Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I don’t know why I feel like bawling. I clear my throat. “That means a lot to me. Thank you. Do you think we could…get together some time?” Of course, as soon as I suggest it, I realize it’s not possible. Not if I’m under lock and key. There’s no way Brick would allow his mom into his apartment, and if I go out to meet her on my own, I’d surely have bodyguards who would report back. “Or just schedule a phone chat?” I hear Brick enter through the front door. My pulse quickens like I’m going to be in trouble. “Now isn’t a good time, but maybe later?”
“Any time, sweetheart. Just call me. This is my cell number.”
Brick enters my bedroom, his eyes fixed on the phone at my ear.
I walk into the bathroom, like I’m still packing up my toothbrush. “Okay, thank you. I’ve got to run. Bye!” I turn and find Brick has followed me in. I bump into him, and he catches me, those large hands molding around my upper arms gently.
“Who was that?”
I turn the tables and attempt to give him one of his Big Bad Boss arched brows. “Am I going to have any privacy at all in this relationship?”
He draws back. If I didn’t know better, I would say I wounded him.
It wasn’t my intention, but I am still sore about him locking me in his apartment this morning. Still, as I justify my caginess in my head, it feels wrong. Everything about me and Brick feels wrong right now.
No–not everything. The ever-present intense physical chemistry is here. But nothing else feels solid. I’m supposed to be his life-mate. His mother is calling to welcome me to the family, and the ocean that divides me and Brick only seems to be getting more choppy.
I push past him, throwing more belongings into my bag, but he follows me, catching me around the waist and pulling my back against his front. He strokes my hair back from the side of my face. “Am I suffocating you, Madi?”
The tension melts from my body just from being in his arms. My cells begin to vibrate like my body is celebrating his presence. “Locking me in your apartment might be considered suffocating behavior.” There’s no tartness to my voice–my words come out husky and soft.
He traces his tongue around the shell of my ear. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s just that you belong to me now.” If he wasn’t continuing with that insane nibbling along my ear, I might reject that sentiment. “I can’t help but be all up in your business because it’s my job to make you happy.”
Oh, damn him.
“But mostly what I’m aware of is that I haven’t wooed you properly. Wolves know their mates by scent. Humans require a different kind of courtship. I know I’m late to this game, but I am going to court you properly, Madison Evans.”
I’m melting into a total puddle at his feet.
“Are you?” I didn’t even know I had a bedroom voice. Apparently I do.
He kisses my neck. “Mmm hmm. Do you think it will work?”
My core clenches and quivers. “I think there’s a definite chance it will work.”
Chapter Four
Brick
Madi shifts in the leather seat of my private jet, not touching the wine or cheese plate our attendant served her. It’s close to midnight, and we’re in the air en route to a private Greek island–a place I can keep her safe, where we won’t be disturbed.
Sully’s already there arranging a full security team, so I will know she’s safe when I leave to attend the Swedish pack games.
My confidence in my plan is flagging, though. Far from being impressed by the luxury of the private jet, Madi just seems out of her element. She’s as ill-at-ease as she was the night I picked her up in a limo for the ball.
I don’t know if it’s her sense of not belonging to my world or a general resentment toward the upper class stemming from the Harringtons’ rejection of her mother, but she isn’t impressed by any of this. I need to modify my idea of wooing her.
Marking Madi may have cured my madness but didn’t magically solve anything for her.
She doesn’t have the shifter biology to tell her we’re right for each other. Destiny isn’t speaking to her the way it has to me.
I know she’s mine–no matter how much I tried to deny that fate, it’s true.
She picks up her phone and opens the New York Times app. “New puzzle,” she murmurs and starts filling in the boxes on the crossword. I watch over her shoulder, marveling at how fast her mind works.
“You’re bored,” I realize.
Of course she is. I took her from a fast-paced, high pressure job where she felt like a success and somehow expected her to enjoy the luxury of being a kept woman.