Page 16 of A Pack of Lies and a Big Bad Wolf

I turn around.

She's standing in my yard with her hands on her hips, hair wrecked, chin up, eyes blazing, magnificent, and wearing nothing but the sunset. Her small, perfect breasts are round and tipped with rosy nipples. The neatly trimmed thatch of her pubic hair nestles invitingly, and her feminine aroma drifts through the air, tantalizing me.

And she’s completely forgotten she’s naked, as she stands there lecturing me.

I grin. I can't help it.

"What," she says dangerously, "is so funny?"

"Nothing."

"No, go ahead. Something's hilarious. Share with the rest of the class, Mr. Holt."

"It's nothing." I keep my eyes pinned to her face with the discipline of a man defusing a bomb. "You were saying. Tackling dummy."

She opens her mouth to keep going. Then I watch it arrive — the slow, dawning realization. Her eyes drop.

"You could have said something!”

“I could have,” I agree with a nod. “I was enjoying the view.” My wolf is howling, circling inside me, desperate for release. Claim her, claim her, claim her!

Her cheeks redden. “Stop looking at me!”

“We’re shifters. We get naked in front of each other all the time.”

“It’s different with you!” she splutters, her blush deepening. And my grin widens. I like that it’s different with me.

"Come inside," I say with a wry smile. "I'll get you a t-shirt."

I’m dressed now, and so is she, wearing the t-shirt I just handed her.

She disappears into the plain gray shirt. It hits her mid-thigh, the collar slides off one shoulder, and she has to roll the sleeves twice just to find her hands.

She looks ridiculous. She looks perfect. She smells caught — my scent wrapped all the way around her — and my wolf goes silent in the way that's more dangerous than the howling. As far as he's concerned, the paperwork is complete. We are now merely waiting for her signature.

I retreat to the kitchen and start making coffee just to give myself something to do.

"So," she says, following me, because retreat has never once worked on this woman. "My brother. Why are you setting him up to be a punching bag when you’re supposed to be helping him?"

"Your brother." I measure grounds with tremendous focus. "Bram isn't teaching him to take a punch. He's teaching him to throw one."

"He can't shift, Kieran. You put a boy who can't shift in a gym with a wall of muscle who—"

"Who will teach him to stand up for himself and fight like a man. If you keep babying him and protecting him, he’s never going to know what he’s capable of. He’s never going to develop self-confidence. And he’s never going to be able to get in touch with his wolf, if that’s even a possibility. Back off and let him grow up, Olivia, he’s an adult now.”

I’m risking a lot saying that. I’m insulting my mate. I see the anger flaring in her eyes. She takes a step back, and draws in a furious breath.

But a young man’s future, his sense of self-worth, and possibly his ability to shift, is at stake here.

"That's—" she starts. “Why didn’t you at least ask me first?”

“Because you would have said no.”

“Not necessarily! You may be right, possibly, but he’s my family, and you can’t just keep-”

She keeps going. I stop listening, because I've just noticed the twigs.

Three of them, snarled in that wild dark hair. Souvenirs of the ridge trail. My wolf finds this unbearably endearing, and for once, he and I are in complete agreement.