Page 169 of Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

“Amber.” Ev comes after me before I take two steps. “Come meet my brother, Joey.”

Blinking, feeling a bit stupid and a whole lot annoyed that I didn’t guess as much, I do my best to grin at Ev’s handsome brother and assure him it’s a pleasure to meet him.

They don’t look one bit alike, but oh, Lord, I’m so glad I didn’t open my mouth earlier. So glad I didn’t immediately think he was insulting Ev and didn’t attempt to kick him in the nuts or slap his handsome face.

Crap.

Stammering an excuse, I make my escape and go look for that beer. I’d leave, but this is my apartment now. Nowhere else to run and hide.

So beer it is. Or wine, or whatever such buffer I can place between myself and the real world. A door with a lock would have been preferable, all things said and done.

And why the hell not? This is my apartment, my bedroom. If I want to lock myself inside, if I want to be antisocial and stand-offish, that’s my right, isn’t it?

I’m actually heading that way, the pull of peace and quiet too strong to withstand—when the bathroom door is thrown open in my face, missing me by an inch. As I jerk back, it bangs against the wall, and someone stumbles out into the dim hallway.

I back away, but the hallway is three feet wide, tops, and the guy, because it is a guy, tall and broad-shouldered, bends toward me from the waist, his lips curling into a grin like the sin of the angels. Lazy. Sexy. Beautiful.

Dangerous.

“What have we here?” he whispers, his eyes going half-lidded, bright against his tanned skin, a startling blue-green in the shaft of light falling through the open bathroom door. “A girl.”

Holy crap.

My throat clicks. My lips move. No sound comes out. Could be because he chooses that moment to straighten, and I finally notice he’s bare-chested, flaunting the most perfect abs and washboard stomach I’ve seen outside of magazines.

Silver hoops decorate his small, brown nipples. Black lines and colorful shapes wrap around his thick biceps and corded forearm. Tattoos, I realize, curling on his smooth skin. A worn leather bracelet encircles his strong wrist.

I can’t breathe. Oh, God. It’s as if someone has sucked all the oxygen from the room.

Oblivious, he leans on the doorjamb and folds his arms over his chest. “Know what? You remind me of someone. Have we met before?”

Of all come-ons… Not that I can speak. Not when he’s looking at me with interest sparking in his gaze.

“What’s your name?” he asks. When I don’t answer, those startling eyes narrow, and vaguely I think they must have been many a girl’s downfall. Then he thumps his chest with his fist and drawls, “Jesse.” He points at me and lifts a brow. “Jane?”

A choked sound leaves my throat. Is he for real?

“You’re drunk,” I say breathlessly, and why the heck am I breathless? Just because this guy is too beautiful to be real doesn’t mean I’ll pant after him, like, like…

“Jesse?” A woman appears at the bathroom door, right behind him, adjusting the straps of her blouse. “Come back here and finish what you started.”

“I’m quite finished,” he mutters, his eyes never leaving me.

My face turns to stone. Panting after him like this woman. Like a bitch in heat. Yeah, not in this lifetime.

“We weren’t done yet.” She drapes her arms around him, and I notice she’s wearing shorts that are just glorified panties and that her cleavage is so deep one of her nipples is winking at me. Her long blond hair is tangled, her lipstick smeared.

Jesus on a pogo stick.

“Yes, in fact, we were,” he counters, his voice so low and throaty it lifts the fine hairs on my arms. “Very, very done, Natasha.”

“It’s Veronica,” she mutters and pushes off him, glaring at his back. “Asshole.”

“Whatever.” He waves a hand at her, his gaze still on me.

He’s a dick. The most beautiful man I’ve ever set eyes on, and he’s an arrogant douche.

Figures.

---