The Pretend Marriage: A Werewolf Romance (9 page)

“And for the final question – h
ow often does your partner like to shift in a week?” Martha pauses for show.

“It’s six out of six so far,” Peter puts in.
“It doesn’t get better than that.”

Both Jeff and Cassie are real
tense as Martha reads out the final answer. “Cassie says ‘seven times’. That will be every day, isn’t it, Cassie?”

Cassie tentatively nods. She darts a glance at her husband, whose face immediately goes black.
Terry understands why when Peter immediately says, “Oh no. Jeff’s answer is ‘fourteen’. That will be twice a day.”

Jeff turns on Cassie, who quails. “Fuck!” he says. “How could you not know that?”

Cassie, “But you only shift once every night!”

“I do it at my lunch hour too. Damn it, Cassie!”

“Jeff,” Martha says sternly, “we don’t use such language her in front of the children. Please apologize to your wife.”

Mika says, “
Hey, don’t mince your words on account of me. I use bad language in front of my folks all the time.”

“Hush now, Mika,” her mother admonishes.

Jeff appears contrite, although Terry is certain it is all an act for the benefit of Peter and Martha.

“Sorry, darling.” He lays a kiss on Cassie’s wan cheek.
“I was out of line.”

“It’s OK,” Cassie replies, clutching her husband’s hand.

Terry wonders about their tenuous relationship. Jeff seems to cow Cassie at every turn. What sort of marriage do they have? She can’t imagine being with a man like that. It would be like being on tenterhooks while treading on nails.

Next up is Mariko and Hiro.
They get five out of seven correct, and so Jeff relaxes a tad and gives Cassie a little squeeze on the shoulders. Terry notes that Mariko and Hiro spent last Christmas in Aspen skiing instead of going back to Tokyo where they have family.

As expected, Mika gets most of Ethel’s habits wrong.

“‘The Godfather’?’ Mika says incredulously when the answers are read out. “You like ‘The Godfather’? What sort of girl likes ‘The Godfather’?”

“Not a girly girl, that’s for sure,”
Karl, her father, says, earning a cuff from Ethel. “Ow.”

Everyone’s tally is read out. The
highest score so far goes to Jeff and Cassie, causing Martha to quip, “What’s wrong with you people? You don’t know everything about each other?”

“Mom, we don’t exactly ask each other our favorite colors unless we’re
dating online,” Karina remarks.

Martha ignores her. “And now we have our final couple, Jake and Terry
Savage.”

Uh oh, Terry thinks.

It’ll be OK
, Jake mouths.

“Favorite color. Terry puts ‘black’. Peter, is that what Jake put down?”

“Ummm . . . unfortunately no, Martha. Jake’s favorite color is ‘red’.”

Of course! He is a red wolf! Terry wants to slap her own forehead, but stops herself in time because Jeff is eyeing her.

One down. Six more embarrassing mistakes to go.

“Favorite movie . . . Terry
states here it’s ‘The Matrix’. Jake, what do you say?”

Peter chortles in delight. “It’s ‘The Matrix’!”

Everyone cheers except for Jeff and Mariko. Terry almost faints with relief.

“How did you know?” Jake whispers.

“I didn’t. Lucky guess.”

“
Favorite breakfast food. Terry says ‘cereal’. Peter, what does Jake say?”

Terry tenses again. Today is the most excruciating day she has been through for a long, long time. Even worse than the day Burt stole her bank cards and dumped her.
She wants so much to succeed for Jake’s sake. Somewhere between yesterday and today, it wasn’t because of the money anymore. She really, desperately wants this to go well.

And then there is always Jake . . .

Peter says, “Jake wrote ‘Kellogg’s Rice Krispies’. I suppose that’s cereal, isn’t it, Martha?”

“It sure is.”

“That isn’t fair,” Jeff is quick to point out. “Cereal can mean anything. She has to be specific.”

“
The question wasn’t specific, so how do you expect her to be specific?” Ethel butts in. She flashes Jeff a look of extreme dislike. Terry suddenly feels herself warming up to the blonde woman.

