A Werewolf in Manhattan (Wild About You #1)(32)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

Although she had to be careful not to behave like a reporter gathering information, she felt a certain responsibility to record every detail she could remember. She wouldn’t ever present it as fact, but she could certainly disguise it as fiction. She would get to write about this house and the werewolves who lived here, because Aidan had promised that her publishing career would continue. She was choosing to believe he’d make good on that promise.

So she took in the butterscotch color of the stone, the steep pitch of the red slate roof dusted with snow, the twin chimneys rising high into the air, the multipaned windows catching stray beams from the setting sun, and the twin wrought iron balconies at each end of the house. She wondered whether she’d be given a bedroom with a balcony. The romantic in her had always yearned for one.

As she neared the front door, Fiona Wal ace stepped forward and held out her hand. “Welcome to our home, Emma Gavin.”

Emma clasped Fiona’s hand and felt quiet strength there. Aidan’s mother had yel ow-gold eyes very similar to her son’s, but Aidan had inherited his high cheekbones and square jaw from his father. After Emma shook hands with Fiona, Howard Wal ace extended his hand to her.

His grip spoke of power that was al the more intimidating because he didn’t flaunt it with a crushing handshake. Here was a man used to being in command, and she sensed that he didn’t like losing control of a situation the way he’d obviously lost control of this one.

“Thank you for coming,” he said simply. His gray eyes seemed to see right through her.

She doubted he missed much, so she’d be wise to be perfectly honest with him. “I don’t know that I had a choice.”

His laugh was deep and infectious, rumbling upward from his barrel chest. “True enough. But now that you’re here, let’s get you inside and find some wine and a warm fire, shal we?”

Emma could see why Aidan’s father was such a successful businessman. He operated on the assumption that everyone agreed with his plan, whatever that might be. In this case, Emma found herself ushered inside and guided along a marble hal way.

Someone took her coat, and then seamlessly, she found herself in a cozy sitting room where a cheerful blaze crackled in a large stone fireplace. She chose what turned out to be an infinitely comfortable easy chair, sat down, and took stock of her surroundings. Fine art, predominantly landscapes, adorned the wal s. The furniture looked very Ethan Al en, but Emma suspected it was far older than that.

She couldn’t have scripted a gracious welcome any better if she’d written it herself. Someone, perhaps a butler of sorts, appeared at her elbow and asked whether she preferred red or white. She chose red, and shortly thereafter was sipping an exceptional wine as yet another person—female werewolf, probably—served some kind of wonderful pâté on thin slices of rustic bread.

Searching for Aidan, she found him leaning against the mantel, wineglass in hand, as he talked with his father and Roarke. Emma had been spared the burden of making any conversation for the time being, and she was grateful to be al owed to get her bearings. But such a period of calm couldn’t last.

Fiona took a seat in the chair next to Emma’s, settled back with a sigh, and took a hefty swal ow of her white wine. “How was your trip from Chicago?”

A memory of the or*l s*x with Aidan flashed into Emma’s mind, and she quickly squelched it. “Fascinating,” she said. “I’ve never flown in a private jet before.”

“Aidan hates flying. When he was a little boy I used to sing nursery rhymes to him during the entire flight so he wouldn’t freak out.”

Emma decided sharing her method for soothing a jumpy Aidan wouldn’t be a great idea. She angled herself so she could look squarely at Fiona, mother of Aidan, wife of Howard, matriarch of the Wal ace pack.

If Emma left out the last part of that description, she’d have no problem picturing the nursery-rhyme singing going on. But trying to imagine a werewolf mother singing “Ring Around the Rosie” blew her circuits.

“You look dubious,” Fiona said.

Being a vocabulary junkie, Emma appreciated the use of the word dubious. She might get along with Fiona, except she’d never get the chance. “I’l admit I’m in over my head. I thought werewolves—you, basical y—were imaginary.”

“I’m sorry you discovered otherwise, Emma. It complicates things.”

