Page 26 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

The Tahoe’s rear gate opened, and a rush of cold air swept the cabin.

“Miss Michaels.”

She twisted around in her seat.

Bard stood at the rear of the vehicle, his shoulders framed by the Tahoe’s cargo area.

She tried for “yeah” but her voice came out strangled and hoarse. She cleared her throat. “Um, yes?”

“You can’t sit in the garage all night.”

“Oh. I’m not.”

An emotion flickered in his blue eye. For a second, she could have sworn it was amusement. Then he looked down and hefted her suitcase from the back. When he met her gaze again, any emotion was gone. He tipped his head toward a set of steps leading to a steel door. “Let’s go. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

Guest room. Well, that didn’t sound so ominous.

She unlatched her seat belt and got out, then rounded the front of the SUV and went to the steps. Bard was already on the second tread, her suitcase in his hand.

Except something was wrong.

He favored his right leg, bending it like normal as he went up the steps. But his left . . .

She held back, not wanting to crowd him. He didn’t seem all that stable.

And he kept his left leg straight even as he climbed.

“Here,” she said, reaching for the suitcase, “let me.”

“I’ve got it.” He barked the reply without turning around, his voice lashing out like a whip.

She snatched her hand back.

He opened the door, set the suitcase inside, and entered the house—all without so much as a glance in her direction.

She stood at the base of the steps. What was that about? Male pride? He was obviously in pain. She was a freaking werewolf. She could have carried ten suitcases without breaking a sweat.

Bard’s deep voice drifted from the house’s interior. “It’s late, Miss Michaels. While I respect your admiration for my garage, I’m very tired.”

Nope. That definitely hadn’t been amusement in his eye before. There wasn’t a trace of humor in the man.

She went up the steps and entered a darkened mudroom. Bard already had his coat off, and he waited in a broad doorway with her suitcase in hand. Even after shedding his bulky coat, his body still filled the frame. He should have looked less intimidating in the ordinary space. But his height and the eye patch ensured he stayed as menacing as before.

“Leave your boots on the mat,” he said, then turned and limped through the doorway, pulling her suitcase behind him. “Meet me in my study,” he added over his shoulder. “Second door on the right.”

Okay, so she’d been in his house less than ten seconds and he’d already issued two orders. So much for standing her ground against an overbearing Alpha. Heaving a sigh, she bent and unlaced her boots. Irritation rose as she toed off the first one. He hadn’t removed his boots, even though they were probably as dirty as hers.

She slid out of the second and then stooped so she could tip both shoes upright. For a second, she was tempted to leave them wet and dripping right where they were. But she couldn’t do that to the hardwood floors.

She moved the boots to the mat, then gave the floorboards a pat and whispered, “It’s not your fault your owner’s an ass.” Then she stood, put her shoulders back, and went through the doorway into a long hall.

The hall was wide, its floors made of the same beautiful hardwood from the mudroom. Bard still hadn’t turned on any lights, but the soft glow spilling from an open door beckoned. More butterflies stirred in her stomach as she walked to the study. She stopped outside the door, heart thumping.

I should have never come to Washington. What had she been thinking, flying thousands of miles from home for a blind date? Sure, the prospect of seeing wild horses was alluring, but it wasn’t worth the mess she was in now.

“Enter,” Bard said from the room.

Her heart leapt. His voice was deeper than Max’s, but it held the same irritating note of command the New York Alpha favored. Unlike Max, though, he wasn’t her Alpha. Anger sparked in her gut. She might be a guest, but she wasn’t an underling. She didn’t have to jump when he said so.

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