“We’ll accept that, won’t we, Martha?” Peter says. “Ethel is right. The question wasn’t specific.”

Terry’s relief is palpable. Gawd, two out of three with four more to go!

“
Jake drinks coffee, and Terry has got that right.”

Yes, yes, yes!

“Birthday.”

Terry’s heart quails again. There is no fucking way she is going to get this right. So she cringes when Martha reads out: “
18
th
June.”

As expected, Peter says, “Nope, that isn’t right. But it’s close. 5
th
June.”

The blood drains out of Terry’s face.
Her knees buckle. One look at Jeff’s knowing face tells her all she needs to know – plenty of people in the room are beginning to suspect.

“You don’t know your husband’s birthday?” Karina says dubiously.

“I’m not very good at these things,” Terry says in a breathy voice.

“Nor am I,” Jake remarks. “I always get flak from Terry because I can never remember her birthday or
our anniversary, and so she threatens to forget mine.”

“Me too,” Kurt says. “Paula threatens to forget my birthday and our anniversary because I never remember those dates.”

Paula punches his arm. “You wouldn’t remember your head in the morning if I didn’t remind you it’s attached to your shoulders.”

Laughter. The
tension is dissipated somewhat, though Terry feels as though her emotions have been wrung through a dryer. Two wrongs. No way they will have a chance at catching Jeff now.

Martha goes on, “Terry says you both visited your mother’s last Christmas.”

Bring it on, Terry thinks faintly.

Peter says, “And . . . you both
did
, according to Jake!”

Applause.

It’s too late anyway.

“
And how often does Jake shift? According to Terry, once a month. Guess you’re one of those civilized shifters now, aren’t you, Jake?”

Jake
smiles, but Terry can sense his nervous undertones.

Peter delivers the answer like the final blow: “Once a week.”

“She’s asleep sometimes when I get the urge after midnight, and I don’t wake her,” Jake says quickly.

“Very
considerate of you,” Martha says approvingly.

The satisfaction on Jeff’s face is unmistakable now.

“You sure you two are even living together?” he says with an edge.

There is an immediate buzz in the room.
Jake immediately straightens himself and faces his rival squarely. Terry takes hold of his arm.

“No,” she begins, but Jake gives her a warning glance.

“What are you trying to say, Hirsch?” Jake demands.

“I’m saying you’re a liar.”

Gasps ensue all around.

“Is there going to be a fight?” Mika says excitedly. “
I can referee a fight!”

“There’s not going to be a fight, Mika, behave yourself!” her grandmother hushes her.
Her expression is one of great distress, as if she can’t believe her little weekend is about to be ruined.

“Now, now, there’s no need to be unpleasant here,” Peter says
, darting a look at his wife. “You’re all my guests. Jeff, if you have anything to say to Jake, you can say it to all of us.”

“You are right. I do,” Jeff says.
He has puffed up his chest and is every inch in alpha male mode now. “You see, I’ve done some checking up on this guy here. He was with Barton, Schaffer and Co. until a couple of days ago. Very hush hush, but my contacts say he threw in the towel. So he’s desperate now and he will do anything to get this job.”

He points an accusing finger at Jake
and turns to Peter.

“
He thinks you prefer married employees. And so he hatches this scheme to get someone to pretend to be his wife for the weekend. I’m telling you, this guy has no record of being married when he was at Barton, Schaffer and Co.”

“Do you have proof of that?” Jake says dangerously.

He takes a step towards Jeff, but Terry yanks his arm back.

“How dare you accuse my husband of something?” she yells at Jeff, her eyes flashing.

Jeff sneers. “Oh, so he’s got you to be a she-wolf now? Are you going to be a wolf and come clean, Jake Savage, or do I have to unload my proof onto Mr. Skaarsgard here? Frankly, my proof will come in tomorrow, if everything comes to plan. I’ll then show all you good folks here that Jake Savage is a liar, and that you wouldn’t want someone who can cook up such an elaborate scheme to be in your company, handling your major accounts.”

Peter looks pained.

He turns to Jake and takes a deep breath. “Is this true, Jake?”

