The Werewolf Tycoon's Secret Baby (The Woolven Secret Book 2) (18 page)

Drew studied her for a moment before kissing her lips. “One bite at a time.”

E
mmie was
nervous getting ready for the first visiting day at Academy.

She’d missed Noah so much, but she knew that sending him away was the right thing. Not only was he safe, but he was around others of his kind and he was learning so much while still getting to be a child.

She’d been away from him for too long, but it had been good for her, too. She was relearning what it meant to be a wolf, and how to walk in two worlds. The Okami was a wild thing and being joined with her, it was healing, too.

She watched her husband move around their room at Aphelion, doing mundane tasks like putting his socks on. Tying his shoes. Choosing a watch.

Those years ago on Santorini she’d never imagined this could be her life.

Or perhaps she had and it had been some secret she’d kept from herself all this time.

He looked up at caught her regard. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Our one bite at a time.”

He rewarded her with a smile. “Why don’t you come over here so I can steal one before we go?”

“You know we won’t leave on time if I get anywhere near you,” she teased.

“That’s why I started getting ready an hour early.”

“Well, in that case…” She sauntered over to him and put her arms around his neck. Yes, this was bliss. This was life without fear, and it was all hers.

One bite at a time.

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P
arker Woolven was dead
.

He had to be.

Some hunter had cut off his head, turned it into a bongo, and had given it to their asshole offspring who were currently banging the shit out of it with a wooden spoon. That was the only reasonable explanation for the pounding that reverberated through his skull.

Gods, but his mouth was dry. Too dry to wet his parched lips.

His tongue was wearing a cashmere sweater. He pressed it against the roof of his mouth and reached for something liquid. Fucking hell, he’d need a brillo pad to scrub it clean. What the hell had he put in his mouth?

The decanter on the floor next to him was empty—that bastard. It was all the Full Moon Whiskey’s fault.

What had he been thinking?

Yeah, let’s drink some Full Moon Whiskey. Wolfsbane alcohol. That was a stupid thing to do. He’d never been that drunk. Ever.

No wonder his brothers treated him like an infant he could’ve—well, actually he couldn’t have. Changed, that is. A grin cracked his face and he groaned, because it did, indeed, feel like someone had taken a hammer and actually smashed it into his mug forcing his face to crack into a smile.

He’d gotten shit-faced responsibly. With the Wolfsbane, he could be completely out of control without being a danger.

To anyone but himself, that was.

He congratulated himself and had to say he felt pretty good about the whole thing. Even though he was paying for it now.

Paying through the fucking nose.

Literally.

His stomach rebelled and—
Oh Goddess!

Parker scrambled to get himself upright and found himself flat on his back again with cool, but strong hands on his face.

There was a tiny blond on top of him, holding him down.

She was strong for such a little thing. Normally, he’d be all about that life, but with last night’s mistake threatening to erupt like a volcano out of his face, he wasn’t in the mood.

Except her cold hands made everything right in the world. It was as if her touch shut everything out, and the planet stopped spinning. There was only silence, and the calm depths in her blue eyes that swallowed him up.

Only it was nothing like drowning. It was more like flying.

Parker never wanted it to end.

At least, until he became aware of more earthly concerns.

The blond was naked. She was in possession of the most beautiful, perfect breasts he’d ever seen. For Parker, that was saying something. While his older brother had the reputation for being the billionaire playboy with a new lady on his arm, or more accurately bent over his desk, it was actually Parker who had all the sex.

Parker had so much sex, he was surprised there was sex left for anyone else.

His cavalier attitude made panties drop wherever he went. That and he was a connoisseur of feminine flesh. Some people were passionate about art. Some were passionate about wine. Some jewels.

Parker’s number one passion, his joy in life was women.

He loved the way they looked, the way they felt, the way they smelled—he loved the way their brains worked. Especially the really smart ones.

A woman who could flay him alive with a witty riposte? Perhaps it made him a bit perverse, but that gave him teak for days.

He loved all women. Big ones, small ones, lithe ones, round ones, curvy ones, large breasts, small breasts, he could find something beautiful in every woman and could enjoy her for exactly what she brought to the table.

“None of that,” she instructed. Her voice was soft, lilting, but left no room for argument. Not from his lips, or his rebelling stomach.

The predator in him wanted to fight it, but the male of refined and experienced tastes wanted to see what else she could do with that voice.

