Молли Харпер - The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf

“So, that guy in there, Clay,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “Are you dating him?”

“Yes, he is my possessive, recently paroled fiancé.”

His lips quirked. “So . . . no?”

“None of your business!” I yelled. “How did we go from ‘Your sister-in-law’s a werewolf’ to ‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Can’t you just have one conversation at a time, like a normal person?”

He shook his head and gave me another beautiful, irritating smile. “I’ll call you in a few days, to see if you change your mind about the guide thing.”

“I won’t change my mind, because you are clearly insane.”

“I’ll call you then,” he said, shrugging as he hopped into his truck. “And ask you out on a proper date. Your mom gave me your number.”

“Well, I won’t answer!” I called as he turned the ignition and waved before speeding off. I huffed out a breath. “How did that happen?”

COOPER DIDN’T LOOK HAPPY when he answered his door—probably because I was beating on it. A lot.

“If you wake up the baby, I will smack you down like the hand of God,” he growled as I moved past him, deliberately shoulder-checking him.

I was in a foul mood. Despite his easy promise that he would, Nick had not called. It had been two days, and not a peep. I can’t say I was sitting by the phone staring it down, but there were a few times I ran across the room to grab for it when it did ring. I also might have unplugged and replugged it a few times to make sure it was working, but I will never admit that to a living soul.

This was unacceptable. I was Maggie Fucking Graham. I did not get wound up over some man. Yet here I was, twitching and pacing across my brother’s living room, with no idea what stupid excuse I would make for coming over beyond “I’m confused, and I want to hit something.”

Fortunately, the tension breaker I needed came in the form of Mo stumbling into the room wearing what looked like a sports bra, one of Cooper’s flannel shirts, and some basketball shorts. Her hair was pulled into one of those weird shih tzu puffs on top of her head. She blinked at me blearily. “What’s going on?”

I recoiled. “Gah! Is that outfit what you’re doing for birth control now?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, pulling the ponytail out and fluffing her hair.

“Yes, because the ponytail was the problem.” I snorted. She punched my arm and yawned. I chuffed and shoved her back.

“So, what brings you to our door at this time of night, besides insulting me?” she asked, handing me one of the many bathrobes she kept on hand for when I dropped over on a run. She had this thing about not wanting naked people on her upholstery. Prude.

Clothing can make life awkward for werewolves, for whom the most comfortable state is to be in wolf form. In an environment where we’re relaxed, sometimes we don’t even realize we’ve changed. There’s a shift of light, and suddenly there’s a full-grown wolf standing next to you. It’s difficult to change form while dressed. At the same time, adult werewolves become conditioned to associate clothing with being out in public among humans. It becomes less of an issue for us as the weather gets colder, but for southern packs, clothing is handy as a reminder to stay on two feet.

You would think it would be weird to see your male relatives running around naked all the time, but really, you stop noticing. It’s sort of sad, really. You’ve seen one penis, you’ve seen them all.

I had to stop saying that in front of my mother, because she said it was something a hooker would put on a business card.

Cooper flopped down on the couch, throwing his arm over his eyes. Mo slumped next to him and buried her face in his shoulder. There was a fond little twitch to his lips as he nuzzled his nose along her brow line.

Gag me.

“It’s seven-thirty!” I exclaimed.

“Maggie, as much as I appreciate your dropping by to call us lame, please get to the point,” he muttered. “Keeping in mind that if you raise your voice above a whisper—” He stopped and gave a jaw-cracking yawn while waving his right palm at me. “Hand of God.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, showing my big brother exactly how much he intimidated me. “I thought you should know that Nick doesn’t think you’re a werewolf.”

Cooper sat up, his brow furrowed. “But that’s a good thing, right? Problem solved, you can go home now.”

“He thinks Mo is a werewolf,” I said, biting my lip and waiting for the reaction that would, indeed, wake up my niece.

Cooper locked eyes with me, looked over at his wife, grinned at me again, and then laughed so hard he nearly toppled off the couch.

“Bwahahahaahaha!” Cooper guffawed. “He thinks . . . he thinks . . . Mo?”

Mo threw up her hands. “I don’t see why it’s that funny!”

Mo’s indignant hiss was just what I needed to double over laughing. “Grr!” I gave a exaggerated fake growl. “I’m Mo, fierce predator. I could catch you if my designer thong wasn’t riding up!”

Cooper laughed. “Or how about, ‘I’m Mo, the baking werewolf. I’ll stuff you so full of chess squares you won’t be able to run away!”

“Are you done?” Mo asked in a dead, flat voice.

Cooper sucked in a breath. “Sorry, baby, it’s the sleep deprivation. It’s getting to me.” His face flushed as he spluttered. “Nope, I have one more.” Mo scowled at him. He bit his lip, suppressing a snicker. “I’m done.”

She scowled. “Can we get back to why Nick thinks I’m a wolf, please?”

I wiped at my eyes while she stared daggers at both of us. “Whew. Sorry, I have to catch my breath. He, ahem, he thinks John Teague turned you into a werewolf and then you were on some sort of Wolf-man rampage across the countryside,” I said, rubbing the ache in my side.

“And what stopped my rampage, exactly?” she asked dryly.

“Oh, Cooper,” I said, a giggle escaping my tightly pressed lips. “He saved you from yourself. And we, your loving human in-laws, are helping you suppress your homicidal urges.”

“Well, that’s awfully nice of us,” Cooper said blandly.

“Actually, we can use this,” Mo said, sitting up, getting that “I’ve got a project” expression that always scared the hell out of me. “I’ll just start eating raw meat, standing out in the street, howling at the moon. It will totally throw him off.”

“Yeah, and then we’ll go into Susie’s attic, rattle some chains, and make him think the house is haunted,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Susie Quinn’s place?” Cooper asked.

“Yeah, he’s renting it.”

Mo frowned. “That’s sort of ghoulish. Besides, how would we even get into Susie’s attic?”

“You know, I hadn’t considered that. I got sort of hung up on the fact that this means he’s going to be here for a while. Which is bad.”

“Well, it’s not good,” Cooper said, scratching his bare stomach and shuffling into the kitchen. “I’m getting something to eat. Mags, pecan pie?”

“I’m insulted you have to ask,” I told him as he unloaded one of Mo’s calorie-laden pie plates from the fridge. He cut two huge slabs and brought one to me.

Mo eyed the pie with longing, obviously thinking of the postbaby weight she was still shedding. “I hate you and your damned werewolf metabolism.”

Cooper offered his wife a little bite of pie, which was quite a concession for a wolf. We generally don’t share food if we can help it. She took a tiny birdlike nibble, which we all knew wouldn’t satisfy her. But the gesture on Cooper’s part was the important thing.