“Nerd.”

“Oh, come on, you love it,” he said. When I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and shook my head, he gently tucked his fingers under my chin and brought my face level with his. “You like that I’m smart. You like that I’m different from most of the guys you know. You even like the fact that I could be just a little bit crazy. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

My eyes narrowed at him. Damn it, he was right. But I wasn’t about to admit that. It would give him too much power. So I gave him a speculative look. “You’re a very direct nerd,” I mused.

“I just want us to be on the same page,” he said, leaning close to me.

Despite my saner, sensible half’s screaming at me to back away, to get my horny wolf ass back to my truck, I stayed still, feeling more like prey than predator for the first time in my life. He was cautious in his approach, just barely brushing his lips over my own, the faintest whisper of flesh against flesh. I sighed, mingling my breath with his. His thumbs traced lightly over my cheekbones, down the line of my jaw. I wrapped my arms around his waist as he drew me closer, parting my lips with the tip of his tongue.

Boy and howdy. I felt warm from the toes up, like the first flash of heat that comes just before phasing. And I couldn’t seem to keep my hands still. They kept moving over the small of Nick’s back, holding him to me.

I was lost, and it felt nice. No worries. No responsibilities. Just warmth and peace and a pleasant coil of pressure building in my belly.

“Maggie,” he whispered, and my heart thundered in my ears. When his fingertips grazed the hollow of my throat, I jumped, my own fingertips digging into the rear of Nick’s sweats. I felt papery bandages crinkle underneath the cotton. Nick yelped. My eyes went wide. I remembered with a flush of guilt that I’d been the one to hurt him. As a wolf. While he was investigating us. And all of the reasons not to be anywhere near Nick came crashing down on me again.

Shit.

I gasped and scrambled back.

“What?” he asked. “It’s not that bad. We can work around it.”

“I’ve got to go,” I said, leaping off of the couch and backing down the hall.