Karen Kelley - The Wolf Prince

Oh, that was a thought. She studied him for a moment. “How would you like a job?”

“A job?”

“You could live in the guest house and work for me, but the arrangement would have to be between the two of us. No one else could know.”

“What exactly would I do?”

“Be my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“You know, like we were dating.”

His forehead wrinkled. It was odd how some things he knew, and other things went right over his head, as if he didn’t quite understand the English language. She was leaning more toward the idea he might be from another country. She was pretty sure Surlock wasn’t an American name—first or last.

“Pretending we were in love,” she said.

His eyes widened. “That would be a good job. Yes, I would enjoy that kind of work.” His gaze roamed over her in a way that only a blind person wouldn’t guess what he was thinking.

“No fringe benefits. It would only be pretend.” She wanted to get that straight right up front.

“I don’t understand ‘fringe benefits,’” he said.

“Then I’ll make sure I explain them very well.”

And then she thought about what she was saying. Had she lost her freakin’ mind? No fringe benefits? She wanted the fringe benefits, dammit!

Of course, he didn’t know what no fringe benefits meant. She didn’t have to tell him it had anything to do with sex. She could lie and say it meant something else.

Her gaze slowly traveled over him.

She wasn’t stupid. The guy was seriously sexy. If he could give her an orgasm while playing the piano, just think how good it would be if they actually had sex.

Her body tingled at the thought of the two of them in bed together. Naked bodies pressing close. No, she didn’t think she would explain what “no fringe benefits” meant.

Surlock glared at the man who measured him for clothes—Mr. Barnes he was called. He didn’t like him. He kept licking his lips as if he wanted to do more than take measurements.

“I just need to get the width of your chest,” the tailor simpered. “My, you do have a broad chest, don’t you? I’d bet you’re a bit of a wild one.” His voice went husky when he said wild. “I love a man who can wear his hair long and still look ruggedly handsome. There’s no doubt that person is a real man.”

Surlock fisted his hands. Darcy had said he would need the clothes, and since he worked for her now, he knew he had to act accordingly and not pound this man into the ground. It didn’t feel right, though. Not the way the tailor let his hands linger a little too long in all the wrong places.

“Now, if you would please be so kind as to step up on the bench, I’ll get your inseam.” He licked his lips. “I have to tell you that you have a very nice inseam.”

Surlock narrowed his eyes, but the tailor was more interested in keeping his gaze below the waist as Surlock stepped up on the bench.

Darcy shouldn’t have left him alone with the tailor. He had beady eyes. When the tailor neared his crotch, Surlock growled from deep in his throat just as Darcy pushed the curtain open and walked inside the small fitting room. She stopped in her tracks, then cast a warning look in his direction. Now she decided to return. Surlock wondered how much trouble he was in.

The tailor’s hands fluttered close to his face, and his eyes grew wide. “Oh, my.” The little man’s hands began to tremble.

“Is there a problem?” One of Darcy’s eyebrows shot upward as her hard gaze was redirected at the tailor. At least she’d changed the direction of her displeasure. Maybe he was in the clear.

“No, no problem. I’ll just take these last measurements and be done,” Mr. Barnes stuttered. He took out his pad and pencil and jotted down numbers. There was a snap, and the pencil broke, one end flying across the room. “Oh, I pressed too hard,” the tailor said. “I’ll… I’ll just get another pencil so we can finish up.” He pulled a white cloth out of his pocket and mopped his forehead before hurrying through the curtains.

“You have to stop glaring at poor Mr. Barnes,” Darcy whispered. “And for heaven’s sake, stop growling at people. You’re scaring them.”

“I don’t like the way he touches me,” Surlock snarled. “I think he enjoys it too much.”

“He probably did in the beginning, but I think he’s had a change of heart.”

Mr. Barnes hurried back in, took one look at Surlock and visibly swallowed, his face turning pale. “I just need a couple more measurements. I promise.”

Darcy willed Surlock to meet her look of warning. He sighed. “Then continue,” Surlock said, keeping his gaze on Darcy, rather than looking at the tailor.

A memory flashed of another time, another person taking his measurements, but it had been a female with dark green eyes and a saucy smile.

The memory was gone as quickly as it had flashed across his thoughts. Frustration filled him. Why did his memories stay blocked? He fisted his hands and growled.

“I’m finished,” Mr. Barnes squeaked as he quickly straightened, then stepped a good distance back. “I think we have a few things he can take with him until we get his other clothes ready,” he told Darcy. When she nodded, he scurried from the room.

“You scared him again,” she accused.

“I apologize.” He hadn’t meant to frighten the little tailor again, even if the man deserved to be frightened. It was the flash of memory that had caught him unaware.

When would he remember everything? He felt as if there was a huge hole in his life, and he desperately wanted it filled. Who was he supposed to keep from danger? Why did his identity have to remain a secret?

“It must be difficult not remembering who you are,” Darcy said softly.

There was something in her voice that soothed the beast inside him. He felt his tension ease. “Difficult? I feel as though I’ve been turned loose in a place where I don’t know the people or their customs. I’m like a child learning to walk, but stumbling with every step.” He glanced her way, and saw the sympathy in her eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted her compassion.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down at her hands, twining her fingers.

He hadn’t meant to make her feel guilty again. She was so beautiful, so perfect. And now she felt bad she’d caused him to lose his memory.

From somewhere deep inside, a door unlocked. He remembered someone telling him women enjoyed compliments. “You look nice,” he said. He told the truth. She did look nice. Before they had left for town, she had changed into a loose skirt and a sleeveless top. There were sandals on her feet and her toenails were painted dark red to match her fingernails.

He remembered how she was dressed this morning when she stood on the balcony with only a thin bit of material clinging to her naked body. He had clearly seen the outline of her breasts, the exposed curves. He’d felt an almost overwhelming urge to climb up to her balcony and take her into his arms. She’d looked at him then, just as she did now, her need palpable. Desire rose inside him.

“I want to mate with you,” he said, his words husky with need.

Her mouth dropped open. “You want to … what?”

He stepped off the stool and sauntered to where she stood. Before she could offer a protest, he took her into his arms and pulled her against him.

He stared into her eyes. “I want to mate with you. I want to feel your naked body pressed against mine. I want to plunge inside the heat of your body, stroking you,” he whispered close to her ear. Then he was kissing her, tasting her, tongues sparring, his dominating, catching her moan, feeling her press tight against him.