Page 12 of Her Werewolf Lover

He shook his head at her inept description. He almost couldn’t believe it.

Mate.

Holy fuck.

The human was his mate. There was no denying it. But she didn’t understand what that meant. How the hell was he supposed to tell her?

You have time. Take it slow.

This project would be a good opportunity, he supposed.

Of course, Michael could sniff out his Aunt Eileen’s mischief anywhere. Histiahad told herbeautiful boss lady that he was a handyman, er, a carpenter.

Not even a contractor, Tia?

Michael allowed a small chuckle to slip through his lips as he stood on the carpeted floor. His fingers were still tingling from where they’d touched the soft skin of her ankle.

This was hardly the time to get a boner, and yet, his cock didn’t give a fuck about propriety.

Thank the gods for thick work jeans.

Looking down at his booted feet on the oddly plush red carpet, he frowned.

The thing was ugly as sin, and what the fuck was it made of? Some kind of velveteen?

He shook his head.

No wonder his aunt’s boss wanted to redo everything. The house had potential, but it was currently hidden under layers of truly terrible and garish décor.

Tacky was too kind a word.

Images of his new client flashed through his mind and he shuddered as he recalled trying to take his eyes off her body in that ridiculously flimsy robe.

The tighter she pulled it, the more it outlined her deliciously bare curves beneath the gossamer thin fabric.

Grrr.

The woman was built. She looked delicious, and the scent of her arousal had him panting for her.

But he needed to focus on the task at hand. She needed an interior designer, or even a carpenter or handyman, like she thought he was. Not the owner and operator of a multi-million dollar design and build firm.

But it didn’t matter now. Cause what she was getting was him and him alone.

Every inch of Michael’s six-and-a-half-foot frame, if his Wolf had anything to say about it.

He closed his eyes and saw his Wolf. The beast was primed, snapped his jaws at him, but Michael ignored it.

His human side was in charge. Not the other way around. The animal in him could whine and threaten all it wanted.

Michael’s gaze returned to where the half-naked woman had sat moments ago with her riot of ridiculously sexy hair hanging in a damp tangle down her back mere moments ago, and fuck, if his heart didn’t threaten to beat him to death.

Did she really have no idea who he was?

Obviously not.

And she clearly had no clue what he was, either.

Thanks Tia, he thought ruefully.

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