“No thanks, I’m here to vacation not be locked up as soon as the sun goes down. And I’m really hungry. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Gentry made a deep rattling noise in his throat, but cut it off quick and looked real busy settling her suitcase by the front door. “Tell me what kind of food you like, and I’ll go get it for you.” Through gritted teeth, he said, “It’s the least I can do since I’m fresh out of macaroni.”
Blaire’s stubbornness warred with her desire to actually see if this big hunky man would feed her. “I want a chili dog. No! I want a bacon burger with fries and a side of ranch and extra pickles on the burger. And a shake. Something pink. Strawberry or cherry.”
“Great. I’ll be back.”
“Money!” She scrambled into her purse as he waited by the door looking wholly uncomfortable. She gave him a twenty. “Grab something for yourself too, Chaos.”
“That’s not my name, and I already ate.” He yanked the twenty from her fingertips and made his way out the door.
His sexy scent still lingered so she closed her eyes and inhaled noisily. And when she sighed happily and opened them again, she was mortified to find Gentry standing in the doorway.
The ghost of that smirk was back. “One side of ranch or two.”
Cheeks on fire, she tried to regain her composure as she squeaked out, “Always two.”
“You got it Blaire Trouble Hayward.” And then Gentry stepped back into the darkening evening.
This time, out the front window, Blaire watched him leave. Gentry jogged around to the back of the big cabin. A minute later, he pulled an old brown and white refurbished Ford truck with chains on the tires around the side and zoomed up the road and out of sight.
Her, trouble? Heck nope, she was still a good girl.
But there was a hundred percent chance that man was trouble with a capital T.
Chapter Three
What the hell was he doing? Gentry stopped at the light and shook his head for the tenth time since he’d left Hunter Cove. Blaire being in this town right now was a bad idea for about a dozen reasons.
One: she was human. Fragile. Paper-thin skin, and the single bite of a werewolf could kill her. Hell, a splinter could kill her. Humans died too easily, and this town was a steel trap with a hundred razor-sharp teeth.
Two: she was a fucking human! He shouldn’t even be physically attracted to humans, but here he was, adjusting his hard dick because God, she was a stunner. It made no sense. Werewolves liked other werewolves. That’s just the way it was. They were genetically predisposed to seek out a mate who could bear them werewolf pups. Blaire was a genetic dead-end for his kind. She would have fragile, little human babies only. Down dick.
Three: he was right in the middle of funeral arrangements for Dad, pissed as hell, had been forced to put down Tooth and half his damn pack to survive, was on the verge of a Change constantly, and his dickhole brothers were slowing everything down by staying MIA. Taking care of a human on top of the pile other shit he had going on was a horrible idea. He would slip up. He would get her killed. Or fuck, he could be the one doing the killing if he didn’t rein in his wolf as soon as fuckin’ possible.
Gentry gassed it at the green light and skidded onto Main Street. The tavern would have the food she wanted.
Four: Rhett.
Five: the newly named Bone-Ripper Pack was going through a huge transition, out from under Dad, who had been a good alpha, to under Rhett’s control. There would be violence.
Six: Rangeley was the home of one of the biggest packs in the world. And the people who weren’t werewolves here were all unsuspecting humans. It needed to stay that way. Already the wolves walked such a fine line in this town, and now Blaire had stepped right into the middle of the chaos.
Seven: the raging boner. Yep, that one got an extra number because it was really confusing, and Blaire felt like trouble. Big trouble. His wolf was showing signs of wanting to settle, and he couldn’t have that. And here came this drop-dead gorgeous human woman, red-gold hair cascading down her shoulders in wild curls like she’d come off some Scottish moor. Green eyes, but slanted like a cat. Fair skin, almost the color of the snow, and a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Curves for fuckin’ days. Big, soft titties pushing against a little, white sweater that said she was completely confident with her figure. Nice ass hugged by tight skinny jeans. That ass was more than a handful, and his hands were big. He’d wanted to reach out and squeeze it so hard when she’d pranced past him with her suitcase. And she smelled like jasmine and honeysuckle. She smelled like spring in the dead of dark winter.
“Cut it out, Striker,” he growled.
In a parking space facing the Four Horsemen’s Tavern, he let the truck idle and rested his elbow on the edge of the window as he bit the corner of his thumbnail, a habit he’d picked up as a kid and had never curbed. There was no way he was going in there hard. He didn’t even know any other wolves who had been attracted to a human. Blaire was a danger, and in danger in this town, and he’d just invited her to stay for a week? He was going to fillet the rental management company that fucked this up. The last thing he needed was to babysit a temporary renter when all he wanted to do was escape this place. It was a big mistake to give him a week-long renter instead of the year contract he’d requested, and he couldn’t handle anything extra right now. He needed to tie up loose ends, spread Dad’s ashes to the wind, and leave Rangeley forever, just like he’d planned.