A Handful of Wolf (4 page)

“Yes?”

Megan lifted her free hand and trailed one finger down his cheek. His wolf sat up and paid attention and so did his cock. “You still had blood on your face, sweetie.”

Megan watched Sasha as he looked through the menu, amused by the look of alarm on his face. “Do you like Asian food?”

“Not eaten it much.” He gave her that sexy wolfish grin again. “More of a steak and chips guy as a rule.”

“You’re in for a treat, then.” She already knew what she’d be ordering, but there was no rush. Lou and Nessa knew she was going to be late. He was a very handsome dinner companion, even when he was frowning at the list of food before him. “So tell me.” She kept her voice light and playful. “What’s a nice Welsh boy like yourself doing in Wellington?”

“Huh?” Sapphire eyes met hers. “I came out to help out with the Christchurch rebuild, and then I decided to see something of the country. My father’s a builder and has some connections.” He shrugged.

“You’re just here on a work visa then?” She was just making conversation, not fishing in any way at all.

“Yeah.” He frowned briefly as though he was thinking hard. “Shee-it. I’m only here for another few weeks and then I’m going home. It’s flown by.”

Why did she feel anxious at the idea of him leaving soon? A memory jogged at her. “Those guys in the bar, they had the same bright blue eyes as you. Really unusual. Are you related?”

“Uh, no.” What kind of business had they been discussing? She burned to know. Right now, Sasha was too appealing and she needed to find a reason to stay away from him. Her lips tingled as she recalled their kiss. He had no right to be making her all hot and bothered after just one kiss. With a start, she realized he’d spoken to her.

“Sorry, what?”

He put down the menu and picked up his water glass instead. “That guy you were with earlier. Is he your boyfriend?”

It was a fair question. “We’ve been dating.” Sasha’s eyes seemed to glow for a second and she couldn’t help staring. How did they do that? He slid one hand over the table toward hers and the breath caught in her throat. She could sit here all evening just drinking him in.

“Megan!” An excited voice sounded by her side and with a deep, shuddering breath she dragged her gaze away and moved her hands. Her friends Lou and Nessa stood by their table. “I was starving, so I told Lou we had to eat first and we came here, and here you are.” Nessa’s chatter, normally so uplifting, irritated her. It was a struggle to change her focus, to think about something other than the man sitting opposite. And besides, now her friends had arrived, surely he’d lose interest in her?

*

Sasha wondered if he was ill. He was surrounded by two gorgeous single chicks, both openly flirting with him, and he was ignoring them in favor of Megan sitting quietly opposite him. The girl who already had a boyfriend. Or seemed to, at any rate. Her two friends were blonde, leggy and bubbly; in short, his perfect type. So why wasn’t he interested?

Nessa helped him pick through the confusing mass of menu options. Lou squealed with delight when he said he lived in the nearby suburb of Thorndon. Nessa wanted to know how long he planned to stay in Wellington and Lou wanted to know all about his hometown, his family, his sister, his frickin’ high school. Nessa wanted to compare music in their iPods. Megan just smiled tightly and watched the chat fly back and forth. Every time he tried to include her in the conversation she refused to be drawn in. Was she trying to set him up with her friends? His wolf whined, clearly unhappy.

They’d finished their meal and sat amongst a collection of almost-empty plates and side dishes, but if Sasha thought the interrogation over, he was wrong. “You have the sexiest accent ever.” Lou beamed at him and fluffed her blonde curls with one hand. It made her cleavage wobble, but he didn’t give it a second glance. “But you haven’t told us how you know Megan?”

Okay. Tell them the scarf story? Or the how-he-thumped-her-boyfriend story? He glanced at Megan to see her reaction. She quirked her eyebrows and sat back in her chair, hands relaxed in her lap. If she wasn’t prepared to help him out, how far could he push her?

“Well.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table and then steepled his fingers. As hoped, the girls all inclined toward him. He focused on Megan. “As you probably know, we’re distantly related. But,” he paused a moment, “I’m not sure if I should be telling you this.” Megan’s lips twitched. He dropped his voice a notch. “We were promised to each other as babies. Betrothed in the cradle.”

“No way,” Lou whispered, her face rapt. Sasha fought to keep serious.

