The view from the rear had been great, but the view from the front was magnificent. She tipped her head back to stare up into the blue eyes of a wolf shifter, eyes that were the icy blue of a winter sky, with little flecks of black in them. He had an adorable cleft in his chin, and broad, strong cheekbones with a hint of sunburn coloring his sun-bronzed skin. His thick, brown hair was perfectly mussed; she yearned to run her fingers through it.
Her gaze moved down and she saw that his biceps strained at the sleeves of his black T-shirt, and his stomach was plank-flat. A worn leather belt with a silver buckle threaded through the loops of his jeans. She realized that she was actually openly checking him out. Head to toe. Giving him the once-over.
And the most amazing thing was, he was staring back at her exactly the same way, with an unnerving intensity. His ice-blue gaze swept over her, making her shiver again. He took in her face, her generous cleavage, her broad hips, her plump legs…and the look on his face said that he liked what he saw.
He was so close that she could smell a hint of bay rum aftershave, as well as freshly tilled earth and the sweet scent of flowers. He’d just been working in a garden, she was sure.
“I’m Tate Calloway,” he said, thrusting his hand out to shake hers. “And you are?”
His gaze was like a tractor beam, holding her pinned in place. Her heart started beating very fast, and she felt her mouth dry up.
She swallowed hard and ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m sorry, I…what did you say?”
He was staring at her intently. She felt her cheeks burning, thinking how foolish she must look and sound.
He stood there holding out his hand, a look of amusement quirking his full lips.
Flushing with embarrassment, she reached out and took his hand, which was large and strong and rough with callouses. His hand closed around hers and squeezed hard, and a jolt of arousal shocked her. She suddenly felt her panties go damp, and her nipples swelled into stiff little peaks. Goosebumps pebbled on her arms, even though the air was as warm as a pie fresh out of the oven. Her mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she literally couldn’t speak.
Another man, another wolf shifter, ambled up to Tate, holding two glass bottles of Coca-Cola. The men bore a strong resemblance to each other; they were clearly related. The man who wasn’t Tate had a gold wedding band on his ring finger; Tate had none, not that Lainey had any particular reason to be checking out his marital status.
“Here’s your soda. Who’s this lovely lady? A member of the wedding party?” The man looked at her with interest.
Tate didn’t answer him. Instead, he popped the top of the soda bottle off and handed it to her. It was ice cold, and the glass was dewy. “You seem a little parched,” he said. “Have a drink.”
She took a long, sweet swallow, and then cleared her throat.
“I’m Lai-sorry, what was the question again?” she said quickly. “I think the heat’s addled my brains.” She’d almost said her real name. Good going, she scolded herself. She made a big show of glancing at her wrist watch. “I, ah, I’m late. To check in at Imogen’s boarding house. My name’s Katherine.”
“Katherine? Very pretty. And you’re a bobcat. I think I’ll call you Kat,” Tate said, drawing the word out slowly. He caressed the word with his tongue, and she suddenly felt light-headed, imagining him caressing her with that tongue.
Kat. She liked it. It sounded sexy and dangerous. It sounded about as far away from a chubby, nerdy wallflower as one could possibly get.
“Nice nickname,” she said boldly. “Maybe I’ll keep it.” Wait, did that make sense, or had she just said something incredibly dorky? She couldn’t tell. Something about this wolf shifter muddled her thinking. All the blood that should be going to her brain had apparently rushed to her crotch. Strange, she’d thought that only happened to men.
He moved a little closer to her, and her heart sped up even more. “So you’re in town for the wedding, Kat?” he asked. “Are you friends with the bride, or the groom?”
“Wedding? Whose wedding?” Those eyes. She could fall into those eyes and drown in them.
He nodded his head at the sheriff and the plump redheaded woman. “My cousin. Sheriff Loch Armstrong, and his lovely fiancée Ginger,” he said. “They’re getting married a week from this Sunday. You really didn’t know? How could that be?”
“Ahh…I…the reservation was made a long time ago. A year ago, actually.” She was desperately trying not to lie any more than necessary. It was true. The reservation had been made a year ago. Just not by her.
“Interesting. What brought you to town?”
A broken heart and parents who’d turned out to be something out of a Grimm’s fairy tale.
“Oh, you know…from time to time, you just want to get away from it all.” That wasn’t even a lie. She really needed to get awayall—for at least two more weeks. Then she might be safe from her parents’ desperate attempts to control her.