Page 14 of A Wulver for the Week

“Yes, Macpherson. With Miss Minerva Johnson? You’re with the wedding party in the Palm Wing, room 202.”

“Thank you.” Craig takes the pastel card in its silvery sleeve as she places it on the green-marbled counter and steps back to let me have my turn.

The woman frowns. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Minerva Johnson.”

“I am.”

“Would you like a spare key?” She hands me one—the pretty little holder also reads 202.

“Um. Yes.”

We walk off, my arm around his waist, his arm draped around my back.

I say nothing.

Craig says nothing.

Is his heart pounding like mine?

They gave us one room!

8: Only One Bed

The room is huge, simple, and elegant.

It’s also obviously for lovers. There’s only one bed, no couch, just a loveseat, and a tiny table for two in case you want to eat your meals overlooking the sea from the comfort of your own room.

As soon as the door shuts behind us, Minnie claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh, my God, Craig! I’m so sorry! I should never have told my mom we’d been dating for six months. They must have assumed—”

“It’s fine! It’s absolutely fine!” I say, my accent, which has been absent in the presence of so many Americans and so much chat about the weather and baseball, suddenly pops out. “I’ll make up a bed on the floor—”

“You can’t sleep on the floor! Not for five days!” she hisses.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because Barry’s brother and his wife are in the next room, and my cousin Cora and her boyfriend are in the room across the hall!” Minnie’s eyes widen.

“What? What is it?”

“I hope the walls in this place are thick.”

“I— Oh.” If I didn’t have fur on my face, I’d be bright pink.

There’s a minute of silence as we both try to figure out the etiquette for this situation. My first instinct of giving up the bed (chivalry is alive and well in this heart, thank you) is out, according to Minnie. Sharing the bed is out if you ask me. Sleeping inches away from the woman who smells like love andsex? I’m going to wake up with a hard cock and a full knot. I’d probably wake up that way every day, even if we were a hundred miles apart. I’ve been dreaming about Minnie for weeks.

“You know, if we were in some emergency situation, we’d huddle together to share the warmth, or the bunker, or the bomb shelter. Whatever. This is an emergency—a really swanky one,” Minnie suddenly says in her no-nonsense, must-get-the-patient-to-listen voice. “We’ll just share the bed.”

“Ohhh. Um. I wonder, dear, if that’s wise?” I say, voice pinched.

“I trust you. I’ll behave,” she whispers, her most charming smile on her face.

Bloody hell, I wish she wouldn’t whisper. I wish she wouldn’t smile like that, either. Not now. Not when we’re alone in a bedroom on an island in the middle of the ocean. Whatever feral instincts wulvers have are starting to bubble to the surface. “I know you would, Minnie, it’s just that... Well, when a man is asleep and relaxed, he cannae help some of the things he might do. Or say! I’m a talker. Yes, that’s it. I talk in my sleep, and I sprawl. I grab and cuddle. Ye’d have no peace with me in yer bed,” I say in a breathless rush.

Minerva stares at me for an eternity. Well, ten seconds. “You know what? That’s perfect. Cora will hear you mumbling and banging around and think we’re just being romantic. Perfect cover.”

“I might roll on top of you and smother ye!” I protest.

Her dark eyes are suddenly even darker. “I like to be cuddled. No man has done that in a long, long time. Even the few I’ve dated who did like to snuggle—I guess I was too proud of being independent. Not needing them.” Minnie sighs and hangs her garment bags in the closet. “An accidental snuggle would make my day—unless you’re not into that. Like, I don’t mind, but if you mind...”

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