How to Tame a Werewolf: Seven Brides for Seven Shifters, Book 3

He’s got bite. She bites back.

Seven Brides for Seven Shifters
, Book 3

Rue Gray lives by three rules:

1. Fake it ’til you make it.

2. Never give up.

3. Don’t fall in love.

The first two are easy, but the third is a problem named Ian Somers. Feral werewolf, wine aficionado, (wolf)bane of Rue’s existence.

Ian easily lived as a wolf for two years—until he just had to have a cinnamon bun. With pecans. It’s not his fault Rue found him, groomed him, and convinced him to impersonate a missing vineyard heir (otherwise known as himself).

Once Rue scores the job of sommelier at Somerfield Vineyards’ new flagship Wine Bistro, she wants Mr. Impersonator to get lost. She won’t think about the sexy Indiana Jones scar on his gorgeous chin. She will not. She has things to do.

Ian figures if she’s going to be in LuPines, North Carolina, for a while, he might as well tag along and return home to his family. Even if that means facing the woman who crushed his heart—and the man who stole his pack.

Warning: Contains a feral werewolf millionaire who has a smile like foreplay, and a woman who annoys him like crazy—who he’s fast becoming crazy about. May cause temperature spikes and heart flutters. Hey, if you can tempt him, you can tame him.

How to Tame a Werewolf

Thalia Eames

Dedication

To Su, who helped teach me once you are resolute in your path, without doubts, or self-imposed limits, the universe reshapes itself for you.

And to my nephew, when I dreamed of Nox I never knew you would arrive on this earth as though a dream made far better than the dreamer ever imagined. You are brilliant because you are and I am grateful. Your uncle would’ve been so proud. And I know he is.

And to Garry Marshall, and Audrey Hepburn and George Bernard Shaw for all the ways you inspired me.

Chapter One

Sh
e’d never seen anything colder than her father’s eyes.

Rue Gray wondered how many other women had experienced this kind of despair, the pain of being stared down by a father who felt nothing but hatred for you. She couldn’t be the only daughter who’d been completely rejected by the one man who was supposed to love her no matter what. Still, she felt alone. As in right now and always.

Her father flicked a subzero glower at her but his silence allowed her to keep chattering nonstop. And she kept going because if she talked fast enough she might keep her
baba
, her papa, from slamming his palms down on the glittering formica table at the famous diner and walking out. He’d done it before.

Rue glanced at her open laptop. The screen showed a series of beautiful panoramic photos of the Somerfield Vineyards in LuPines, North Carolina. She loved that place. Although she’d only been there once, Rue spent a lot of time on the Somerfield website. The vineyard had become her personal Valhalla, her Elysium—the place she believed she’d live out her life when she’d found redemption from the mistakes of her past.

Her fingers clutched the screen on both sides. When the slim edges of the metal casing bit into her palms, Rue calmed herself. Otherwise, her feline strength would crack the screen.

“You remember, don’t you,
Baba
?” she asked, desperate for the smallest hope.

Her father said nothing. The flashing frost of his glare was his only response. Rue looked down at her keypad and realized, beyond the research she obsessed over, her laptop served two additional purposes. The screen formed a barrier between her and her father’s hate; conversely, the images on the Somerfield Vineyards website represented her only hope for redemption, a redemption Rue would sacrifice anything to earn.

Somerfield Vineyards marked a milestone in her family’s life. Their visit there, twenty years ago, was the last time they’d been happy. The vineyard was a world of befores: before her brother died; before her mother stopped acknowledging her existence; before her father’s eyes turned to ice.

That’s why each morning Rue instinctually reminded herself she’d been happy once. It had been a long time ago but she remembered. She would never again have the kind of joy she’d shared with her father, mother and brother. Guilt wouldn’t allow it. Tor died right outside of her bedroom window and it had shattered her world. But maybe, if things ever started to go right for her again, she could build a sanctuary for her parents by taking them back to the place they’d shared their last good memory: Somerfield Vineyards. If not, then there wouldn’t be much reason for an “after” to go with her “befores”.

The sanctuary Rue dreamed of sharing with her parents hinged on one thing: Earning a position at Somerfield Vineyards. Which meant diving in the same way she started everything, by hatching a plan. For her it didn’t matter how wacky someone else might think her strategies were. If she played things right, a well laid out plan formed a roadmap to attaining the things she wanted.

Honestly, her schemes didn’t always go well. Okay, they rarely went the way she wanted them to. But she’d gotten better at it. Each mistake informed the next success and so on. She’d admit that so far her mistakes were huge while her successes were lacking. So what? That meant she was due to win big, right? Sure!