“Yes. My grandfather made a deal with Megan’s grandmother. She owed him for saving her life and since she was already married, she agreed to this.” Megan folded her arms and stared at him. Since she didn’t object, he carried on. “There was a terrible storm and Megan’s grandmother was swept away in a flood. My grandfather jumped into the river and kept her head above water, then carried her to safety. He was a champion swimmer, otherwise he would surely have drowned.”

Nessa was the first to break the silence. “Hang on. Why did she promise her granddaughter?”

Megan flashed him an innocent smile. “Yes, Sasha. Tell them why she did that.”

He tutted at their impatience. “I haven’t finished yet. The village had a psychic, an old woman who saw it all happen. She rushed forward, through the flooding and the debris, and grabbed my grandfather by the arm. She told him about the ancient legend of the river. If Megan’s grandmother didn’t promise her first grandchild, the river spirits would always be restless.”

They sat quietly, curious looks flashing between them and he picked up his water glass, taking a gulp. “So now you see. I’ve come to New Zealand to claim my bride and appease the river spirits.” He grinned at Megan. “I’m just lucky she’s as pretty as she is. I’d hate to have to marry a heifer.”

“Wow.” Lou stared at Megan, then back at Sasha. “That’s just, like, wow.”

“Wow,” echoed Megan.

“Hang on.” A frown wrinkled Nessa’s forehead. “Her first grandchild, yeah? Megan has two older brothers.”

“Well duh. I’m not into boys.”

“What a story.” Lou looked awestruck. “What about Philip though?”

“More to the point,” Nessa interrupted. “How is your father going to handle the publicity?”

*

I’d hate to have to marry a heifer
. Sasha’s casual words cut deep. A few years ago he wouldn’t have looked twice at her. After the disaster with Ryan, she’d sworn to never think of dating someone so cocky and confident again, but then again, she wasn’t planning to do anything with Sasha. He was just there for an evening of fun.

Megan figured it was time to join in the conversation. Surely they didn’t believe Sasha’s fairytale? By the way Nessa and Lou hung onto his every word, maybe they did. “I’ll handle my dad,” she said firmly. Lifting her bag, she slipped the strap over her shoulder. “I’ll go pay the bill and then maybe we can leave?”

“Uh, no. I’m paying.” Sasha scrambled to his feet. Holding out his hand, he coaxed her to his side. “Why will your father worry about publicity, my gorgeous wife-to-be?”

He was so funny. “It’s not important, lovely husband-to-be.” She kept a straight face and let him tangle their fingers together. His hand was warm and dry with calluses across the palm and she wondered how it would feel if her stroked her skin.

They headed back to Foxglove where Sasha regaled them with tales of his friends and his mischievous sister, Tammy. Stories that usually portrayed him as an innocent bystander, a stance Megan found difficult to believe. He sat next to her and she kept finding excuses to touch him. A brush across his knee. A hand on his shoulder. A friendly punch to his arm. In turn, he gazed at her as though she was the reason for his next breath. He draped a casual arm across the back of her chair, another proprietary gesture, but one she didn’t mind at all. When they left Foxglove for the club, she had no qualms about him sliding one arm around her waist. She mirrored the move and dug her fingers into his back pocket. Heat poured from his body and her head spun. How much had she drunk?

“Where are we going?” Sasha sounded as though he was sober.

“Mighty Mike’s.” She glanced up at him as they walked. “It’s an alternative club that does live music on Friday nights.”

“Alternative?”

“Yeah, they have some weird acts. Tonight it’s a band called Howlin’ Wolves. Very loud. You okay with loud music, husband-to-be?” He might be sober, but she was a little drunk and quite happy with that.

“Sure. We have loud music in Wales, you know.” He paused at the side of the road and made sure it was safe to cross before he stepped out. They set off, entwined, Lou and Nessa following and Sasha kept an eye on her friends as they all made it across the busy junction. “How much further?”

“We’re here.” Mighty Mike’s was one of her favorite venues, despite it being so alternative. Megan usually felt like Ms. Boringly-Normal there, with her lack of tattoos and piercings, but the music was refreshingly different to all the other clubs and that made it worth it. That and the ambiance. The club sprawled across the attic of a three story building and was fitted out with an assortment of mismatched sofas and armchairs, a handful of small wooden chairs and picnic tables, and a long bar that ran along one wall. At the far end was a miniscule stage and what was laughingly referred to as the dance floor. She’d seen larger bathrooms.

They climbed up the narrow staircase to the entrance and the waiting doorman and Megan felt a familiar shiver ripple down her spine. Sasha paused and looked at her, a question in his eyes. “There’s something odd about this place,” she tried to explain. “I love coming here, but it has the weirdest vibe. You’ll see.”

