A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing (Heart of the Wolf #9)

A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing (Heart of the Wolf #9) Page 7

As he made a broader search, Finn smelled that a male werewolf had been in the vicinity, but he saw no sign of the unknown wolf. He continued to search around each of the empty cabins but found nothing. The faint smell of gunfire rippled through the breeze, though. He hadn’t been wrong about that.

Gnashing his canines in frustration, Finn didn’t like that he had no leads, but not wanting to leave Meara alone and unprotected, he headed back to her cabin. He inspected the outside walls, looking for signs of a bullet hole in the windows or siding. Nothing.

He raced around to the back of the house and shoved his nose through the wolf door in the kitchen, praying she was still safe and secure, and came face to face with an armed Meara, who was aiming the same rifle that Joe had held on him earlier.

Relieved, he smiled, glad she’d had the sense to protect herself in case someone had tried to break into her place while he was away.

She lowered the muzzle of the rifle and frowned at Finn. “You didn’t find anything.” She sounded disappointed.

He shifted into his human form. Trying not to notice that she was staring at his nakedness again, he motioned to the rifle in her hands. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

Her gaze shot up from eyeing his torso, and she snorted, raising the rifle parallel to her body. “You mean this?” She laid the rifle on the kitchen counter. “I’m just as accurate at shooting as you or any of the rest of your SEAL team. I’m surprised Hunter didn’t tell you I’m an expert marksman at a range.” She grabbed a pot holder shaped like a large red-hot chili pepper off the counter and handed it to Finn. “Cover yourself, will you?”

He gave her a small smile. He knew Meara was more than a little physically attracted to him. At least if the way her feminine pheromones were kicking his into high gear was any indication. As wolves, they sensed the pheromones in each other. If they’d been only human, the pheromones would still have played a role, but only subconsciously as the released pheromones sent signals to the hypothalamus region of the brain.

Her physical reaction to him—her increased heart rate, darkened eyes, and erect nipples poking at the silky fabric of her blouse—showed just how much her sexual response had heightened. But her female pheromones were also triggering his testosterone to surge, which meant he was getting damned horny around her again.

Otherwise, nudity between wolves shouldn’t have mattered. Although he had to remind himself that playing with fire wasn’t something he wanted to do.

He tossed the pot holder on the bar counter. “It’s not big enough to do the job.”

She laughed. But it was more of a haughty, give-me-a-break laugh than one of fun.

He chuckled under his breath as he strode down the hall to her bedroom. Her footfalls padded after him.

“So? Did you find any signs of a shooter?” she asked, sounding worried.

He glanced back at her and found her gaze riveted on his ass. Her eyes immediately rose to meet his, and to his amusement, her cheeks flushed crimson.

“We’re leaving.” He entered the bedroom, then grabbed his bag and dug around in it. He pulled out a different set of clothes—black denim, black T-shirt, and black boots, all more suited to the job he now had to do. But it was the pair of white boxers that caught her attention. They were strictly utilitarian so he wondered why she was so fixed on them. He quickly began to get dressed.

His words must have finally sunk in, because she shifted her gaze to his face and said, “What?” She sounded incredulous, which he figured was why she hadn’t responded in the negative yet.

But he knew that was coming. “Tell your sub-leaders you’re taking a trip. You can’t tell them where you’re going or how long you’ll be gone.”

She pursed her lips, eyeing him with irritation. “You listen here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve leased the cabins, and it’s my job to see to the guests’ comforts.”

He yanked on his shirt. This was nonnegotiable. Meara was not going to be “seeing to the guests’ comforts.”

Before he could say so, she said, “I’m staying here. You have no right ordering me about. If some assassin is after the members of the team, he’ll be targeting you, not me. So you need to get as far away from me as possible.” She quickly folded her arms underneath her breasts. Her face turned a hot red and her lips thinned as she scowled at him.

“Hunter is the only one of us who has family. You don’t think they won’t also target you?” He was trying for negotiator calm—an attempt to settle the crisis in a nonthreatening way. But her defensive posture said she wasn’t falling for that, and although he tried his best to cover it up, his irritation was showing. “None of the rest of us has to worry about the assassin coming after our loved ones,” he tried again, sitting on the bed to pull on his boots.

