Her Werewolf Hero. Michele Hauf
“It’s coming. I’m going to guess you’re a no-cream kind of guy. Am I right?”
“Black as the devil’s ass is how I prefer it.”
“Okay, now I have that image in my mind.” She sipped her juice. “Was that call business?”
“It was.”
“About me?”
He conceded with a nod. He wasn’t going to give her too much information, but she’d angle for as much as she could manage from him. Because she was a woman in peril. Figuratively, of course. Because while she appreciated him wanting to protect her, she sensed rescue would only come by standing up for herself and being smart. And that meant learning as much as she could about the situation.
“Have you been given instructions on how to obtain the heart?” she asked.
“Kisanthra.”
“Please, Bron, I’m curious, and I have a right to know. Me, being the owner of the sought-after object.”
He exhaled, and, pulling the straw from the juice and setting it aside, he then swallowed half of it before speaking. “We had no idea the heart was intact. I’ve alerted the Director of Acquisitions, and now I’m waiting for further instructions. No doubt the mission will be canceled.”
“I certainly hope so. I mean, I may have avoided the vampire’s bite last night, because, you know, immortality? Not interested. But I do have a long life ahead of me. Plan to live to one hundred. I’m expecting that birthday card from the president. And I sure hope she’s a cool president.”
Bron chuckled. “So do I. We could use a woman POTUS. But vampires can’t give you immortality from a quick bite.”
“Really? But I thought—well, of course, movies and books are fiction. So how does it happen?”
He rubbed his temple and winced.
“Face it, Bron, you’re stuck with someone who is open to the paranormal and whose middle name may very well have been Curious instead of Ginelle. I have questions. Lots of questions.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it’s the best conversation for a public place.”
She glanced around. They were the only couple in the diner, sitting at the end of a line of booths that paralleled the front windows. At the counter sat an old man gobbling up his eggs with Tabasco sauce, earphones stuffed into his ears. If he could hear them she’d be surprised.
“Right. Wouldn’t want to tell this big empty place about vampires.”
The coffee arrived, along with their breakfast. Kizzy made quick work of the over easy eggs and followed with bacon, sausage and ham—she gave her steak to Bron—while he seemed to inhale his plate of meat but in a way that seemed elegant and mannered. He was interesting to watch, and she did it casually, over her juice or while glancing out the window. His eyes were so blue she felt certain they were not real. Like something enhanced by Photoshop for a romance-novel cover. And his tousled hair seemed styled that way, purposely bed rumpled. It gave her ideas. And, man, those ideas were sexy.
She’d slept next to this gorgeous man last night. And she wasn’t going to tell anyone it had been in separate beds. Sometimes all the details weren’t necessary. And then this morning he had hugged her as if she had been the last woman on earth. And she’d wanted to kiss him because she’d been in a weird mental place, struggling with the facts about her heart and wanting it to not be real. And because, well, she’d never kissed a man with a beard before. Curiosity strikes! And when a handsome man pulled her close, well—bam. Need had kicked in. She wasn’t beyond sex for the sake of placating her emotions or because she just needed to connect with another person for a few blissful moments.
“You have a girlfriend, Bron?” Sitting back, she poured another cup of coffee, then tinted the dark brew with three creamers.
“The job I have doesn’t allow time for relationships.”
“Really? Lots of people travel and are able to maintain relationships.”
He delivered her a castigating flash of blue eye from behind a fork load of eggs.
All right, so the man had also mastered the dirty look. She’d try a different tack. “You must travel a lot.”
“Always. I’m never in one place for long. Women tend to want to see a man more than once every six months or so, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, I suppose. But you must have a home base?”
He shrugged. “Paris is one of my bases. I own a loft in the sixth. I’ve been there twice this year for less than a week total. This is the first time I’ve been in the States in over a dec—uh, a long time. I also own a tiny apartment in New York but don’t anticipate stopping there unless my return flight has a layover. My missions usually run back-to-back.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
He raised a brow as he buttered the last piece of rye toast on his plate.
“I travel, too,” she offered. “Or I’m just getting into the traveler’s mode. Have been traveling for a couple months and hope to make it a permanent career. My blog has become so popular I need to expand my horizons and take in new places for my photo shoots. It feels right to me. I can’t imagine settling to live in one place for too long now. I’ve been in Thief River Falls a few days, and it already seems like forever. It’s my hometown, but I’ve found I prefer Europe.”
“You have family here?”
“Not anymore. My parents moved to Brussels eight years ago, and I had always meant to follow them and then explore the world. But, well...” She sighed and sipped the coffee. “Sometimes relationships get in the way, as well as the lack of money. But no more! Everything changed eight months ago. I’ve prioritized what means the most to me. And that is seeing the world. Now I’m a free soul blowing about on the breeze.”
“Breezes sometimes turn into hurricanes,” he remarked drily.
“Really? Because I’ve always thought they were pretty gentle. I wouldn’t mind a stronger wind. I like going to new places. When I’m finished here in Minnesota, I’m on to Romania. I’ve already put in for an apartment. I’ll be shooting pictures for their department of tourism.”
“Romania is beautiful country. But for a woman alone? You don’t go wandering about in the woods all by yourself, do you? You do take along a friend or guide?”
She shrugged. “Haven’t had the need or the desire.” Though it was something to consider. She wasn’t worldly-wise yet. And if vampires were real, she should definitely bring along a guide or a protector. Or a vampire slayer. Did they hire out? “I’m careful. Besides, now I know how to fight off a vampire. That should count for something.”
He smirked, and she wanted to reach across the table and trace her finger over the crinkled lines at the corner of his eye. And stroke his beard. It was thick along the jaw, dark and—now the idea of testing out a kiss from a bearded man popped into her brain. And then she wanted to stand in his arms again and release her worries into his strong hold and fall into him. That hug had been awesome. And much needed.
“That hit the spot,” he said and pushed his plate to the table’s edge.
Kizzy startled out of her daydream. Her father had always said her biggest problem was that she was a daydreamer. She had never considered daydreaming a detriment. It had gotten her this far. She hoped to follow the reverie all the way to the end.
So long as that end didn’t come about because of a missing heart. Plucked out by a werewolf.
The waitress appeared to retrieve their plates and leave them a fresh pot of coffee.
“Thanks,” Bron said. “Have you pie?”
“Cherry, apple and boysenberry,” the waitress supplied cheerfully.