Forever Werewolf

Lexi beat a fist on the door, and it swung inside on the third pound, almost hitting the grinning werewolf in the face. Wet hair dripped onto his shoulders and spilled in tears down his bare, buff chest. She found herself following the trail of water down, down over rigid abs, and through a thatch of red hair to the tight wrap of a white towel hugging his square, utterly graspable hips.

Trystan Hawkes stretched an arm along the door and winked at her. “You look as happy to see me as I am to see you, Princess. What’s up?”

At the double-edged question, she hastily averted her eyes from the mysterious folds of the towel. Good thing she wore dark glasses. “My father will see you now.”

“Not like this he won’t. Come inside. Let me pull on some clothes. The maid brought me something to wear.”

“I’ll wait out here.”

“In the hallway? That’s so security thug, which is not you. Seriously, come in and sit down. I’ll dress in the bathroom. Wouldn’t want to flash daddy’s little princess.”

“I am not daddy’s princess,” she said, finding she’d already followed him into the room. Lexi turned to face the door. Had she closed that? “Alana is.”

“Yeah?” he called from the bathroom. The door was open and steam misted out. “Is that your sister? Think I saw her during the chaos last night.”

“Yes, she’s …” Pretty, and attracted all the wolves’ eyes. “Yes.”

“Then you must be daddy’s secret weapon.”

“I am …” What had he meant by that?

Stepping closer to the bathroom door, she drew in the spicy aroma from what she knew was the guest soap. Cloves and leather were her favorite scent. So manly, so … Hell, what was she doing? She didn’t have time for romancing a fantasy.

Turning her back to the door, she crossed her arms and hiked out a heel. She wore gray today, from boot to neck. It was easier to go monochromatic, because when she started to mix colors bad things happened and people stared. Attribute that to her eyes, she figured. And enough about that.

“Yep, he put the sister out as bait,” Tryst called from the bathroom, “and keeps the smart one close by his side. Head of security, right?”

“Castle chatelaine is my official title.”

“What’s a chatelaine? Oh, wait, I think I heard a song about that once. ‘Miss Chatelaine …’” he sang.

She smiled at his rendition of the k.d. lang song, which she happened to like. “The chatelaine oversees all the domestic business in the castle, such as the kitchen, and preparing and ordering food for meals. Stocks. Events and parties. I keep track of the accountant and lawyers. As well, I oversee security.”

“So you do it all—yikes.”

Trystan walked right into her. Lexi abruptly stood straight. She’d been leaning a little too far into the bathroom doorway. Just soaking up the scent she admired. Yes, that was it.

She adjusted her sunglasses, which he’d nudged north when her forehead had bumped his chest. As her hand had pushed away from his abs she felt the rock-hard ridges and her fingers curled, wanting to touch a little longer. He burned her softly. How long could she hold her skin against his heat without igniting?

“What are you looking for, Lexi?”

“I, er …” Indeed, what had her fingers wanted to grasp, as if a lifeline she desperately needed? She crossed the room swiftly and grabbed the door handle. “You ready?”

He shook out his hair. Bending, he fluffed it a bit before the mirror, which managed to tousle it more messily. But he seemed happy with it, because he nodded at the mirror and winked.

The man and his winks! It wasn’t a flirtatious move. It was more of a tic. Or some kind of code for arrogant overcompensation?

Lexi tucked her head down to smirk, and noticed a streak of water darkened the front of her gray slacks. She’d gotten too close. What was that about? Keeping her personal boundaries—about five feet of distance from others at all times—had become like breathing to her, and to all in the castle. Everyone knew to walk a wide circle around her. When had those boundaries become so … permeable?

“You’re all about blending in, aren’t you?” the wolf asked as he pulled a soft blue sweater over his head and tugged it to cover the abs she wanted to lose a few hours observing. The sweater, perhaps a size too small, conformed to his structure, making him appear even more naked. And the blue really captured his blue eyes and made them dazzle even more. “Dressing in one color so you don’t stand out. Though wearing sunglasses inside is pushing it.”

“My, aren’t you Mr. Blackwell? Coming from a man who wears camo pants and a blazing blue sweater. Who taught you to dress?”

“It’s what the maid brought me. Though I do like this sweater.” He slapped his abs and gave them a rub. “It’s soft. Is this cashmere?”

Lexi bit her lip to keep from saying it wasn’t soft at all but incredibly hard. Her mouth curled, but not up. He was just too … much. Too there. Too in her face. Too … gregarious. Powerful. Honorable to a fault. Yes, appealing in a way she’d never thought a man could appeal. Or was it that she’d never taken a moment to consider a man’s charm?

“Let’s go.” She opened the door and marched down the hallway, expecting him to follow, and hopefully not like the gushy, bouncy puppy he had a tendency to emulate.

The werewolf princess wanted him. She hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him, and she had almost snuck into the bathroom while he’d been changing. How much did that rock?

The woman was not as cold as she led others to believe.

He suspected she wasn’t aware of her sensual side, something he was very tapped into, according to his former lovers. The Princess of Cool hid behind the pressed, exact clothing, those mirrored sunglasses and an icy demeanor. He bet she never wore jewels like the sister he’d gotten a glimpse of last night. Too flashy, that blonde chick. And spike heels in a castle surrounded by snow? So wrong. Lexi Connor sparkled without unnecessary adornment.

Like right now, she moved as if carried by a graceful yet urgent wind. Her strides were sure but quiet, as they took a curving hallway that spiraled into the narrow south tower.

“This is like some kind of old castle,” Tryst commented. “So authentic.”

“Built in the fifteenth century by a former financial minster to King Charles II.”

“And surrounded by perfect powder for skiing. I love this place. It’s tight! You live here all your life?”

“Yes, I was born here.”

“So what’s up with your father? My dad didn’t tell me a lot. He was in too much of a hurry to send me on my way here after getting the call from the pack’s witch. What’s that about?”

“Natalie is our doctor and she’s a witch.”

“Cool. A real witch doctor.”

“I’ve had a medical doctor summoned from Paris to help with the wounded and assess my father’s condition. He should arrive this afternoon if the helicopter can land.”

She paused before a double door fashioned from rich, varnished oak and studded with metal nail heads much like a medieval castle door. “The principal is … under the weather. Natalie isn’t sure what it is, but his health is declining.”

She looked aside and Tryst sensed her unease talking about it. Must be hard for her, virtually running the castle, and having a sick father to worry about. And now the avalanche? The woman exuded strength and endurance, yet she appeared to be losing some steam.

“And I’ll warn you not to press him about his health. Keep your conversation strictly business, or I’ll see that you’re removed from the castle.”

“Good luck with that. A guy can’t even walk through the front door, let alone be removed. But I suspect we’ll get the snow dug away from the storage shed today so we can use the snowplow. I need to get outside to help find that last man. How long is this going to take?”

“I have no idea. I’m as surprised as you my father wants to see you again after you were so quick with him last night.”

“I intend to apologize to him for that, Princess.”

“My name is—”

“I know.” He pressed a hand to the door above her shoulder. “Alexis, the cool, calm beauty who won’t show anyone her eyes because that kind of connection would be too intimate.”