There’s
a deep disappointment in his voice which suggests he really wanted Jake to be the forerunner.

Jake doesn’t say anything at the moment. Terry’s heart is palpitating
and her chest is very tight all of a sudden.

Please don’t let anything bad happen to Jake
.

It’s so unfair, and yet, she knows
everything Jeff said is true. Jake
did
lie and he
did
hatch an elaborate scheme – and all because he so badly wanted the job. Did he misread the situation? And does the end justify the means?

Jake finally says, “We have been accused of being too civilized,
so maybe we should enact an old shifter clause in this case.”

Everyone perks up at this.

“A shifter clause?” Peter leans forward, interested and hopeful.

Jake says
confidently, “Yes. I did happen to ace my shifter lore in high school. Clause No. 273 (A) states that if two shifters have a dispute or disagreement over the truth, they can challenge each other to a contest.”

Peter nods slowly. “Yes, I know the clause.”
A light of admiration has come into his eyes. Terry wonders if Peter has suspected Jake and herself of the charade even before this, but is willing to see how far this would stretch out.

“What clause?” Jeff thunders.
Obviously, as a former alpha challenger, he isn’t too keyed up on the shifter rulebook.

Jake says, “
The clause further states that the challenger can choose the terms and type of the contest. So you see . . . it’s all up to
you
.”

Murmurs ripple through the gathered throng.

Ethel speaks up. “Yes, I remember such a clause. The elders used it to determine the truth for centuries.”

Terry eyes her gratefully. The blonde woman smiles at her.
Or maybe she shouldn’t be so happy just yet. The ball is in Jeff’s court, after all. Knowing Jeff, he would pick a challenge he is particularly good at and which Jake isn’t. But so far, Jake has proven very adept at shifting and speed and such. What can Jeff possibly choose that Jake is not good at? Does Jeff even know what Jake isn’t good at?

Jeff says, “I need to think about this.” There is a self-satisfied look on his face to suggest that he relishes this challenge. “I’ll give you the answer tomorrow at breakfast.”

Jake savors this, and then nods. “Very well.”

The anticipation is obvious in the lounge.

“Good call,” Peter says, approving. “I like the idea of going back to our shifter roots to decide things, which is precisely what this weekend is all about. We’ll be having a barbecue dinner tonight, and tomorrow at breakfast, we will wait for Jeff to come up with his proposal. All good?”

“All good,” Jake confirms.

Why does her stomach churn with such dread then? Terry wonders. Her premonition tells her that someone is going to be hurt real bad tomorrow, and she isn’t sure it’s going to be Jeff.

12

Dinner was a subdued affair, and Terry is glad to
escape to their bedroom. Anything to avoid seeing that condescending look on Jeff’s face. It is as though he has done his research and he knows that the task he chooses will be already to Jake’s downfall.

“God, will I be glad when this weekend is over!” Jake flops on the bed without taking off his shoes and socks. “I’m completely
and truly shacked.”

“Want me to take a look at your wound?” Terry offers.

“Nah. My leg is not going to fall off yet. I need a long bath.”

“I’ll run one for you.” She makes to go to the bathroom.

“Wait.” He eyes her quizzically. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

She bridles. “I am always nice!”

He grins. “Not necessarily.”

She remembers how she was to
wards him before this weekend, becomes momentarily contrite, and then shoots back, “You weren’t necessarily nice to me too!”

“Guilty.” His eyes are framed by his long lashes as he looks at her
through narrowed, sleepy slits. “I’m sorry I wasn’t nice to you before.”

“I’m sorry too.” She pauses at the bathroom
door. “You still want that bath?”

“Yeah.
And Terry?”

“What?”

“You do make a good wife.”

“Just because I’m running you a bath?” She does a mock about-turn.
“Run yourself your own bath!”

He laughs.

She goes to the bathroom and turns on the taps. Hot and cold water from the mixer. There is a glass tub of bath salts and so she scatters a few of the blue crystals into the swirling water. Steam billows from the tub, misting the large mirror above the sink and white marble top.