*

Sasha saw all right. And smelled it.
Wolves
. Mighty Mike’s was a shifter club with a monster of a wolf on the door. Even he felt slightly intimidated. The doorman inhaled deeply when Sasha handed over his ten dollar entrance fee, then pinned him with a curious gaze. “Not from round here, eh?”

“New in town.”

“Enjoy your visit.” The doorman slipped something into the palm of his hand before stamping the back with a blurry image of a howling wolf, and then Sasha followed the girls.

Once inside the thick door, the wall of music hit him first, assaulting his sensitive eardrums. His wolf growled. Remembering the doorman, he opened his palm to see two tiny foam earplugs. With a grin, he fitted them and instantly, the harsh bass notes softened to an acceptable level. Megan tugged at his hand and pulled him toward the bar. “Shots first. It’s our tradition.”

He nodded and let his gaze drift around the room, absorbing the frankly strange people in various states of inebriation. Weird, how Megan had felt the shifter vibe. The atmosphere oozed shifter pheromones, so thick they were practically visible. Aside from his Pack, he’d never seen so many shifters in one place at the same time. But then, he’d never lived in a city before.

Megan handed him a shot glass of clear liquid. Tequila. He knew from the smell. He knocked back the drink while mentally calculating the state of his bank balance. Severely depleted after paying for the broken glasses earlier, and insisting on picking up the tab for dinner. He had enough for a couple of rounds for the girls and then he was broke until payday. He’d made one beer last while they were in Foxglove and he’d do the same here.

*

Sasha stuck by Megan’s side while she tossed down shots with the girls, and as she tottered on unsteady heels toward the stage. “Howlin’ Wolves are on next.” It took a moment before he realized she meant the live act. There were howling wolves all around, mixing easily with the very bohemian crowd. He felt like a hick. He’d never seen so many tattoos or piercings, and the way they knocked back their drinks made him feel distinctly uneasy. Shifters usually had a higher tolerance for alcohol than humans, but even these wolves were off their heads. How did Megan and her friends keep up? He clung to his half empty bottle of beer like a lifeline.

The band members were all wolves and played loud, fast rock music that ignited the audience. Before the opening chords finished, there was a surge toward the stage and Sasha automatically caught hold of Megan before she was knocked over. Lou and Nessa took position on the edge, but Megan wanted to be in the center, despite the jostling and pushing from the other dancers. He moved to stand behind her, arms circled around her waist and shielded her as best he could. She was in the perfect position for him to nuzzle her hair and he took advantage and buried his nose deep in the soft, brown waves. She snuggled closer to him and his cock sprang to life. She couldn’t miss the hard ridge pressing against her ass. When she ground against him with her pelvis, he groaned. This was torture of the sweetest kind.

Another rub against his hard-on, and he retaliated. He slipped both hands under the trailing edge of her top and found warm, silky bare skin.
Velvet
. With both palms against her flat stomach, he held her even closer and nuzzled the back of her neck. Her dancing faltered and she trembled.
Christ
, she felt good in his arms. It didn’t matter that they swayed together amidst a crush of sweaty dancers, she had his sole attention. Her throat was just a breath away. He kissed a slow path up the side of her neck, over the shell of her ear, and down again with a nip to her earlobe. The taste of her skin was like a drug. His blood heated and pulse surged, and he had to go back for a second taste. Her caramel scent intensified and exploded in a burst of sensation on his tongue. There had to be something in the smoky atmosphere that was melting his synapses. He wanted to bite her neck. The urge to mark her thrummed in his veins, pounding at his consciousness. His wolf urged him on, scratching at him, demanding that he claim her.

Whoa.

Claim
her?

As in claiming a
Mate
?

He was drunk. He had to be. It was the only explanation.

Megan felt more relaxed after a few hours with Sasha than she had in four weeks with Phillip. She closed her eyes and swayed to the music, the bass beat pumping as fast as her heart. Sasha’s hands roamed across her stomach, the calluses creating a delightful friction that sent increasingly heated messages to her brain. Would he slide any lower? Her silk top hung long and loose over the top of her skirt. If he crept under the waistband…
I’ve known him a few hours. He punched my boyfriend.
Dear God, every time his lips brushed against her neck she felt a new surge of moisture between her legs. Her panties were soaked already.