Page 102 of Howlin’ For You

We stand and stare at each other, enjoying our game.

“It’s fall,” he starts, running his eyes over my body with that same inviting grin as he circles me, stopping in front of me in line. “Which makes me think that you’d take advantage of the new flavors.”

I make no indication that he’s correct, just continue to watch him as he studies me. His body leans slightly forward into my space, his smile both predatory and indulgent.

Possessive and safe.

Confident.

“Pumpkin spice black tea and—” he takes a deep inhale, eyes closing. “A chocolate chip scone.”

My mouth drops. “Did you just smell my order on me?”

He shrugs. “You didn’t say anything about not using my senses. Which means I win.”

“You cheated!” I exclaim, trying to ignore the flush of my cheeks at the fact that he can smell my favorite flavors on me. What else can he smell?

“No terms were set.” His gaze flicks to my mouth, zeroing in as a shiver of something resembling desire but stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before dances along my spine. “Will you go pick us out some chairs?”

I nod, unable to speak. I don’t think I could say no to him, and that’s terrifying in its own way.

I wander over to a secluded corner table with plush chairs and a small tea light flickering in a glass votive. I sink into the flowery upholstery, trying to wrap my head around what the hell is happening.

At this point, I think it’s pretty obvious that Nicholas is a werewolf. It’s also obvious that I’m a little attracted to him—probably more than that—and his wolfy dominant energy.

My eyes flicker to where he stands in line, chatting pleasantly with the person in front of him. As if he can feel my gaze, he meets my stare with a slight smirk.

I am very much in trouble.

CHAPTER FOUR

NICK

Isabella surprises me.

Most—if not all—people are intimidated by me, at least initially. Something about being in front of a six-foot-seven werewolf is a little hard to wrap your head around.

But not her. She wasn’t necessarily trusting, but she wasn’t intimidated. She further proved this by challenging me to a contest for her submission.

As her mate, my instincts scream at me to protect her, to care for her, to make it so that she doesn’t lift a finger. But having to actually work for it? Something about that makes her ultimate submission all the sweeter.

I carry our breakfast toward the table she picked. She couldn’t know that she chose my favorite place to sit and plan out my week each Monday morning. A frisson of warmth blooms in my chest.

Could we really be perfect for each other?

I place her tea and scone down in front of her, and the genuine smile I receive in thanks threatens to unravel every single plan I have. Demands I say to hell with slow and professional and throw myself at her feet.

“Alright, boss.” Her eyelashes flutter. “Please tell me the mayor told you more than he told me.”

Her calling me boss like that—in her slightly flirtatious, sugary sweet tone—makes me barely notice her pulling out a notebook and pen from her bag.

I take a deep sip of my black coffee to clear my head. I should keep things as professional as possible since she’s here to work. Be the man she needs right now. Not the wolf she’ll need later.

“Unfortunately, no. Other than that, he wants me to build the stage for whatever musical act you end up finding. But I’m happy to get started on that.”

She looks up from her notes with an irresistible nose wrinkle, the page covered in neat, swirling script. “Well, at least there’s that. He also mentioned you know how to run electrical?”

“Yep, I’ve got it covered. You can also tell vendors that if they don’t have their own setup, I can build them a small booth.” I lean in for another whiff of her sweet cinnamon scent.