Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) by C.J. Ellisson

his happiness. A small pain pierces my soul at the thought of losing him—but, if he continues as he has, his obsession over me might destroy any daily peace he enjoys.
    “Why are you shielding so hard right now, Dria?” Rafe’s smooth voice breaks me from my thoughts. “Worried about the evening, or something else?”
    “Combination of things, really.”
    “Hmm…. That suspiciously sounds like an evasive answer. The furball again?”
    I look away while examining the dials and readings on the control panel in front of us. “Maybe.”
    “I haven’t felt his pull in my mind since we left. He might buy that crap about our distance being the reason, but I know differently. What are you planning?”
    A sigh escapes me as I gaze at my lover. “No actual plan this time. Just a hope.”
    “Does it have something to do with the huge amount of female wolves coming to the inn this summer?”
    I shrug my shoulder and look away.
    “Did you think I’d miss the fifty percent discount you offered to packs bringing three or more unattached females?”
    “Hey, it worked, didn’t it? You saw some of the guests’ dossiers? Gorgeous women.”
    Rafe pats my forearm. “You’re a good bitch, Dria. I don’t care what the others say about you.”
    “Wiseass,” I remark with a smirk. “Why don’t you read the coordinates and leave me be?”
    It’s full dark by the time we approach the private airstrip inside the city limits. Buenos Aires sparkles like a glittering jewel, bringing back my love of the old city in crystal clarity.
    Rafe’s hand caresses my thigh through the jumpsuit, our earlier snipe forgotten. “Why do you insist on wearing these things? The zippers drive me to distraction.”
    A slow smile inches across my face as his hot palm slides closer to my hip. “That’s precisely why I wear them, darling.”
    Rafe shifts in his seat, casually adjusting himself under his slacks. “Think we’ll have time to visit that Simpson’s shop I love?”
    My grin broadens at his attempt to distract himself from his growing arousal. I smell his interest in the confines of the small plane; it’s impossible to hide from my sharp senses. “The one with the tacky Homer and Marge merchandise all over the walls?”
    “No, that store is good, but not the one I mean. The one named Cowabunga, with the specialty Duff beer?”
    I shake my head at his obvious enjoyment. Men will be men.
    “What? Is it my fault Buenos Aires is the Simpson capital of the world? How can I resist?”
    I laugh and he continues. “I need some new talking Homer bottle openers, too. Hey, pay attention to the runway, it’s coming up fast.”
    In a few minutes we touch down and taxi into a waiting hangar. We grab our wardrobe bags and head to a storage room at the back of the building. Changing quickly, we hustle into our evening attire.
    My strapless purple gown plunges deep in the back and I shiver when cool air in the unheated building touches my skin. I gather my hair loosely at the base of my skull, shoving pins in with a precision gained from decades of experience. The elegant style doesn’t look too formal and allows some of the curlier tendrils to cascade around my face and down the nape of my neck. I pull on the matching satin gloves, tugging the material up to my biceps, and turn to Rafe.
    He’s finishing the last touches on his black bowtie, pulling the knot tight. “How does it look? Crooked?”
    I stare at his well-muscled body, encased in the custom-made, silk and cashmere blend black tuxedo. Light from the overhead fixture glints off the fabric, catching on the diamond studs running down the pleated white shirt. I retrieve the gray silk scarf from his bag, then lift his collar and slide it around his neck, draping the fine material down the jacket’s lapels.
    “You look divine. And the tie is perfect.” I run a hand down his chest and below, slipping a warm palm over his pants to cup his cock.
    “No teasing,” he says, pulling his hips