Rue tried to smile. She really did. But the only thing that kept her from slamming her forehead onto the table was the angry stare boring a hole between her eyes. Otherwise, she’d tap out.

Since giving up wasn’t an option, Rue mentally reviewed the steps of the plan. First, she needed to score the job of
sommelier
, wine aficionado, at the newly announced and not quite finished Somerfield Grape Escape wine bar. After that she’d find a way to bring her parents there. Once she completed that portion of the plan she’d have to figure out what came next. She shrugged imperceptibly. Sometimes a girl had to embrace impromptu planning and bringing her family back together again at Somerfield would absolutely end in a happily ever after. Her plan had to work out. Okay, it had holes in it. Nevertheless, she had to try something. She couldn’t let the tragedy of her brother’s death be the end of her life too. Tor had loved her, despite all her faults, and he’d never blame her for his death the way her parents did. Or the way she blamed herself.

Desperation made her fingers curl tighter around the computer screen but her mouth kept moving. “I’m so close to getting the
sommelier
gig,
Baba
. So close. And then I’ll be given a little cottage on the vineyard grounds.” Rue paused for a scant second to peer up at her father and check if her words had thawed the ice. They hadn’t, so her voice shot up into a high-pitched and edgy squeak. “In the job listing they said employees extended families are welcome to visit often and stay as long as they like.” Rue hated sounding so needy but she couldn’t control it. She tended to be high strung, like astronaut-in-free-fall-from-deep-space overanxious. Because of that she lived by three rules:

1. Fake it ’til you make it.

2. Never give up.

3. Don’t fall in love.

Rules number 1 and 2 were in full effect at the moment.

“You and
Mãe
would like that, yeah?” she asked, knowing her eyes pleaded with her father to give her a break. Rather than oblige her he made a noise that could only be called disgust, a deep acidic grunt.

Her father, Abasi Gray-Sayf, wasn’t a small man. At about six inches over six feet he had a body nourished to fullness, not flab, by his wife’s Brazilian cooking. But over the years his grief seemed to have hollowed him out, while his anger stretched his desert brown skin taut nearly to the point of cracking.

Yet with so much grief transforming him, he still scared you shitless when he looked at you like this. As if you needed to be squashed. As though all the love he’d once given you had been extinguished.

He rose and Rue jumped.

“I’m going to the toilet,” her father said in the Arabic of his Egyptian homeland. Without a backward glance he moved off down the row of purple vinyl booths toward the set of unisex bathrooms inside the diner.

Cinna Mum’s Diner and Drive-in was home to the most scrumptious array of cinnamon buns. Folks drove straight through the raw heat of the Arizona desert, even in summer, for a taste of Cinna Mum’s flaky pinwheels of cinnamon-vanilla-sugar deliciousness. Rue had hoped her father’s love for the diner would help smooth things over but it hadn’t worked yet.

In an effort to manage her nerves she clicked on the Somerfield wine bar’s listing for a
sommelier
again. She had most of the qualifications down but one requirement presented a major problem. Beneath education and experience, Cora Somers, the steel magnolia matron of the Somers family, had posted: In lieu of traditional training applicants must have superior palates and knowledge of wine
and
come with one hell of a recommendation in hand.

Rue dropped her head onto the top of her laptop screen and pounded it a few times. Where the hell was she going to get
“one hell of a recommendation”
?

A movement caught the upper edge of her vision. She glanced through the endless window, wrapping around the diner’s perimeter, to see a homeless man going through the garbage. The streetlights just outside the alley illuminated him against the dark sky. He wasn’t wearing the baggy clothes that had been ingrained into pop culture consciousness by movies and TV shows. Instead, he seemed to have gone skinny-dipping in his little brother’s closet. Everything fit him too tight. The bright yellow T-shirt with the giant red A on the front stretched across his lean but muscular chest as though it were made of elementary school rubber bands. The olive shorts he wore would’ve given other men muffin tops. Not this guy. The small size of the shorts only showed off the mouth-watering firmness of his body. Rue bet the guy had no idea what fat was because he clearly never had any. Not an ounce. Not ever. Or if he had he’d erased all the evidence of fat through seriously dedicated workouts.

He’s not starving, so why is he digging through the trash for cinnamon buns? And why does he look so freaking good doing it?

Hot damn, werewolves were sexy. Rue perused the man’s upper body one more time before she went back to worrying over her dream job.