Her mind wanders to the water, and she can see Jake immersing his naked body in it.
A spool of desire uncurls in her groin.
No. He doesn’t think of you that way. You’re his neighbor and partner in crime, that’s all.
All that hand-holding and touching is just part of the act. An act that is about to implode tomorrow if they don’t come up with something. Jake is about to lose his job opportunity of a lifetime, and she’ll be damned if she’d let that happen.

She is surprised at herself – at how invested she is in what happens to Jake.
If he loses to Jeff tomorrow – even if they had lied and perpetuated this scheme – she will be very upset. Very upset indeed.

Once she is certain the water is hot enough and the bathtub is filled, she exits the bathroom. Jake is fast asleep on the bed. His eyes are closed, and he is softly snoring with his mouth slightly open.

She is chagrined. But still, she understands how the events of the day can zap him out. He is a city shifter, not used to such open spaces and fresh air and wild, unparalleled running. But he can run with the best of them and win, she knows. The thought of it makes her heart swell with pride.

What’s the matter with me?

She should let him sleep, of course. But he is on her bed –
their
bed – and that means she either has to sleep on the floor . . . or beside him.

He still has his shoes and socks on. She supposes she can take these off him very gently and he won’t wake up. So she teases his right shoe off, making sure
he is not conscious of it. Then she does the same with his left. His socks are the next to come off. Somehow, this ‘wifely’ duty does not seem cumbersome or denigrating, but rather comforting and rewarding.

He does stir when she finishes this.

She contemplates taking his clothes off, and then wonders if this will be to his benefit or hers. She blushes when she thinks of his glorious, naked form and the huge package at the crotch of his jeans which she knows shields his beautiful, long cock. That desire rubs slyly against her own crotch once again, like a teasing finger on her clit.

Ohhhh!

Stop it or you’ll end up masturbating!

She should just let him sleep and make her bed on the floor instead.

But she doesn’t want to. The thought of sleeping next to him, spooning against his clothed, warm body is very enticing. Very enticing indeed. The thought of disappearing into dreams with her hand upon his, imbibing his scent on her nostrils suddenly becomes the only thing that occupies her mind.

I should have a bath too
.

But she just wants to lie next to him for a while. To breathe in the same space he is breathing.
To not think too much of how she arrived here – deciding that he is the
one
for her – but to just revel in the moment, because tonight will be the last night she spends with him. Tomorrow, whatever the outcome, all this will be over.

So she positions herself next to him. His body warmth
immediately radiates across the tiny divide between their bodies. She feels toasty and comforted, and she soon drifts off to sleep herself.

Her dream is stark and vivid and
hyper-real.

She has shifted to her wolf form. She is running in the woods with the red gold wolf, Jake.
Her senses are all primed to the sights, sounds and smells of the forest – the rustling of the wind in the trees, the chirping of birds on the boughs and the smell of pine and sweet berries and freshness. She is strong, alive and very free as her powerful legs pump beside his.

They crest a slope up the hill, where the trees are sparser and the sky
is a swatch of blue above their heads. She has never been so energized in all her life. Once on the top of the hill, they both pause together, as if they are mates. Jake lifts his muzzle to scent the air. She can smell what he smells – the sea nearby.

Wordlessly, he gives her the signal to shift. They both shift simultaneously into their human forms.
They are naked, of course. The desire in his golden brown eyes is obvious.

“You are beautiful,” he says.

“As are you,” she replies. Her own core is burning with need for him as well. She gazes at his erection. It is magnificent. Her breath catches.

“I have never felt
this way about anyone before,” he confesses, taking her hands.

“Nor I.”

“I believe you are the one I’m looking for. My
mate
.”

The word sends shudders through her. In a good way. The way he says it is so dominant, as though he is laying claim on her.

My
Mate
.

“I believe you are my fated
mate
too,” she says. And the moment she says it, a delicious thrill ripples down her spine, like a goose walking down it.

“I never used to believe in mates,” he tells her.
“I thought it was all a rural legend, coined by shifters before we became civilized. I never used to believe the human stories either of finding their significant others as well, as if there was only one person in the world they are fated to be with.”

She understands.

His nostrils flare and his pupils darken.

