Hell, even his sister noticed. Mainly because more than once he’d walked away from her in the middle of one of their conversations to chat up a girl. But this morning . . . nothing.

When he complained to his parents, they only snorted and gave each other that look. The one every parental unit had down to a fine art. The “let him suffer until he learns a lesson” look.

In the end, though, Van refused to believe it. Irene Conridge, PhD, had absolutely no hold over him whatsoever. And she never would. If he wanted to sleep with a cold fish, he’d have the mob cut his throat and toss him into the Pacific Ocean.

The back door to the shop finally opened and Van turned around to see the lovely lioness poke her head out. When she saw him, her expression went from welcome to sultry.

“Hey, handsome.”

See? Now that was warm and friendly. From a cat, no less. Christ, Irene Conridge was colder than a cat? Was that even possible?

“Hey yourself,” he replied gruffly. “Now come here.”

She smirked and sashayed over to him. Athana pretty much sashayed everywhere. He’d always liked that about her.

Gold eyes looked up at him from beneath pitch-black lashes. “Yes?”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a strange feeling of guilt washed over him simply because he stood alone with a female in a back alley. He’d never felt it before and to say he wasn’t happy about it would be a drastic understatement.

Snarling, he grabbed Athana’s arms and yanked her close. Startled, her lips parted and he swooped in, kissing her hard.

After almost a minute, he finally pulled back and Athana stared up at him.

“Wow,” she finally said. “Kind of like kissing my Aunt Gertrude when she comes over for Thanksgiving.”

Van held her at arm’s length. “What?”

She actually pouted but didn’t seem really upset. “Damn. And you are so good too. The hyenas were running around saying you’d mated with a full-human but I kept hoping the rumors weren’t true.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

Athana giggled. “Come on, Van. You’re a wolf. You might as well accept your fate.”

He shoved her away and paced over to a Dumpster. “No. I refuse to be trapped by this.”

“Sweetie, it’s too—”

Before the word “late” could come out of her mouth, Van spun around and said, “Let’s get a hotel room and fuck.”

Rolling her eyes, Athana headed back to her store. “Forget it, Van. I’ve never fucked around with another female’s mate, and I’m not about to start now. Even if she is full-human.”

“But I’m not interested in her.” Oh, God! Did he just whine that?

She pulled the door open. “If you’re that convinced it’s a mistake, go to her and find out.”

Go to her? His healed but scarred thighautomatically tensed at the thought . . . then other parts of him tensed for an entirely different reason.

“Trust me,” Athana sighed. “If you kiss her the way you just kissed me, you are definitely not interested.”

“How do I look?”

Irene looked up and nodded at her friend. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” A car horn blew and Jackie grabbed her wrap. “Sure I can’t talk you into coming? These university events are so much more tolerable when you’re there to mock with me.”

“I can’t face it. Not tonight.”

“Agent Harris freak you out?”

“Well, he didn’t make me feel at ease.”

“Should we stay?”

“No. You and Paul go. Have a good time.” Irene tossed her lopsided ponytail off her face for the eighteenth time. “I’m going to work on these papers and watch some television.”

“Okay.” Jackie started to walk out but stopped. “Do not, Irene, take apart my Macintosh.”

Irene looked over at the newest “thing” in computing. A three-thousand-dollar Steve Jobs joke, if you asked her. An overpriced toy. Still, Irene wanted to take it apart to see what Jobs had done. Damn Jackie for knowing her so well.

“I mean it.”

“Yes. Yes. Isn’t Paul waiting?”

Jackie narrowed her eyes in warning one more time before swooping out.

Irene glanced at the off-white box sitting on her friend’s desk and forced herself to focus on the student papers before her.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang and Irene didn’t move. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she wouldn’t answer the door. She dealt with enough people during the day, she’d be damned if her nights were filled with the idiots as well.

The doorbell went off again, followed by knocking. Irene didn’t even flinch. In a few more minutes she would shut out everything but the work in front of her, a skill she’d developed over the years. Sometimes Jackie would literally have to shake her or punch her in the head to get her attention.

But Irene hadn’t slipped into that “zone” yet and she could easily hear someone sniffing at her door. She looked up from her paperwork as Van Holtz snarled from the other side, “I know you’re in there, Conridge. I can smell you.”

Eeew.

“Go away,” she called back. “I’m busy.”

The knocking turned to outright banging. “Open this goddamn door!”

Annoyed but resigned that the man wouldn’t leave, Irene put her paperwork on the couch and walked across the room. She pulled open the door and ignored the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach at seeing the man standing there in a dark gray sweater, jeans, and sneakers. She knew few men who made casualwear look anything but.