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

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.

“Maggie, wait,” he called as I stumbled out the front door. I got two steps to my truck before I realized I’d left my keys on Nick’s table. I glanced back to the door, where Nick was limping into the frame.

“Oh, screw it,” I grunted, and took off running down the driveway.

“Maggie!” he yelled, but I was already on the highway, sprinting toward home.

I was running at my top human speed, having put a couple of miles between Nick’s driveway and my feet. A light rain had started to fall, misting over my damp cheeks. Running in my human shape felt right, as if I was bleeding poison from the ragged human wound in my chest with every step. I needed to go through this as a woman, not a wolf. Obviously, my more animal instincts weren’t leading me in the right direction.

I couldn’t put my whole pack—hell, my whole species—in jeopardy because a man happened to curl my toes and give me arm tingles.

My hair clung in damp ropes to my cheeks as my feet ate through the intense climb up the winding mountain road to the valley. It was late September, and the sharp bite of the air was leeching the warmth from my bones, leaving me shivering in my soaked jacket and jeans. The raindrops grew bigger, splashing into my eyes, making me wish for my hat. I would have phased and run the rest of the way, but these were my favorite boots, soggy as they were, and it was a bitch to keep replacing my clothes.

I had to find the positive. I needed this. I needed to feel foolish and humiliated and crazy. It was like cauterizing a wound. The next time I thought about throwing myself at Nick Thatcher, I would remember this feeling, and it would turn me off faster than Lee bragging about his nunchuck collection.

I doubted Nick would want to see me again for a while anyway, I told myself. He probably thought I was nuts. Normal girls didn’t respond to delicious, earth-shattering kisses by running away down an Alaskan highway. Maybe I was nuts. This was like some episode of not-so-temporary insanity. Even if he was this decade’s answer to Fox Mulder, I couldn’t afford to throw myself at good-looking humans just because I got tingles in special places. I needed someone like Clay, someone who understood all the weird drama that came with being a wolf, who could help me continue the line. Nick needed. . .