She had a major problem. She didn’t have the required education. Worse, there wasn’t anyone to give her a recommendation to override her lack of training. Everything she knew about wine she’d learned from being a stock girl at a wine cellar, free tastings, civic center classes, and judicious use of Groupon for vineyard visits. Oh, and she couldn’t forget about her internet mentor, Andrea Cramer, the host of a YouTube show called Vine Whine. Each week Andrea invited various other YouTube and Vine stars onto her show to talk about wine. Rue loved Andrea Cramer even more than she loved the resident YouTube sexy devil: Daz Warren. Okay, maybe not more. More was pushing it.

After a couple more clicks on her laptop track pad, Rue landed on the vineyard’s
About Us
page. The deadline for applications would come in two days.
Two days!
If she couldn’t get the paperwork she needed turned in by then, her plans for redemption would crumble. There had to be somebody who knew someone who could give her a recommendation. She simply had to figure out the right six degrees of separation to find her fairy, um,
godparent
. Alright, she’d just lied. She didn’t know anyone on the vineyard staff. She visited the
About Us
page once a day to stare at one man’s picture. Ian Somers.

The guy rummaging through the trashcan curled his lip at the remains of a cream cheese cinnamon bun and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he jutted his foot backward and hacky sacked the rejected dessert into a second trashcan.
Well damn
, not only was he built like David Beckham, he could bend it like a world-class soccer player too. Rue smiled and went back to the website.

Unlike Cinnamon Soccer Trash Man, who mildly amused Rue, Ian Somers was a mystery she secretly wanted to solve. He’d disappeared two years ago for unknown reasons. Well, reasons unknown outside of his tightlipped family and employees. No one outside of that group had figured out why he’d gone underground either. One thing for sure, Ian Somers hadn’t come home in two years. His mother had cried in an interview because of it. After that the family offered a reward for any information about their missing son.

A double click on that charming hint of a smile enlarged Ian’s image. Rue had become so familiar with his face. His eyes were blue. Not just blue but a combination of all the blues in the sky, Carolina with streaks of sunny day, rimmed in the sapphire of just before dusk. His face was perfection. She wasn’t being precious about Ian’s looks because she liked him. No, perfection wasn’t her thing. His dark hair and thick arching eyebrows, his warm barely tanned skin, the high cheekbones tapering down to a chiseled jawline and curving into an almost elven chin that teased at a cleft but remained un-dimpled—it was all too beautiful. The harsh side of living had never taken hold of Ian Somers. He’d led a charmed life and it showed in every curve and line of his design.

The Somerfield heir was a dark haired, perfectly groomed, slow smiling fairytale prince. And while Rue loved a good daydream, in the real world she liked her men tougher. She didn’t want anything to do with love, but if she ever fell (because love was a serious trip), she’d fall for a guy who’d been fully accosted by life with the scars to prove it.

Still, she did enjoy her fairytales. Taking a bite out of the cinnamon bun she’d left untouched before now
(so freakin’ good),
Rue imagined going out and finding Ian Somers. He’d fall for her on first sight and she’d drag him back home to his mother. Cora Somers would be so grateful she’d immediately give Rue the
sommelier
gig. Of course, Rue would graciously decline the reward.

Rue sighed and, resting her face in her palm, she lost herself in the daydream. Ooh, beyond giving her the job, as an additional show of gratitude, Cora would insist that Ian mate with Rue and make her an official part of the Somers family.

Rue dreamily waved away the problem of her being a cat in a wolf’s den. The whole cat versus canine thing didn’t matter when it came to her fairytale ending. In a rosy world, Rue would become the lady of Somerfield Vineyards, and her parents would be so thrilled at the chance to return to the place of their greatest happiness they would instantly welcome her back into the family with huggy-ness and kissy faces.

The sharp sting of a slap exploded across her face. Pain snapped her out of her fairytale as a bruise blossomed on her cheek. Shocked into silence, Rue could only cradle her cheek and stare.

There wasn’t a way to verify it, but she must’ve looked too happy in those moments of the daydream. She had no right to be happy when she’d caused so much pain. Therefore her father had slapped the smile off her face.

“The more I think on it the more angry I get,” her father said in Arabic. He glared down at her, and although he didn’t move, his body vibrated with rage. “Did you think your
mãe
and I could forgive?” Abasi covered his face with a large leathery hand then dropped it to his side with a thud. Rue shrank back from the man she loved more than anyone else alive because she feared him more than anything.

Abasi looked as though he wanted to spit. “How could I forgive when looking at you is like tumbling into a dark chasm within my soul?” Her father stormed off, but not before he sliced her open with one last barb. “Twenty years ago you destroyed our family. You took my son from me. You are my agony.”