them. Like a modern-day chastity belt."
"I hate you." She fell back, spread-eagled onto the bed, then lifted her head. "You know, if you won't get them for me, I might sneak behind your back and buy my own. That'd be bad."
"You gonna start doing laundry, too?"
"As if!"
"Then I'm not worried."
Someone knocked at the door. Savannah vaulted from the bed and was out of the room before I could stuff my handful of lingerie into a drawer. I heard Savannah's shout of greeting and knew who it was.
"Paige is in the bedroom putting away her underwear," Savannah said. "It'll take a while."
I grabbed another handful.
"Shit," said a voice behind me. "She's not kidding. What'd you do, rob a lingerie store?"
There stood the world's only female werewolf, a title that sounds more like it should describe a circus freak show than the blond woman in the doorway. Tall and lean, Elena Michaels had a werewolf's typically athletic build, and the kind of wholesome good looks that cause men to say things like, "Wow, if she dolled herself up, she could be a knockout." Those who dared say such things, though, were more likely to find themselves knocked out.
Today Elena wore a T-shirt, cutoff jean shorts, and sneakers, with her long silver-blond hair tied back in an elastic band and maybe, just maybe, lip gloss . . . and looked a helluva lot better than I did after hours of grooming. Not that I'm envious or anything. Oh, did I mention she was thirty-two and looked mid-twenties? Or that she can eat a sixteen-ounce porterhouse steak and not gain an ounce? Werewolves get all the goodies: extended youth, extreme metabolism, sharpened senses, and superstrength. And, yeah, I'm envious.
Still, if I can't have a werewolf's gifts, I'll take a werewolf as a friend. Being part wolf makes them extremely loyal and protective . . . which made Elena the only person to whom I'd entrust Savannah.
Elena surveyed the mess of lingerie scattered across the bed. "I'm not even sure where half that stuff goes."
Savannah zoomed past Elena, jumped on the bed, grabbed a bra, and held it up to her chest.
"This one's mine," Savannah said, grinning. "Can't you tell?"
Elena laughed. "Maybe in a few years."
Savannah snorted. "At the rate I'm going, it'll take a few years plus a few pairs of socks. I'm the only girl in the ninth grade who still wears a training bra."
"I was still wearing one in tenth grade, so I've got you beat." Elena bent down to pick up a negligee I'd dropped. "Expecting to spend a lot of time alone with Lucas, I see."
"I wish," I said. "He's already headed back to Chicago. Savannah packed my clothes, and I do hope there are clothes in this bag somewhere."
"At the bottom," Savannah said.
I shoved the last of the lingerie into a drawer, then stuffed the half-packed suitcase into the closet and turned to Elena. I resisted the urge to hug her. Elena wasn't the hugs-and-kisses type. Even fleeting physical contact, like handshakes, made her vaguely uncomfortable, though nowhere near as uncomfortable as they made someone else . . . which made me realize someone was missing from this reunion.
"Where's Clay?" I said. "Waiting in the car? Hoping he can avoid saying hello to me?"
"Hello, Paige," came a Southern drawl from the living room.
"Hello, Clayton."
I popped my head around the bedroom door. Elena's partner, Clayton Danvers, was standing by the window, his back to me, likely not an unconscious gesture. Like Elena, Clay was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and well built. While Elena was attractive, Clay was traffic-stopping gorgeous . . . and had all the charm of a pit viper.
The first time we met, Clay had tossed me a bag containing a severed human head, and things went downhill from there. I don't understand him, he doesn't understand me, and the only thing we have in common is Elena, which causes more problems than it solves.
He finally deigned to face me. "You said Lucas isn't here?"
"He had to zip back to Chicago for his court case."
Clay nodded,
"I hate you." She fell back, spread-eagled onto the bed, then lifted her head. "You know, if you won't get them for me, I might sneak behind your back and buy my own. That'd be bad."
"You gonna start doing laundry, too?"
"As if!"
"Then I'm not worried."
Someone knocked at the door. Savannah vaulted from the bed and was out of the room before I could stuff my handful of lingerie into a drawer. I heard Savannah's shout of greeting and knew who it was.
"Paige is in the bedroom putting away her underwear," Savannah said. "It'll take a while."
I grabbed another handful.
"Shit," said a voice behind me. "She's not kidding. What'd you do, rob a lingerie store?"
There stood the world's only female werewolf, a title that sounds more like it should describe a circus freak show than the blond woman in the doorway. Tall and lean, Elena Michaels had a werewolf's typically athletic build, and the kind of wholesome good looks that cause men to say things like, "Wow, if she dolled herself up, she could be a knockout." Those who dared say such things, though, were more likely to find themselves knocked out.
Today Elena wore a T-shirt, cutoff jean shorts, and sneakers, with her long silver-blond hair tied back in an elastic band and maybe, just maybe, lip gloss . . . and looked a helluva lot better than I did after hours of grooming. Not that I'm envious or anything. Oh, did I mention she was thirty-two and looked mid-twenties? Or that she can eat a sixteen-ounce porterhouse steak and not gain an ounce? Werewolves get all the goodies: extended youth, extreme metabolism, sharpened senses, and superstrength. And, yeah, I'm envious.
Still, if I can't have a werewolf's gifts, I'll take a werewolf as a friend. Being part wolf makes them extremely loyal and protective . . . which made Elena the only person to whom I'd entrust Savannah.
Elena surveyed the mess of lingerie scattered across the bed. "I'm not even sure where half that stuff goes."
Savannah zoomed past Elena, jumped on the bed, grabbed a bra, and held it up to her chest.
"This one's mine," Savannah said, grinning. "Can't you tell?"
Elena laughed. "Maybe in a few years."
Savannah snorted. "At the rate I'm going, it'll take a few years plus a few pairs of socks. I'm the only girl in the ninth grade who still wears a training bra."
"I was still wearing one in tenth grade, so I've got you beat." Elena bent down to pick up a negligee I'd dropped. "Expecting to spend a lot of time alone with Lucas, I see."
"I wish," I said. "He's already headed back to Chicago. Savannah packed my clothes, and I do hope there are clothes in this bag somewhere."
"At the bottom," Savannah said.
I shoved the last of the lingerie into a drawer, then stuffed the half-packed suitcase into the closet and turned to Elena. I resisted the urge to hug her. Elena wasn't the hugs-and-kisses type. Even fleeting physical contact, like handshakes, made her vaguely uncomfortable, though nowhere near as uncomfortable as they made someone else . . . which made me realize someone was missing from this reunion.
"Where's Clay?" I said. "Waiting in the car? Hoping he can avoid saying hello to me?"
"Hello, Paige," came a Southern drawl from the living room.
"Hello, Clayton."
I popped my head around the bedroom door. Elena's partner, Clayton Danvers, was standing by the window, his back to me, likely not an unconscious gesture. Like Elena, Clay was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and well built. While Elena was attractive, Clay was traffic-stopping gorgeous . . . and had all the charm of a pit viper.
The first time we met, Clay had tossed me a bag containing a severed human head, and things went downhill from there. I don't understand him, he doesn't understand me, and the only thing we have in common is Elena, which causes more problems than it solves.
He finally deigned to face me. "You said Lucas isn't here?"
"He had to zip back to Chicago for his court case."
Clay nodded,
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