“What?”

The fact she answered him at all was a darn good sign.

Conall pushed the door open. He’d made it clear she better not lock it. If anything happened he needed to get to her. Of course, around that time the heroin incident came up. Thank Loki he had connections in the police department; otherwise, he would have endured a very unpleasant experience with a man wearing a surgical glove.

As always, she was on her laptop again. Her wounded arm, unbandaged and already healing, did not prevent her from hours and hours of typing. She’d been on that thing since they’d arrived at the airport back home. He was surprised the fucking thing hadn’t fused with her body.

“Hungry?”

“No.”

He took in a breath to control his desire to wring her neck and gazed around the room. She hadn’t really unpacked. She just had her suitcase open, clothes already lying around. A messy girl, his Miki. He did notice the garment bag she’d hung up. He assumed those were her clothes for her meeting. Underneath them were two pairs of pumps. Both black. One had heels that were about four inches high, the other five inches.

He looked away. He had to look away. If he started imagining those great legs of hers wearing those shoes, he would do something really stupid.

“You gotta eat, Mik…and don’t throw anything at me.” He could tell she was looking for something to chuck at him.

“Fine. I’ll eat.”

“Good. I’ll order something in. We’ll eat together.”

“I don’t want—”

“Must you argue every fuckin’ thing with me?”

“Fine. Whatever. Let me know when it’s here.”

She went back to her laptop and it was like he no longer existed on her planet.

A rabid dog. Her own personal Cujo. Constantly lurking around. Constantly watching her. He was driving her nuts.

Still so pissed she couldn’t see straight, she felt like he’d taken over her life. He was the big wolf and he was going to take care of the weak human female. She would have punched him in the stomach, but one look at that body and she knew she’d only hurt her hand.

Of course, if she had her brass knuckles…

Sara had thrown that “big ol’ bear” theory at her again before Miki left with him for the airport. “He only wants to protect you.”

Were these people blind? Could they not see past those rugged good looks, innocent smile and rock-hard ass? Clearly not. Clearly, she was the only one who could see him as the predator he truly was. He was the wolf and she was the cottontail just trying to make it back to her burrow—unsoiled.

Not easy when he smelled so good. Looked so good. God, did he look good. Miki didn’t understand this. She’d believed herself immune to any man’s charms.

“Dead below the waist” was how her last boyfriend put it. At the time, the insult had been devastating. She didn’t cry about it, mostly because she didn’t cry about anything. But Sara and Angie knew something was up and they quickly dragged it out of her. She should have known their answering silence was not a good thing. When the guy woke up with no body hair and his penis glued to his stomach, Miki didn’t ask questions. She merely pointed the cops assigned to the case to the bar full of bikers she’d been serving that night and comfortably settled down to a life of computers and Mr. Happy for those rare occasions when she felt an overwhelming need.

Then Conall kissed her that last night Sara’s Pack was in town. Suddenly, Mr. Happy was racing through an enormous amount of batteries, and when she slept, her fingers were getting quite the workout.

It wasn’t fair really. Why couldn’t she have this reaction to a nice guy? Not a predator pretending to be a nice guy. What more could she be to him anyway, other than a challenge?

Well, he’d started this. He thought he could treat her like one of those vapid whores he fucked who couldn’t think for themselves. But everybody knows or should know—you never mess with a woman from Texas.

Two hours and a crap load of Italian food later, Conall was starting to feel a whole lot better. She didn’t make it easy, though. But he found a way in. He screwed up facts. It absolutely drove her nuts. So he did it often. First about politics. Then about stuff Sara had told him about the three friends growing up together. Before she knew it, Miki was talking to him and beginning to relax.

Then she started asking him questions. She asked about his family. About Pack life. About Zach and Sara. And a lot of questions about being wolf. What did it feel like to change? What was different when he changed?

She had to be the most curious female he’d ever met. Constantly thinking. Constantly analyzing. He wondered what it was like in her head since it seemed like there was non-stop activity.

He also asked her questions about herself. He liked hearing her talk. Hearing her views on the world. And she had many. She also mentioned something about a photographic memory and being in one of those high IQ clubs until rude behavior got her tossed out. Not surprising. The woman was amazingly blunt. There were very few things she wouldn’t say.

It was late. Almost midnight. They’d finished eating and were now sitting at the small table in his room. Miki’d leaned back and put her feet up on his chair, right by his thigh. She wore her Doc Martens and white sweat socks with baggie black shorts and an army green T-shirt. He loved it when she wore shorts. He loved her legs. While they talked, he began to run his hands along her calves and he took it as a good sign she didn’t slug him.