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

“You could do all that,” I pointed out.

He grinned. “I’m not the alpha, oh great leader. We both know if I started doing your job for you, I’d wake up missing parts.”

“Parts that I hold in high esteem,” Mo added, wandering down the bar to take an order.

“Is that where she holds them?” I asked, snickering. Cooper growled at me. “Fine, I’ll play nice, for now.”

I turned to hop off my bar stool, and there he was, standing in front of me in all his plaid-clad glory.

This close, I could appreciate Dr. Thatcher all the better. He was pretty. The beard almost camouflaged the generous curve of his lips. It drew the eye away from the fine, straight nose. Maybe that was the point. You could catch a lot of crap in this kind of place, being a pretty boy. And from what my cousin Caleb told me, you could get some unwanted attention from truckers at rest stops.

Still, he was tall and broad-shouldered and moved with a sort of competence. And Geek Squad was hiding some serious muscles under that Simpsons T-shirt and flannel. I started having some weird waking-dream hallucination in which I pictured him busting into the saloon like Aragorn entering the royal halls of Rohan in Lord of the Rings. As the Dr. Thatcher-Aragorn hybrid made his away across the floor in full armor, I stared up at him with saucer eyes and a mouth full of drool but no words. All I could manage in the scope of this guy’s little grin was an incredibly un-wolf-like squeak.

This was a first for me. I didn’t have trouble talking to guys. Hell, Samson and Cooper named me an “honorary dude” when we were kids, to save their pride after losing so many foot races to their baby sister. But I was used to relating to guys on that familiar, buddy-buddy level. The Grahams are related to almost every family in our little valley. It’s difficult to find a potential date who doesn’t cross some creepy genetic boundaries.

And this was the point where I realized that I was having my own personal mental vacation, staring blankly at a complete stranger.

“Dr. Thatcher, this is my sister-in-law, Maggie,” Mo said, filling the awkward silence.

“I’m Nick Thatcher,” he said, stretching out his hand.

I froze. Cooper watched me, his brow furrowed. Normally, he would be afraid that I would punch Nick. At the moment, I think he was afraid I was going to throw up on Nick.

Nick reached forward, grabbed my motionless hand, and shook it. As he moved closer, his scent hit me full force, and I had to put a hand on the bar to steady myself. New leaves. Thanksgiving dinner. A smoky note of moss. I narrowed my eyes at him. I recognized that smell.

The hiker. Dr. The Truth Is Out There had been wandering in my backyard.

“I know who you are,” I said, looking up to find those seawater eyes of his pinning me to the floor. He was staring me down. Nobody stared me down! Eye contact is a serious no-no with predators. In the animal kingdom, it basically says, “I’m not afraid of you. I plan on taking your food and your dignity, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

I found it was a lot easier to be annoyed by that than hypnotized by his evil baby blues. I ratcheted my chin up a few degrees. “What brings you to our neck of the woods, Dr. Thatcher?”

He smiled. “Just a little research trip. I think I disappointed some of the locals, though. They heard ‘doctor’ and thought a new MD had come to town.”

I entertained myself with the image of the locals showing up at Dr. Thatcher’s door, requesting help for hemorrhoids and plantar warts.

“Well, we don’t get a lot of academics up here.” I tilted my head and smiled back, a hundred percent guile-free. “In fact, how did you hear about Grundy? Was there an ad or a brochure that caught your attention?”

The doctor was an equally skilled bullshitter, which earned him a little bit of my grudging respect. There was no trace of hesitation as he said, “Something like that.”

He smirked. And I wanted to lick his chin. I actually had to keep my jaw tense to fight the urge. Sensing the weird energy that seemed to be swirling around my body, Cooper’s eyebrow winged up to his hairline. Mo leaned against the counter, her head whipping back and forth as if she was watching some sort of dirty tennis game.

“So, Maggie, do you live nearby?” The question seemed loaded, just by the tone Nick was using. I stared at him, trying to decipher the slight tilt to his head. A good hunter excels at interpreting body language, whether it’s an elk preparing to bolt or a guy sneaking peeks at your ass. Dr. Thatcher already knew where I lived. I could only assume he had asked me that because he wanted to talk about the valley.

“Not too far,” I said blithely.

“I was thinking Maggie might be able to show you around the area, Nick.”

My facade dropped for a second, and I shot my brother a meaningful look, the meaning being “shut the hell up.”

Cooper didn’t even blink, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Well, Nick heard I was a field guide, asked me to take him on some of the tougher trails around here. But I really don’t have time in my schedule. And since you’re the only one who knows the area almost as well I do . . .”

“That won’t be possible,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ve gotta work.”o;Baby sister, when your wife looks like that”—he pointed toward Mo’s kitchen ballet—“and cooks like this”—he scooped up some homemade chips and popped them into his mouth—“being whipped isn’t so bad.”

“Ew.”

“I take it Mo told you about Dr. Thatcher?”

My fragile good mood dissipated like the steam from Mo’s buttermilk biscuits. “This guy is trouble, Coop. He’s already come to the conclusion that we exist. Now he’s just trying to confirm his theories on ‘pack structure’ and ‘mating rituals’ for some ‘groundbreaking’ book he’s working on. Just the fact that he actually used the words ‘mating rituals’ makes me want to punch him in the mouth.”