Shelly Laurenston: The Beast in Him

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Adelle said with a smile. “Now tell me what’s wrong, baby boy?”

Smitty liked Adelle a lot, the two of them becoming impossibly tight after she’d hired Smitty to beef up her restaurant’s security and figure out which of her staff had been stealing from her. It turned out to be the arctic fox busboy.

At least twenty years older than him, Adelle wasn’t as snobby as most Van Holtzs, and she really knew how to cook up a steak. She had a mothering streak a mile long, and she loved to baby Smitty. With his momma in Tennessee and his sister a pain in the ass, he sometimes needed that.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

She reached up and stroked his cheek. “You know you can’t hide anything from me. Is it a She-wolf problem?”

“Nah.” He kind of wished it was. She-wolves were real simple to understand if you followed three simple rules: Don’t irritate them, don’t stare them down unless you’ve got a death wish or you’re sure you can take them, and don’t irritate them. You followed that simple logic, you’d do just fine. But Jessie Ann wasn’t a She-wolf, and there was nothing simple about that woman. Not a damn thing. “Just met an old friend last night and she acted like she didn’t even know me.”

“Well—”

“And how could she not?” he continued. “I’m amazing.”

Adelle patted his chest. “That you are.”

After the job and breakfast with Mace, Smitty didn’t get back to his apartment until well after six A.M. He’d stripped and dropped into bed, expecting to be asleep within seconds. Instead, he’d stared up at his ceiling for a good hour wondering how Jessie could so easily forget him. True, it wasn’t like they spent every hour of every day together when they both lived in Smithtown, but he was closer to her than he was to most anybody else except his sister. He’d even listened to her when she’d go on and on about some book she read. The fact that he’d endure conversations about elves and dragons and guys with swords still amazed him. But he’d done it for Jessie Ann.

Hell, maybe she was still mad. He knew females could hold a grudge like no other. Especially predators. Maybe she hadn’t forgiven him for walking away, for leaving her alone in Smithtown. But what else could he do? It’s not like the Navy would have let him bring a sixteen-year-old girl with him because “my sister and her friends use her like a chew toy.”

What annoyed Smitty even more? That he cared. He cared whether Jessie remembered him. He cared that she might have been hurt when he left. Why the hell should he? But dammit he did, and he could hear his daddy as if the man were standing right next to him: “You always were a big pussy, boy.”

A waiter stopped in front of Adelle and she quickly examined the tray full of food. She nodded and sent him on his way. “So you hot for this little chickie?”

Rearing back, Smitty shook his head. “Lord, no. She’s just a friend. Someone I used to be close to, but I could never... we could never... ” He shook his head. “No way.”

“Huh. Flustered. I’ve never seen you flustered before.”

“I am not flustered. You took me by surprise is all.”

“Of course. That must be it.” Adelle patted his shoulder. “You want another steak? It’ll make you feel better.” He’d already had two.

“I could eat again.”

She smiled and grabbed a plate off the tray of a passing waiter.

The waiter stopped. “That’s for table ten.”

“So?”

“They’ve been waiting for forty-five minutes.” Saturday nights were the busiest nights for the Van Holtz restaurants, yet Adelle didn’t move any faster or do any more than she did on the slowest night of the year.

“Are they important?”

Now Smitty laughed. “Adelle.”

“What? It’s a valid question.”

The waiter leaned close to Adelle and whispered, “It’s Jessica Ward, boss.”

Smitty blinked in surprise. “Jessica Ann Ward?”

“Yeah.” The waiter grinned. “Another one of her first dates if I’m guessing right.”

Pushing past the two females, Smitty opened the door and glared across the restaurant.

“I really don’t know why the woman bothers,” Adelle sighed behind him. “She has to be the pickiest canine on the planet. She’s had some hottie-hots in here and she leaves ’em standing at the corner—alone—every time.”

Smitty spotted the “couple”—he almost choked on that—immediately, his eyes narrowing when he saw the bastard take Jessie’s hand.

Didn’t she know she had to be careful in this day and age? The scrawny bastard probably just wanted one thing from her and she didn’t even realize it.

“What’s wrong, baby boy?”

“Nothing. Give ’em their food.”

“You don’t want it?”

“No, thanks, Adelle.”

Adelle shrugged and placed the plate back on the tray.

Yup, Phil was right again. Sherman Landry of the Landry wild-dog Pack was really boring. Almost painfully boring and with a case of OCD the likes she’d never seen. And hoped to never see again.

He adjusted the butter knife on the table for the fourteenth time in the last forty-five minutes, and asked, “So do you have any plans for the long weekend coming up in a couple of weeks?”

Uh-oh.

“As a matter of fact, I do. With my Pack.”

“Oh.” He looked so disappointed. Like a Labrador that just got his bone taken away. “And the charity ball at the museum?”

Good God, Jess! Think of something. Something! She couldn’t do this again. Not again. Dating was hard enough, but dating a guy this irritating was asking too much of her.

To be honest, Jess didn’t know why she bothered anymore. She’d been dating wild dogs solidly for the past year. Some of them coming from Europe and Asia to take her out. Most of them were nice, but none of them got her all sweaty and squirmy. And the thought of breeding with any of them left her cold. Jess would admit it, she was ready. Ready to have her own pups. Her own mate. She’d helped raise her Packmates’ kids for fifteen years, and it was time she had her own little nightmares to contend with. But the thought of Sherman Landry’s obsessive-compulsive nature helping to raise any of her kids did nothing but make her feel a little ill.

“I’m going with my Pack.”

“Of course,” he said, his disappointment evident. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that tone when talking about her Pack. As much as they didn’t like him, Jess sensed he didn’t like them either.

Too bad for him. Her Pack meant too much to her to bring in someone who’d cause nothing but problems between them.

“Yeah... well.” Since she had nothing else to say, Jess wiped her mouth on a linen napkin. “I’ll be right back. Need to go to the ladies’ room.”

She stood up, forcing a smile when he stood up as well. Say what you would about Sherman, he was definitely polite.

Jess walked toward the back until she hit the ladies’ room, which she always called “the marble palace.” She brought nearly every date to this restaurant because she knew even if the date sucked, the filet mignon was always perfection.

As she washed her hands and used the thick paper towels to dry them, she realized she couldn’t put in another hour on this date. She’d finished her steak, now Sherman wanted dessert. And all she wanted was to get back to the office. The last week of preparation for Friday night’s party had put her behind, and she realized now this Saturday date had been a huge mistake.

She pulled her cell phone out of her way too small purse—she’d give anything to have her backpack with her—and sent Phil a text message. It was a simple one:

GET ME THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!