His cock was hard as stone.

She smiled. “Oh, you’re a bad one, Parker Woolven. Still full of all that poison you put in yourself last night, about to be sick in the most undignified manner, yet you’re still thinking about getting in my pants.”

“You’re not wearing any.” He smirked.

She blushed, her porcelain cheeks stained with pink. He decided he liked that look on her. He liked it very much. He wanted to make her do it again.

“I’m sure you’ve deducted I have you to thank for that, I doubt you remember it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That is indeed a sad state of affairs. I think you need to help me figure it out.” Parker put his hands on her rounded hips. Yeah, it had definitely been a good night.

“Probably not.” She wrinkled her nose. “As soon as I take my hands off your head, you’re going to feel awful again and then—” she shrugged “—I think we both know that’s not going to end well.”

“It might.” He found himself grinning. Parker liked this one. He liked her a lot. “I hope I don’t sound like an asshole, but I can’t remember your name.”

The smile didn’t waver. “Nah, you’d be an asshole if you didn’t ask.”

He looked at her pointedly.

“Well, ask.”

Parker snorted. “What’s your name?”

“That’s better. My name is Belle.”

A sense of accomplishment and perhaps tinged with just a bit of happiness washed over him. This was going to be his wife. His mate. So his future didn’t suck balls. Well, not that it would. He supposed his misery would be relative. Arranged marriages and matings weren’t the worst thing that could happen to him.

He could be broke and Parker would take a fat portfolio and all the comforts that came with it. Moving amongst the naturals for his kind was only easy if you were off the grid or above it. So far, above it had been the way to go. If that meant he had to marry someone his brother chose for him, he wouldn’t complain.

Especially since she was gorgeous, witty, had perfect breasts, and just her touch on his skin soothed him and made him well.

It could be a hell of a lot worse.

“Belle, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

She flashed him a smirk that caused dread to knot in his stomach. “I think maybe it’s going to be more than that.”

He didn’t understand that sudden dread at her words. Parker wasn’t afraid of commitment. He knew his duty. He was pleased with the hand he’d been dealt. But that expression on her face, there was some part of him that instinctively knew no good could come of it.

“Why do I feel like I stepped in shit and it’s still on my shoe?”

She waved her finger at him.

The diamond caught the light and almost seared his retina. The fucking thing was practically a laser.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Not what I was expecting this morning either. We can go get a quicky annulment. I won’t hold you to it. We were both piss drunk.” She looked at the ring on her hand. “But I’m keeping the rock.”

Wouldn’t hold him to… what? No. Yes. Yes, she would. He would
. Damn it, his head started to hurt again.

“We’re supposed to be married.” He squinted, as if that would filter the proper information to his brain. Or maybe show him what he was missing.

“That’s sweet.” She pressed her lips against his forehead. “That’s the same thing you said last night. I thought for sure you’d change your mind this morning.”

Goddess, but her touch was heaven. It gave succor to things he didn’t know had been hurting. This mating stuff didn’t suck at all.

Her lips were as cool as her fingers and there was nothing but frozen peace there. He could stay like this forever and began to wonder just exactly how long he could get away with it.

“There is no changing our minds. It’s what our families want.”

One more second—that was exactly how long he was able to get away with it until she jerked her hands away from his face.

“Our families?” She narrowed her eyes.

She also reeked of fear. It was almost too much when coupled with the pounding in his head and the nausea. “Gonna hurl.”

“You deserve it if you married me because my family said so.”

“Don’t wanna—”

She put her hands back on his head and smoothed a lock of hair away from his fevered brow.

Ah, there was that bliss again. His stomach, his head, all the turmoil ceased. He turned his face into her palm. “If you could just keep your hand there.”

She shook her head. “Just because you’re sweet and adorable doesn’t mean you’re not going to answer my questions.”

“I’ll do anything you want, just keep touching me. You know, you could even pet me. I like that.”

Her laughter was like little chimes. “Fine. So. We’re married. Why did you say our families wanted it that way?”

Well, that was a dumb question. Of course, he wasn’t going to say that out loud because she’d stop touching him. He couldn’t have that. “We’re betrothed. Parker Woolven. Maribella DeVaughn. Family merger. Company merger. Simpatico. Yes?” He nuzzled her hand.

