The Wolf and the Sheep (Wolf 1)

When Martin looked at me, fatherly pride radiated from his smile. “Amazing, isn’t she?”

I hadn’t clapped for her, and I continued to relax in my seat as everyone else dispersed.

“I know I’m asking you for the favor, but you couldn’t do better than Arwen Greco.”

I wouldn’t insult the man with a sarcastic comment, so I remained silent. She was definitely beautiful. If I saw her in a bar, I would have bought her a drink. That voice would be amazing to listen to in bed. But no amount of beauty or talent could make me grateful for this marriage. She could give me beautiful children…but that wasn’t relevant because I didn’t want any.

Martin took me backstage, and after weaving through different members of the production, we approached Arwen from behind. She was sitting at her dressing table, the white bulbs sticking out of the mirror frame to give her the ultimate lighting. She pulled the ribbon and flower out of her hair, letting the thick strands fall across her shoulders and slender neck.

We stopped behind her, and that’s when I recognized this vantage point. This was exactly where she’d been sitting when the photograph was taken, which was then turned into a portrait.

I felt as if I’d stepped back in time, to the moment I met her countenance for the first time.

She looked up and recognized her father in the mirror. Within seconds, her carefree expression faded into one of obvious dislike. Her eyes fell in disappointment, and her anger was seething. It was the same look I gave my father—so I recognized it right away.

She turned around on her stool and rose to her feet, her curves outlined in the skintight clothing that could barely stretch enough to allow her lungs to expand to make those incredible sounds. Her waistline was incredibly slender, so small my fingers could cup one side of her waist completely. Her petite stature didn’t mask her womanly charm, especially her fuckable chest. “What are you doing here?” She ignored me completely and faced her father with enough fire that it seemed like she could breathe it out of her mouth like a dragon.

Martin remained calm despite his daughter’s rage. “Arwen, I’d like you to meet Maverick—”

It was the first time she looked at me, and she didn’t look at me the way other women did. She wasn’t the least bit attracted to me, impressed with my broad shoulders or the way I filled out my suit. My structured jawline had no effect on her at all. She was indifferent. “It’s not nice to meet you. Disregard whatever my father told you. I’m not marrying you.” She grabbed her purse then stormed past us and headed to the exit.

With a stony face, I turned back to Martin, realizing I’d made the wrong assumption. This woman despised this plan as much as I did, but instead of being relieved at the notion, I was concerned. Neither one of us wanted to participate in this vile arrangement proposed by our fathers, but if it didn’t happen, my mother would never be avenged. My father would never find peace.

Martin sighed. “I’m sorry…she’s a little stubborn.”

“A little?”

He shrugged. “Gets it from her mother. She’ll come around…eventually.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. “I’ll try to talk to her.”

Martin released a sarcastic chuckle. “Maybe you are used to making mountains move—but not this one.”

She left out of the back exit and took the stairs to the sidewalk near the road.

I caught up with her, moving toward her as her heels clapped against the concrete path. She was still in the shadow of the theater, close to the statues of the two lions that protected the grounds of this historical landmark.

“Arwen.”

She stilled at the sound of her name, jumping because she’d assumed she was alone when she ducked out of her secret passageway. She turned on her heel and looked at me with the same fierce expression as before, her purse hanging off her shoulder. Now she looked even angrier at my appearance. “I said I don’t want to marry you—”

“And I want to marry you even less.”

Finally, she shut her mouth, shocked that I was the first man who didn’t want her. She pivoted the rest of her body and faced me, suspicion in her eyes.

“I have no interest in being a married man. There’s no woman on this earth that could possibly keep my attention long enough. I like my life the way it is—working, drinking, and fucking. You may be beautiful, but not beautiful enough.”

She never dropped her guard, but she didn’t seem offended by the rude comment I’d just launched at her. Her hoop earrings shifted with every movement she made, reflecting the distant light from the street corner. It was a warm night, and a gleam of sweat formed down her cleavage. “Then why are you chasing me?”