The wine on a somewhat empty stomach had apparently affected Emma’s good judgment, because she leaned toward Fiona and asked, quite clearly, “Wil I be kil ed?”

Fiona recoiled in obvious horror. “Good heavens, no. Did someone say that?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Aidan told me some pack members were suggesting that was the best way to handle the problem.”

Fiona tsk-tsk ed and shook her head. “It’s certainly not. You’re a Well-known author. There would be al kinds of media interest and police investigations if you turned up dead.”

Emma blinked. So it was fear of reprisal that kept her from ending up in a shal ow grave on the Wal ace estate. She supposed that was some comfort.

“Emma, I have to know …” Fiona lowered her voice. “I have to know exactly how you feel about my son.”

Emma decided to hedge on that one. “What do you mean?” She stil might not be out of the woods, so to speak.

If she admitted to having a major crush on Aidan, she might be wiped out on the grounds of sheer audacity. She’d figured out from the fact that no humans had set foot in this house that humans shouldn’t be jonesing on werewolves. It just wasn’t done.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Fiona said. “And I’ve seen the way you look at him. Unless my instincts are off, which is always possible now that I’m going through menopause, you two have forged a bond.”

“Not exactly.” Better to diffuse this potential bomb. “Aidan needs to find a werewolf mate, and I would never want to interfere with that in any way.”

“Bul shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Emma Gavin, you’re crazy in love with my son, and if you could figure out a way to be with him permanently, you’d grab it. Am I right?”

“Oh, God.” Emma drained her wineglass.

“Am I right?”

Emma turned her head to discover Fiona watching her the way a hawk watches a rabbit. “Yes, you’re right. But I’m not an idiot. I realize Aidan is the crown prince of the Wal ace pack. Hooking up with me gets him absolutely nowhere. In fact, it causes him an untold amount of problems. So al I want is to disappear from his life so he can get on with finding the perfect she-wolf, or whatever it is you cal his mate.”

Fiona nodded. “That would indeed be wonderful and a great solution to the sticky situation we’re in, except for one thing.”

“Which is?”

“My son is crazy in love with you.”

Everything in Emma rebel ed at that idea. She shook her head violently. “No, no, he’s not. That would be a disaster.” I will protect you with my life. But that was duty, not love. Wasn’t it?

“I completely agree it’s a disaster,” Fiona said. “You’re miles away from the daughter-in-law I had in mind. Nadia is the daughter-in-law of my dreams.”

Emma didn’t like that any better than the concept of Aidan being crazy in love with her. “He doesn’t love Nadia, at least not in the way a man should love a woman he plans to marry and spend his life with. I’d go so far as to say he never will love Nadia that way. To think of him marrying Nadia would be a tragedy.”

“Hm.” Fiona sipped her wine. “So what’s he supposed to do, be a lone wolf with nobody to keep him warm at night?”

“Of course not. There are plenty of fish in the sea. Or werewolves in the woods.

I’m sure there’s a perfect mate out there waiting for him, once he no longer has the responsibility of Nadia hanging like an albatross around his neck.”

“Hm,” Fiona said again. She finished her wine and signaled to someone on the other side of the room. “I don’t think you understand the werewolf way, my dear.”

“No, but I’d like to. Roarke warned me not to ask too many questions, but I’m a writer. I’m al about the questions.” She accepted another glass of wine from the butler-type person who arrived with red for her and white for Fiona.

“Then let me tel you how a werewolf chooses a mate.” Fiona took another hefty swal ow of her wine.

“Fiona, are we going to have dinner soon? Because I haven’t had a lot to eat today and this wine is potent stuff.”

“We’l have dinner in about fifteen minutes. Drink up.”

“Okay.” Emma took another sip. She didn’t want to waste wine that tasted so good that she wouldn’t be surprised if it was several hundred dol ars a bottle.

Fiona raised a finger. “Werewolf-Mate Selection 101.”

“I’m listening.” Emma chalked this up as the absolute weirdest evening she’d ever had in her life. But it made for great research.

“The first thing is the smel .”