“I want you,” he says hoarsely.

“I want you too.”

“I’m going to take you as you should be taken.” His voice is
raw with his need. Pleasure courses through her. It’s incredible to be wanted so badly by a beautiful man. His hands move to her arms. “Come here.”

They embrace in a frantic lip lock.
His lips are hard and soft and hot and warm and yielding all at the same time. Emotions swarm through her like a riptide. Her pussy petals become extremely engorged, and a trickle of molten liquid flows out of her core. His hands are all over her arms, her back, her buttocks, her breasts.

“Ohhhh, Terry,” he moans against her mouth. “You’re so sweet. So sweet.”

His tongue pushes against hers, and they are twining like two continuous pieces of flesh. She can’t tell where she flows into him and he into her. He pushes her pliant body to the ground – the fresh, soft loam of the earth – and presses his hard, muscled bulk down onto hers.

“Terry, Terry . . . ” He kisses her neck and the graceful arch of her shoulder while working his
way down to her breasts. Her nipples tingle with electricity as his mouth brushes against her right areola.

“Don’t stop,” she begs.

Terry’s eyes fly wide open.

She is in the bedroom, and it is dark but for the
moon shining in at the window. A slight breeze flutters the curtains. Jake’s hand is on her breast, and he is kissing her neck gently, lovingly.

Is he even awake?

“Jake?” she whispers.

If this is his dream, she doesn’t want to wake him.

“Mmmmmm.” He continues to slide his lips over her sensitive skin. His hand squeezes her breast below her cotton tee. “Terry . . . ”

He is not conscious of what he is doing, she decides.
But his touch feels sooooo good that she doesn’t want to rouse him just yet. What he is doing sends the same tingles all over her body that sets her pulse racing and her groin turning into mush.

She wonders if he is prone to having wet dreams. Should she just play along . . . or wake him?

What if he does something he will regret?

His hand slides down her stomach to the hem of her T-shirt, and he pulls it up. His body starts to roll on top of her right side. She decides it wouldn’t be fair to him to
let him continue.

“Uh, Jake?”

He pulls up her shirt, exposing her midriff.

“Jake?” A little louder.

“Huh?”

His eyes flutter open. She can see his white orbs in the semi-darkness.

“Oh my God, Terry! What are you doing here?” He springs up as if the bed is on fire. And maybe it is. He jumps off the bed in panic and almost stumbles as he lands on his feet.

It’s her fault for not waking him earlier.

“I fell asleep,” she says, guiltily.

“You should have pushed me off the bed.”

“You looked so tired I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” She sits up in bed and reaches for the lamp. Uh, maybe that’s a bad idea. Her hair must be tousled and she must look a right mess. She does it anyway, and the room floods with golden light.

“Did I do anything to you?” he says in a wary tone.

“No,” she replies quickly.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She swallows. “I ran you a bath, but the water’s probably cold by now.”

He runs his hand through his long hair, just as tousled.

“Thank you. Uh, I must have fallen asleep.” He seems uncertain now. Then he’s wary again. “Did you, uh . . . I mean, did I say anything in my sleep?”

He said my name.

“No,” she lies. She must appear equally flustered.

“I didn’t happen to . . . call anyone’s name out, did I?”

OK. Just how good is she at lying?

“No.”

“Good.” He is relieved.

“I hope you had a good nap,” she adds.

“I better take that bath now.”

“It’s probably cold.”

“I know. I’ll run the shower.” He hesitates. “But thanks for running it for me anyway.”

His eyes linger on her face, and there is a look of such yearning in them that she feels a pang.

What is he thinking? What was he dreaming about? Why did he call my name out?

He needs to make the first move, she decides, if there’s anything there at all. She can’t –
won’t
– get her heart broken again. Burt was the last straw. She doesn’t want to be a fool over a guy who will ultimately use her and leave her all over again. Her poor, beleaguered soul can’t take it.

“I gotta go,” he says, and quickly moves to the bathroom.

“Tell me if you need your bandage changed,” she says after him.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need to have it changed just yet.”

He closes the bathroom door softly behind him, leaving her mind in a turmoil.