He would attempt to convince her in a reasonable way, but if he had to take unreasonable methods to protect her—like locking her away somewhere safe—he wouldn’t hesitate. “Hunter won’t want your life jeopardized while he’s away. And you don’t want to be a weapon used to draw him back home. So you and I are going to disappear for a while.”

“My guests—”

“Can stay here without you comforting them.” Without further delaying the inevitable, he pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No. You won’t.” Meara stomped out of the bedroom.

With fascination, he watched her butt jiggle as she hurried down the hallway. He had to move her quickly. And he was damned glad he was able to call in a favor if he’d needed it. Right now, he needed it.

He had laced his hiking boots and was repacking his duffel bag when he heard her speaking. “Hello, Chris? I’ve got to leave, and I need someone from the pack to check in my guests at the cabin resort.”

Good, she was agreeing to Finn’s terms—for now.

A significant pause followed, and she said irritably over the phone, “No. I don’t know where I’m going.” Another pause. “Listen, Finn’s a Navy SEAL, as well you know. Undoubtedly, he knows what he’s doing.”

She must have considered that Finn was listening to her from down the hall when she added, “At least Hunter will believe so.” Again silence. “No, of course I can’t get through to Hunter yet to okay it. It’s a done deal. Just have someone cover the cabin rentals until I can return.”

She didn’t say anything more so Finn assumed she’d finally convinced Chris that it was all right for her to go with Finn. He was sure Chris didn’t like the friendship he and the other SEALs shared with Hunter, since they weren’t part of the pack. But he had a sneaking suspicion there was more going on here than just a sub-leader’s nose being out of joint because someone outside the pack was making decisions that affected the pack leader’s sister. Chris had designs on Meara, whether she was aware of that or not, and her being alone with Finn was raising Chris’s hackles.

Finn heard the oven door open and assumed Meara was either removing the chicken or checking on it, but it couldn’t have cooked long enough. She let out an exasperated sigh and turned her ire on Finn as he joined her in the kitchen. She still had the phone to her ear. Finn was right about the food, though. The chicken was only partially cooked—still pink and inedible.

“We can take it with us or finish baking it, then go,” he offered, in an attempt to appease her somewhat. But at this point, Joe Matheson wasn’t eating a bite of it.

She gave him an annoyed look, closed the oven door, and said over the phone, “Chris, I’m doing this. I’ll be perfectly safe in Finn’s hands.”

Finn couldn’t stop the sinful way he was thinking about that remark or the calculated smile he cast her.

She shook her head at Finn and said to Chris, “Just have one of the guys stay at my place to manage the resort. I’d appreciate it. Bye.”

She ended the connection and scowled at Finn. “All right?”

He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. When she was riled, Meara was even more striking, her color high and becoming.

“I’ll get the ice chest and whatever else we might need.” He headed for the garage.

“Don’t tell me you know where my ice chest is.”

“In the garage. When I searched the place earlier, it was hard to miss.”

“Anything else you felt you needed to explore?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and he couldn’t contain the slow, lazy smile curving his lips. “Ask me later, and I’d be happy to answer your question. Maybe even demonstrate.”

Rourke Thornburg loved reporting the news when there was something interesting to report. In the news business, no news was not good news. But being a recently turned werewolf with Hunter Greymere’s pack had its drawbacks. The pack wouldn’t let him dig too deeply into a situation that could be considered newsworthy because they didn’t want him getting that kind of attention. What if he shifted unexpectedly in the middle of a news story and he became the biggest news around?

He could see the headlines now: Werewolf found on the Oregon coast! Will Bigfoot be located next?

Some pack member was always following him around. That wouldn’t have been so bad if the pack member had been a woman, but since there were fewer of them in Hunter’s pack and most were mated, he was stuck nearly always being escorted by a male wolf.

Today, Chris Tarleton was sitting across the desk from him at the newspaper office, reading yesterday’s paper and shaking his head. Chris was tall and strawberry blond, and Rourke had been told he was a red wolf, rather than a gray. In the wolf world, that meant he would be a smaller wolf. But in the werewolf world, the guy was just as lanky in wolf form as he was in human form. He was quiet most of the time. He preferred the quiet. Didn’t care to chitchat. But he also didn’t seem to care much for Rourke. Not for his occupation as a dealer in news nor as a newly turned werewolf who had to watch his step.