How to Flirt With a Naked Werewolf - Molly Harper [70]
“Now, this is not the underwear of a woman from Grundy,” he assured me, reverently running his fingers along the waistline of the little panties. His breath came in a long, labored wheeze.
“Well, pardon me for not knowing about the thermal-only panty rule,” I said, smirking as he dipped his head to nuzzle one of the silky bra cups. “I’ll rush right out and buy some long johns.”
Pausing to look up with perfect sincerity, he promised, “If you do, I will weep. Like a little girl. In public.”
My clever retort was cut off when his hot, strong lips closed over my nipple and bit down gently through the delicate material. I made an unintelligible, inhuman noise as my hips arched up. Tracing a steady path down the length of my torso, Cooper’s nose bumped at the spreading patch of moisture on my panties, sending a sensation singing through me. He inhaled deeply and pressed a kiss just over the waistline of my panties. He smiled up at me.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Fine, fine, I did what you asked, OK? Now, explain, please. Give me a plausible reason for adopting less-than-stellar hygiene habits.”
“It was knowing that you were mine,” he said, smirking up at me, his eyes smoldering little holes right through my defenses. “That if another man came near you, some primal, animal part of his brain would sense that scent on you and know you were taken. That if he tried to take you, he would be incurring the wrath of a very large predator.”
I gasped. Was that why Alan was suddenly so shy around me?
“So, it’s like an olfactory chastity belt?” I huffed out a shocked laugh, slapping at his shoulders. He snickered, grabbing my arms to ward off further blows. “You have some serious issues to work out,” I told him as he pulled me close.
“Well, I played my part, too,” he said, his tone teasing. “Of course, I was out in the woods without a shower, but the effect was the same. Every time I moved, shifted the slightest little bit, the scent of you would come wafting up from under my clothes. I was distracted the whole time. The clients complained that I must be recently concussed or recently in love from the way I was mooning around.”
I ignored the little trill in my belly at his use of the “L” word. “Concussed?”
“They were doctors.” He shrugged.
He pulled me tight against his chest. “And when I slept, I dreamed of you.”
“Oh, that line’s almost good enough to make the poor hygiene all worth it.” I sighed, climbing out of bed.
“Wait—what—where are you going?” Cooper stammered, waving at the now-empty bed.
“I’m taking a shower,” I told him. Cooper’s face fell. “I didn’t say I was doing it alone. Come on.”
I pulled him out of bed, but he ended up beating me to the bathroom. Werewolves can be such cheaters.
SOMETIME AROUND MIDNIGHT, Cooper and I were sitting in my bed, carbo-loading with big plates of pasta, when I worked up the nerve to say, “So, we haven’t talked about the werewolf thing yet.”
“We haven’t?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
“No. I would remember,” I assured him. “We’ve just been otherwise occupied. You have to know that there are about a zillion questions bouncing around in my head right now.”
“I was sort of wondering when you were going to get around to asking,” he said with a resigned, grim expression. He set his plate aside. “Where do you want me to start?”
I shrugged. “The beginning. How are you able to do this?”
“How are you able to curl your tongue? How did you get that little dimple in your cheek? Why are your eyes such a pretty shade of forget-me-not blue?” He shrugged, pulling me close. “It’s just genetics. It’s a part of us, the same as that little dimple or the color of your eyes. We’re not alone. There are packs all over the world. We’re a relatively small group compared with some of the rural Southern clans. We’ve had more and more dead lines over the years as we’ve married outside the pack. But my grandfather says that’s for the best. Nothing worse than a bunch of inbred werewolves