Page 33 of What a Wolf Demands

She straightened her shoulders. If being demure was what it took to win over Prado, she was going to go out there and act the part.

And she was going to get her way.

Because her life depended on it.

5

What’s taking her so long?

Dom sat at the dining room table, his eyes on the bedroom door. In front of him lay a spread of silver-domed dishes, the tops covered with condensation as the food cooled. If Lily didn’t come out soon, they’d have to eat a cold dinner. He didn’t much care—food was food—but she might.

Weren’t women picky about that sort of thing? Or maybe that was just when they did the cooking. At the Lodge, Lizette was forever getting after Max for lingering over his work while the rest of the pack sat down for a meal together. With so many trainees filling their ranks, she and Sophie had taken to making huge pots of spaghetti. Remy handled the sauce—mostly because he wouldn’t let anyone else near it. “It’s a proprietary recipe,” he claimed. “I’m thinking of having it trademarked.”

He would, too. Not because he had aspirations of mass producing marinara sauce, but more just to push Max’s buttons. Remy excelled at that. He was good at burrowing under people’s personalities and finding the little things that set them off. Somehow, though, he still managed to be endearing. Maybe because he did it out of affection rather than malice. The more he liked a person, the more he teased them.

Dom folded his arms, his gaze still on the door. How would Remy have handled a situation like this? Hell, that was an easy answer. Before Sophie, he probably would have ended up in bed with Lily.

Without warning, Dom’s wolf lifted its head and growled. It sent a clear message, the force of it like a lightning strike inside his skull.

OURS.

Dom clapped a hand to the side of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Nausea rushed over him, making his mouth water. The wolf’s declaration seemed to echo in his mind, even though such a thing wasn’t possible.

After a couple seconds, the pain dissipated enough for him to open his eyes. He lowered his hand and sent a mental rebuke to the wolf. “She’s not ours.”

Like a camera flash going off, a series of images flooded Dom’s mind. Flash. Lily behind the bar, her rounded ass flexing as she stretched to reach glasses on a shelf. Flash. Lily whirling to face him on a dance floor, her breasts rising and falling from her sprint through the alley. Flash. Lily lifting her chin as she squared off with him in the club’s alcove. Flash. Lily’s green eyes narrowed in anger . . . and maybe something else. Flash. Lily’s full, pink mouth. Flash. White teeth nibbling at her plump lower lip as she thought something over. Flash. Her hot tongue against his. Flash. Soft breasts pushing against his chest. Flash. Tangled red waves—

“Enough!” Dom brought his fist down on the table, making dishes rattle.

Silence. It was as if the wolf wasn’t listening.

Wasn’t even around.

But that couldn’t be right. Those images had come from the beast, not him. He didn’t see Lily that way.

Correction. He couldn’t see Lily that way. After tomorrow, he couldn’t see her at all. He would keep his word and make sure she was given a fair trial, then he would go straight back to New York. They would never meet again.

And no pouting lips or fairy dust freckles were going to stop that from happening.

The bedroom doors swung open. Lily stood between them, her body swathed in a glowing white robe, red hair streaming over her shoulders.

He jumped to his feet.

Then caught his breath.

The robe shouldn’t have looked good on her. It was at least two sizes too big. The hem dragged on the ground, and the sleeves covered her hands. But the white made her hair glow like fire, the bright strands like heated iron. Then there was the way the belt cinched her waist, showing where it nipped in before flaring over gently rounded hips. White fabric fell down legs that seemed to go on forever. He followed their path, his gaze traveling down to delicate toes curled against the carpet.

She probably had freckles there, too.

A small sound made him jerk his gaze to her face.

Shit. He’d been staring.

She lifted a hand and pinched the robe’s lapels together over her throat.

“I ordered you clothes,” he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to snatch them from the air. Smooth, asshole. Real smooth.

Her eyebrows pulled together. “How did you know my size?”

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