Being petted like a dog wasn’t supposed to feel this good. Goddess, but he wanted her to scratch behind his ears and then he’d—

“Oh, you poor bastard. You poor, poor bastard,” she whispered in that melodic voice of hers.

He didn’t feel poor. In fact, he felt very rich. “Hmm? Why’s that?”

“My name is Belle.”

“Mmhmm. Yes. Belle Vaug—fuck.” He shot up like a cannon ball and crashed back down to the floor just as heavy—weighted with both his hangover and the knowledge he’d really stepped in shit. “You’re not Maribella DeVaughn of the Vegas DeVaughns?”

Please laugh. Please laugh. Please laugh…

She laughed, but it wasn’t what he’d hoped for. It wasn’t a funny ha-ha laugh. It was a it-sucks-to-be-you laugh.

“No, sweetheart. I’m just plain ol’ Belle Vaughn. Waitress at the Greasy Lamb.”

“Now you’re just fucking with me.” His stomach rolled in protest.

“Nope. Not at all. It’s the worst restaurant in Vegas. The owner is Greek and wanted to do a take on American “greasy spoon food.” So. Yeah.” She shrugged.

“If you could never say those words together again, that would be great.”

“What? Greek?” She cocked her head to the side.

“You have a mean streak a mile wide.”

“Yes, I do. But you liked it last night.”

His eyes were drawn down to her breasts again. “I like it right now, too.”

“Listen, if we’re going to fix this sham marriage thing, we probably shouldn’t be thinking lusty thoughts about each other.”

“I hate to break it to you, Belle, but I’ll be thinking lusty thoughts about you until I die. It’d be great if I had some real memories to take with me. Come on. Whatdya’ say?”

“I don’t know, Parker. I’m pretty sure that if I take my hands off of your face to engage other parts of you, your sins from last night will keep us from committing any more today.”

“Damn it.” He sighed. She was being awfully level-headed about all of this and didn’t seem the least bit surprised that her touch kept his hangover at bay. “Are you a witch?”

“What? No!”

“Then what are you?” She didn’t smell like a witch. Or a werewolf. Or anything he’d ever known. Horrible thought: what if she was human? Wouldn’t that just suck am ugly dick? She didn’t smell human though either. If a quiet winter evening could have a scent it would be Belle.

She seemed startled by the question. “I… Belle. I’m Belle.”

She backed away from him and this time, he was okay. The good feeling stayed with him, thank the goddess.

“Look, we need to get this figured out. The sooner you get all that out of your system, the sooner you can get dressed and the sooner we can undo this travesty.”

“Yeah, I think I’m good now.” He eyed her and his predator brain was suddenly at the forefront.

He was more than good. He was ready to take her down and devour her in the best way.

“None of that.” She shook her head slowly. “We really can’t.”

“Hmm, no. It’s not that we can’t.” He was on his feet, advancing toward her. “It’s that we
shouldn’t
. And Gorgeous, that’s no reason not to.”

She bit her lip and backed away slowly until she was pressed against the wall. “How about if I just say no?”

“Well, that would most definitely be a loss. For both of us.”

Belle laughed again. “Parker Woolven, I’m sure that your real bride-to-be would be very—”

The pulse at her throat quickened. He could scent her desire. So he advanced and pressed his lips to that pulse in her throat.

She gave a little gasp and entwined her fingers with his—he drew her hands up over her head.

“My real bride-to-be is probably just as thrilled at our impending nuptials as I was. That is to say, not really. We do what we do for family. But this… if she has her own moment like this, I wouldn’t take that from her.”

“You’re just saying that because we’re naked.”

“Nope.” He nuzzled at her neck some more and she turned her face to the side, giving him more access as she hooked one leg around his waist. “I mean it.”

He meant it, unless of course Maribella DeVaughn happened to be The One. His true mate. But that was as likely as Belle Vaughn being The One. Maybe even less.

“Parker.”

He’d begun kissing her neck, grazing his teeth over her tender flesh. “Hmm? Busy, can’t talk now.”

“There’s a…” Her sentence turned into a small moan. “Mmm. Parker?”

“What?” He pulled away so that he could focus on what she was trying to say.

“There’s a man outside our window.”

Parker turned to see not just one man, but an entire mob of press and tabloid photographers hanging from the window cleaner’s scaffolding like a bunch of gawkers at a zoo watching the bonobos having sex.

Err… he guessed that meant he and Belle were the bonobos.

And it was going to be all over the news.

Fuck.