“No,” Van Holtz replied. “I don’t.”

“Explaining so much,” Bo muttered while pulling off his helmet. He grabbed a gallon of water, bent over at the waist, and dumped half of it over his head. He stood tall and did a once-over shake, making sure to saturate Van Holtz in the process.

Raking his hand through his wet hair, Bo smiled at Van Holtz. “There. Much better.”

The wolf did his own mini-shake, wolf eyes glaring.

“Is there a reason you’re here, Van Holtz?” Bo asked. “Shouldn’t you be mixing a sauce or creating a fondue or something?”

“I’m here about Blayne.”

Bo picked up another gallon of water and took a swig. He swished the water around his mouth, then spit it out at the wolf’s feet. The wolf didn’t even budge. “What about her?”

“She’s a very good friend of mine. Like a sister.”

“And?”

“Must we really discuss your reputation in detail?”

Although Bo’s game reputation was nearly close to fact, his personal one was a joke. If he’d done half the things he was accused of, he’d never get any practice in. He definitely wouldn’t be able to keep up with his schedule. An annoyance many of his past lovers had been unable to overlook. Bo used to wonder where all the stories came from and then it dawned on him it was probably from Bernie, but he didn’t really care enough one way or another about it. If people wanted to believe that crap that was on them. If they didn’t, also on them. It didn’t matter to him.

Yet, for the first time, it did matter to him because this was Blayne. And what Bo didn’t need was some sanctimonious tail-chaser acting like he had to protect Blayne from the big bad Marauder. Did this little runt think he was going to warn Bo off? Push him away from Blayne so that . . . what? He could have his shot at her? Was that what all this was about? A way for this canine to get his grubby, flea-infested paws on Blayne by acting like her protective hero/ guard dog?

Even worse, now Bo couldn’t get the thought of Blayne with some ball-licker out of his mind. That’s when Bo felt that unmistakable itch at his hairline, and he knew from that and the way the runt took a step away that his mane was growing. It was a rare occurrence and something unique to him because of his mixed blood. But the idiot had woken up the lion male that had been characteristically sleeping during Bo’s daily training session, and now Van Holtz would just have to deal with it . . .

It was the cherry pie that saved them all. Jess couldn’t have chocolate, but she could have many non-chocolate baked goods like cakes and pies and cookies. Thank you, God!

But she’d still been weepy, so Blayne did what she always did when faced with someone else’s sadness . . . she talked. A lot. Perhaps, as Gwen often said,too much. She talked and talked and talked until she finally said something stupid.

“So I had breakfast this morning with Bo and his agent . . .”

The way everyone froze in the middle of pie eating or coffee drinking or texting on their cell phones or typing into their tiny notebook computers was more than surreal. It was downright creepy. And she knew in that second, she should have kept her mouth shut.

“Bo . . . Novikov?” Danny asked.

“Wait—”

“You had breakfast with Bo Novikov?” Phil asked. “Were you naked? Or just wearing one of his oversized shirts and looking kind of tousled, you saucy wench you?”

“No, no. It’s not like that,” Blayne said desperately. “He’s not one of my gentleman callers.”

“Then what is he?”

“A friend!”

And that’s when they all started laughing at her. Nothing like having a bunch of dogs laughing at you rather than with you. The wolf in her wasn’t appreciating it one bit.

“You can’t be that stupid,” Sabina said. “A Russian bear like Novikov has no friends.”

“He’s also feline and Asian. I have a way with Asian felines.”

“One! And she does weird thing with neck. You’re only friend she can make,” Sabina added.

“That’s not true,” Blayne argued, feeling protective of her best friend. “Don’t talk shit about Gwenie. It just pisses me off.”

“Why are you so upset?” Sabina asked. “I don’t care who you fuck.”

“I am not doing anything of the sort with him!” Blayne could feel her face getting red. It wasn’t that she was shy, but still there were some things not to be discussed in large groups of people. And who she was or was not fucking was definitely high on that list.

“Yet,” Sabina went on, “he is Marauder. He will get what he wants.”

“No, he will not. I’m not some groupie-whore.”

“Then, darlin’, what were you doing with him?” May asked. “Because from what I understand, he only sleeps with groupie-whores.”

Fed up, Blayne screamed, “I am not sleeping with Bo Novikov!”

The wild dogs silently gawked at her until their gazes moved past her and toward the kitchen door behind her. Cringing, terrified at what she may see, Blayne looked over her shoulder and into the bright, gold eyes of Mitch Shaw.

“You”—he said softly—“and Bo Novikov?”

“Mitchell, do not blow this out of—”

“I knew he’d take advantage of you!” Mitch roared, his lion’s mane swirling around his face. “I’ll kill him!”