Dee didn’t know why she should suddenly care if Ric was going out with Malone or not, but she’d admit to herself that she kind of did care. Maybe she was just feeling moody. Maybe a little homesick. Whatever. She’d get over it.

She stood outside the kitchen while Ric went back in and got their food. It seemed to take longer than she thought it would, which meant that he was cooking it himself. But when he finally came out, he smiled at her—back to his happy-go-lucky, goofball self because he’d cooked something up in a pan—and motioned down the hall toward the private dining rooms. Figuring he probably wanted to discuss next steps before she had to deal with Malone on a daily basis, Dee started walking. One of the waiters slipped past her carrying a big tray piled with more food.

“Here,” Ric said, when the waiter stopped at one of the rooms.

That seemed like a lot of food for the pair of them, but maybe he was hungrier than she realized.

Once at the door, Ric reached around her with his free hand and pushed it open. The waiter went in and Dee followed, but she froze at the doorway and snarled, glaring back at Van Holtz.

“What?” he asked, trying to look innocent.

“I really should have killed you when I had the chance, supermodel.”

“And where would the fun be in that?” He pushed her into the room before she could make a break for it, and that’s when she was noticed.

“Deeeeeeee-Annnnnnnnnnnnnnn!” she heard seconds before a crazed wolfdog female wrapped herself around Dee and held on, hugging her tight.

“You’ve been missed,” Van Holtz whispered in her ear before he walked into the room, grinning at the table filled with a small group of people she tolerated but didn’t necessarily want to spend much time with.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” the wolfdog said, arms tightening so that Dee’s air was almost cut off.

“Get off me, Blayne.”

“You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“Get off me, Blayne.”

“You have to stay so we can eat and talk. It’s been ages!” She rested her head against Dee’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much.”

That’s when Dee reached for her bowie knife, but Ric caught her hand before she could clear the sheath and held it behind her back.

“Why don’t we all sit down and eat before the food gets cold?” he offered.

“Okay!” The wolfdog released her death grip on Dee’s neck and skated back to the table—why she was wearing roller skates in the middle of a restaurant, Dee didn’t want to even hazard a guess—unaware as always how close to death she came every time she insisted on the touching.

“Put it away,” Van Holtz whispered in Dee’s ear, “or I’m taking the whole hand.” Witha grunt, Dee shoved the knife back. “There, supermodel. Happy?”

“Thrilled.” He released her, but not before she felt his fingers slide across her forearm. “You have the smoothest skin,” he murmured, looking down at her arm.

“Yeah. It’s the scar tissue from all those knife fights. After a few years, it heals up real soft.” Ric got Dee-Ann seated at one end of the table and Blayne Thorpe at the other—not easy when Blayne kept insisting on wanting to hug Dee again. It was like she had a death wish. Then he and one of his runners went about taking care of the rest of his guests.

Lachlan “Lock” MacRyrie, Ric’s best friend since they were both ten years old, was still laughing when Dee sat down kitty-corner from him. Whether he was laughing at Blayne’s attempt to show Dee affection, Dee’s reaction to that affection, or Ric’s constant attempts to keep Dee from wiping Blayne from the face of the earth, Ric didn’t know. It was hard sometimes to believe that this nearly seven-foot-tall grizzly taking up a lot of space in the good-sized private dining room had once been the same medium-sized kid who’d run face first into Ric’s locker on a dare. A dare that had been issued by Ric. He’d felt bad about it, too, when Lock had knocked himself out cold.

Ric placed a full-sized platter in front of the grizzly. “Salmon and my perfect honey glaze for you.”

Lock stared at the fresh, ten-pound wild salmon in front of him. “Did you put in enough honey this time?”

Snarling, Ric pulled the plastic honey bear out of his pocket and chucked it at his friend’s big grizzly bear head. “Philistine,” he snarled.

Turning away before he could watch the brute desecrate his perfectly prepared food with all that honey, Ric leaned in and kissed Lock’s mate and Blayne’s best friend, Gwen, on the cheek before placing a plate of food in front of her. “Wild boar stew for you.”

“Yum. Smells fantastic.”

Next came the simple New York steak with sautéed green beans for Blayne since she could be a little finicky about her food.

“To drink?” he asked the table.

“Wine?” Gwen asked.

“Excellent choice.” He’d introduced the Philly feline to the higher-end wines in the last few months and it had turned out she had a wonderful palate.

Her grizzly bear mate, however . . .

“Mil—” the bear began but Ric held his hand up, cutting his friend off.

“Can’t you at least try some wine?” Ric nearly begged. “I have a splendid nineteen thirty-two—”

“I want milk. Cold. A vat please.”

Shaking his head, disgusted, Ric turned his attention to Blayne. “And you, Miss Thorpe?”