Charmed By The Wolf. Kristal Hollis

The muscle in Jaxen’s jaw twitched. He gave Penelope a wistful look, then showed them his back and ordered another shot.

      “Did he hurt you?” Tristan gently turned her away from the bar.

      “No.” And she wasn’t so sure Jaxen would have.

      Tristan laced his fingers through hers. Warm, comforting heat spread beneath his touch.

      “Is Jaxen your brother?” Penelope fell into step slightly behind Tristan as he led the way through the swelling crowd. Mostly people moved out of his way and he made a direct path to a table near the dance floor.

      “Cousin.”

      “You favor each other.”

      “Only in looks.” Tristan’s upper lip lifted in a silent snarl.

      Apparently there was an unpleasant history between the two men.

      “I hope you don’t mind joining me, sweet cheeks.” Tristan’s warm eyes encouraged her company.

      “Just so you know—” Nel sat in the chair he pulled back for her “—I like Nel. But I don’t like doll, darlin’, love, sweetie, sweetie pie or sweet cheeks.”

      He took the other seat. “Sweet cheeks is a compliment. When you smile, you look so damn sweet I want to eat you up.”

      “Oh.” A light heat spread across her face, down the column of her throat and across her cleavage. “I changed my mind, you can call me sweet cheeks.”

      He glanced around the room before settling his gaze back on her. “I was working resort security Friday night and heard you cry out in the woods. Did you get hurt?”

      “No, but I was scared. There was a terrible noise, then a wolf came up to me and...I thought heard your voice.”

      Surprise and disbelief blinked in Tristan’s eyes.

      “I know it was my imagination kicking into overdrive because I was frightened.” Penelope fiddled with her fingers. “And I was really hoping to see you again.”

      “Yeah?”

      She needed sunglasses to protect herself from Tristan’s smile. She also needed to divert away from flirting with him because, well, she rather sucked at it.

      “I was scared, Tristan. To know you were nearby and didn’t help—” Her voiced cracked.

      “Nel, when I heard you call out, it was impossible for me to get to you. My wolf accompanies me on patrol, so I sent him instead. I trust him with my life. I knew I could trust him with yours.” Tristan’s hand covered hers and the angst tying her stomach in knots dissolved into a calm, soothing assurance. “My wolf will never hurt you. I’ll stake my life on that.”

      “What’s his name?”

      “Tristan.” His brow creased. “With the population we have, it would become confusing to give separate names to the wolves.”

      “Everyone should have a name of their own.”

      “Trust me, he doesn’t mind being called Tristan.”

      “He told you that, did he?”

      “As a matter of fact, he did.”

      Penelope nearly giggled because of the teasing tent in Tristan’s eyebrow and the broadening, impish smile he flashed at her.

      “Am I forgiven?”

      Nel studied his face. He had a strong brow that dipped over warm, deliciously decadent eyes, a straight nose of just the right proportion, high cheeks, a masculine mouth tempered by a delicate cupid’s bow and soft-looking lips, and a powerful jaw shadowed by dark gold stubble.

      How could she stay mad at someone with a face of exquisite perfection?

      “Forgiven.”

      “Here ya go.” The server placed a glass of white wine in front of Penelope. “Figured you’d rather have this here than at the table where you were.”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      “Ready to order?”

      “A Caesar salad will be fine.”

      “That’s an appetizer, right?” Tristan’s gaze slid past Penelope and to the left.

      “Um, no. It’s supper.”

      “For a rabbit.” He turned his attention to the server. “The usual, and add an order of grilled chicken wings.”

      “Want another beer? That one’s probably warm by now.”

      Tristan handed the server the nearly full beer mug. “Water is fine.”

      “Sure thing, Slick.” The server sauntered toward the kitchen.

      “Slick?” Penelope asked Tristan.

      “A nickname. Angeline and I have been friends for years. She calls me Slick. I call her Sassy.”

      Penelope felt a slight prick of envy. She’d lost her first friends when her parents died and she had to move. In college, she’d had some acquaintances and quickly lost touch with them after graduation. More recently, her small social circle included a few coworkers and the sister of Penelope’s last ex.

      “So, what’s your usual order?” she asked Tristan.

      “Sixteen-ounce rib eye, medium rare, a loaded baked potato and fried okra without the batter.”

      “You’re going to eat all that plus a plate of chicken wings?”

      “Nah, I got those for you. I saw the way you looked at the platter on the table next to us. Besides, after supper I’m hoping you’ll be my dance partner. You’ll run out of steam before the second song if you don’t have protein in your stomach.”

      “I’m not a much of a dancer.” Mostly because she’d never learned.

      “Good thing I’m an excellent teacher.” Tristan exuded an easy confidence and openness Penelope would find sexy even without his perfect features.

      “I bet you’re excellent at a lot of things.” Vivid visions of all the things she would like for him to do to her flashed through Penelope’s mind.

      “Yes.” Tristan’s smile turned wicked and decadence smoldered in his dark sinful eyes. “I certainly am.”

      Nel’s body charged with awareness, heat erupted from her core, and raging desire flooded her senses.

      With no experience to handle a man like Tristan, the safest thing to do would be to cut and run.

      Unfortunately, her legs had turned to jelly.

       Chapter 8

      Anticipation coiled inside Tristan. He couldn’t wait to get Nel in his arms, hold her close and work up a sweat. He’d be a liar to deny he wanted more, but dancing was all he dared.

      Another quick visual sweep of the restaurant confirmed there were no simmering or escalating troubles, especially since Jaxen had left with Deidre. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at Nel, Tristan was intimately aware of every move, every breath, every sound she made.

      Methodically, she wiped her hands on a napkin and tucked it beside her empty plate. Her soft sigh sounded sad, disappointed, drawing his full attention.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.” Her voice sounded tight and she avoided his direct gaze. “How much do I owe you for dinner?”

      “Nothing, it’s my treat.” No one had ever mistaken a date with him before. Maybe he was losing his touch.

      “Oh, okay. Um, thanks for dinner.” She inhaled a slow, deep breath.