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

“I know this is going to sound like a line, but I think we need to get you out of those wet clothes,” he said, pulling my boots off. I pushed his hands away and yanked them off myself. “It’s going to get cold in here, even with the blankets.”

“I have an extra set of sweats in here, just in case,” I told him, not bothering to add that they were there “just in case” I woke up naked in a strange place after a run, which was sort of an occupational hazard.

“I’ll turn around,” he said.

I arched my brows, then laughed as he dutifully turned his back and covered his eyes.

When you spend so much time around people who pay no attention to nudity, you forget niceties like modesty. It was sort of strange, but a refreshing change from guys who paid no attention when my boobs were exposed to God and everybody. It was nice to have a little mystery about me . . . you know, beyond the furry issue.

I peeled the wet shirt over my head and slid into the warm, dry sweatshirt. It felt absolutely delicious against my skin. It took a bit of effort to fight my way out of the wet jeans, but it was worth it to pull on the dry sweatpants.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and I was seventy-five percent sure we weren’t going to die, I was suddenly so tired I felt as if I’d just run a marathon. I pulled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. I wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but I was comfortable and warm. I couldn’t want much else.

“You decent?” he asked.

“Depends on who you ask,” I retorted.

He turned, pulling the emergency bag open. “And for dinner, we have our choice of protein bars that taste like peanut butter or protein bars that taste like chocolate and dirt. Paired with a lovely domestic bottled water.”

“I think I’m going to go with the peanut butter,” I said, shuddering. “The chocolate and dirt one lives up to its reputation.”

“Excellent choice,” he said, tossing the packet to me.

I stripped off the foil and shoved most of the protein bar into my mouth. Between the run and keeping warm, my body was starved for calories. His eyes went wide, and I swallowed. I tended to forget my table manners when I was hungry.

“I eat when I’m nervous,” I told him.

“How’s your head?”

“Feels like there’s a drunk marching band in there,” I said, gingerly rubbing my temple. “And the tubas are way off-key.”

“Well, your pupils look good, but we should probably keep you awake for a while, just in case you have a concussion,” he said. “Talk to me. Why’d you run off like that earlier?”

“You couldn’t think of something a little more small-talkish before diving right into the deep end?” I griped.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

“Blue.” I sighed, staring up into his eyes and hating myself for being such a sappy masochist.

“What do you think of the Red Wings’ chances this season?”

“They’ll be fine until the Avalanche take the ice,” I muttered, biting off another hunk of protein bar.

He snorted. “OK, then, why did you run off earlier?”

“I don’t like how you make me feel,” I said, my lips somewhat loosened by exhaustion, warm dry clothes, and the weight of the protein bar in my belly.

His eyes widened in alarm. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean—”

“No, I mean I like you, too much. You make me forget. You make me feel like you’re more important than anything, and I can’t let that be.”

“Why not?” he asked, pushing my hair behind my ears.

“I have to take care of everybody,” I said, yawning.

“And who takes care of you?”

I smiled at him. “Me.”