Page 17 of A Wulver for the Week

“Craig, really. Anything,” I urge when he gets permission but stays silent.

“Maybe it’s not a question. It’s a statement.”

“Oh. Okay. Shoot.”

“The elevator isn’t the only thing that goes down around here,” he says. “I just thought... I just thought you should know that there are some unselfish men in the world. Men in the world who will give you massages and hold your chair and pay for your meals. Men who are happy because you’re happy.”

Tears suddenly spring to my eyes. It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long, long year, and you see a lot of death and dying in my job. Crying isn’t a luxury I allow myself often. I don’t know why it suddenly happens now, but it does.

“Craig...”

“No, listen, I’m not trying to be smooth. God knows I’d fail.”

I disagree but keep quiet.

His voice is a whisper as we steer our way through palms and budding hibiscus bushes. “Hearing your mother and aunts lecture you off and on today, hearing all the guff your mother gave you that forced you to ask some random workmate to be your plus-one—”

“You were not random!” I say as we enter the lobby and make for the elevator.

“They’re going on about you hurrying up and marrying just so you don’t run out of time. Havers!”

“Havers?”

“It’s Scottish for bullshit—in this context. Or, what a lot of nonsense. Why marry someone who won’t make you happy just so you can say you did it? And if you wanted a baby so badly, there are hundreds in New York State alone looking for a wonderful mum like you.”

“Craig Macpherson. You are one hell of a social worker, and I see why you’ve gotten NASW awards for Broome County more than once in your life. Thanks. I won’t settle for anyone who... Well,” I lean back against the wall of the elevator and look up at him, my hands behind my back. Do I look seductive?

I kind of hope so.

“What, Minnie?”

“I’m not going to settle for anyone. If I get married, he has to be just like you.”

I KNOW WE’RE PLAYINGwith fire. I ask if Minnie still wants that massage, and she says yes, then disappears into the bathroom. When she comes back, she’s wearing a coral two-piece that barely covers her ass and shows me exactly how generous her breasts are.

Drool puddles in my mouth, and my hands twitch.

“Use this? I’ll return the favor, I promise.” Minerva tosses me a bottle of body lotion and spreads a wide teal and white striped towel on the bed.

I nod and slowly take off my jacket. Then my shirt and tie.

Is she going to see it now? That the body belongs to a man and the head belongs to a wolf?“I don’t want to get lotion on my suit,” I say.

“Turn the lights off and get into your jammies,” she giggles sleepily.

“Are you a little tipsy?”

“A little.”

“And tired?” Maybe we shouldn’t do this.

“If you’re worrying about me worrying, I’m not worrying, so stop your worrying.”

I try to follow that, but maybe I’m a little tipsy and tired as well. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oooh, and he obeys orders. I love it,” she smirks as she lays down.

I flip off the lights, drop my trousers, and toe off my socks, kneeling over her gorgeous brown body in nothing but my boxers. Now it’s my turn to smirk because I can see just fine in the dark, and I drink in every plump curve, every soft, silky pieceof skin. She shifts, and I stare like the wolf demands, looking between her legs. That’s my coveted prey; that’s what I want to wrap my jaws around.

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