“Oh.” Emma couldn’t ignore al the references Aidan had made to her scent.

“Howard chose me on scent alone. He also liked the way I looked, fortunately, because that has a bearing on how the children will turn out, but my scent is what closed the deal.”

That got her attention. “You and Howard didn’t marry for political expediency?”

“No, we married for lust and love and pheromones. Why do you ask?”

“Because you expected Aidan to make a practical, political y beneficial marriage!

How could you?”

Fiona drank more wine. “Logical y, the chemistry should have been there. We had both their birth charts done. We brought them together several times as children so they’d have a shared history. They’re both beautiful. It should have worked.”

“It did, in a way. They’re fast friends.”

“I stil wonder, though, if you hadn’t come along …”

Emma shook her head. “You can pin lots of things on me, but I’m the savior in that situation. Those two would have had a boring, miserable life together, fulfil ing what they saw as their duty to both packs. You would have made your son into a martyr, and I can already tel you’re not the kind of mother who would want that.”

“No, I’m not. I’m the kind of mother who wants the best for her son.” She gazed at Emma over the top of her wineglass. “And whether I like it or not, he seems to have chosen you.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Yes, he has, Emma. That’s what I’ve been trying to tel you. First there’s the attraction of scent, and then there’s the sexual exploration phase. Last of al there’s the binding.”

“The binding?”

“Yes. If you have to ask what that is, it hasn’t happened between you two yet. But I predict it won’t be long, judging from Aidan’s behavior. He shows al the signs of a werewolf seeking a binding experience.”

The wine had definitely taken its tol and loosened Emma’s tongue. “The thing is, Aidan’s promised me I won’t end up having to stay here.” She realized belatedly that sounded ungracious. “Not that it isn’t lovely, but I have a whole other life.”

Fiona laid a hand on her arm. “Emma, much as it pains me to say this, I predict your life is about to be joined with Aidan’s.”

Emma opened her mouth to protest that unsettling prediction, but dinner was announced. Aidan came to take her in, and after two glasses of wine, she was glad for a strong arm to lean on. She had much to think about. If Aidan truly loved her and wanted her to stay, would she? Would she have to give up everything else—her career, her mother, her friends? Fiona almost made it sound as if she wouldn’t have a choice in the matter, but she wasn’t about to abandon her independence, not even for Aidan.

“I caught a little of the conversation you were having with my mother, but not al of it,” he said as they walked into the dining room with an immensely long table.

Fortunately, the places had been grouped at one end so they wouldn’t have to shout at one another during the meal.

“Al things considered, she’s been very gracious.” Emma glanced up at him.

“Although she’s not happy about it, she claims you show al the signs of a werewolf seeking a binding, whatever that is.”

His eyes widened.

“Of course, I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“I do.” Aidan helped her into a chair at the table. “And she’s wrong.”

“That’s what I thought.” Of course he wouldn’t consider marriage to a non-Were.

That simplified things, and no, she wasn’t disappointed to discover she was right and Fiona was wrong. Well, maybe a little, but this was for the best. Deciding to live for the moment, she proceeded to enjoy one of the most delicious meals she’d ever had the pleasure of eating.

A binding. As always, his mother could read his moods better than anyone. He’d been fantasizing about that very thing ever since that first night of sex with Emma, but he was determined to reject the concept.

Fiona had some good reasons for being unhappy with the idea, and he would honor those reasons. No human had ever been bound to a member of the Wal ace pack, and Aidan wasn’t about to be the groundbreaker with that concept. He wasn’t about to put his parents through the drama of it.

As the meal progressed, Emma seemed to be having a great time, but one family dinner didn’t a lifetime make. She would always be an outsider here, and she’d never accept the kinds of restrictions on her lifestyle that a binding would dictate.

As his mate, she’d be privy to al the secrets of the pack, and pack members wouldn’t be at al happy with that. They’d demand that she be sequestered here on the estate, and his parents would probably demand it, as Well. Emma already knew more than was good for her. Binding her to him would be a supreme act of selfishness on his part.