Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I should be at the office, working all angles of the Benson deal. Searching for our next acquisition, one that will ensure Moon Co’s market dominance. Or I should be flying to the Berkshires, so I can shift and let my wolf run out the endless energy that’s been keeping me up at night.
There’s no reason I should be hanging around this human haunt, stealing a few precious moments to satisfy my craving for her.
My whole life, I’ve committed every moment to my pack and the businesses that keep us wealthy. Keep us safe. I’ve had a few flings with a handful of willing she-wolves, but I’ve never taken such an interest in a female before.
My attraction to Madison isn’t rational. She is definitely something special, whether my wolf loves her delectable scent or not. It just would be far easier to ignore the attraction if my wolf wasn’t involved.
I want it even more when she gets up on stage and the band starts playing because they’re good. Sexy. Musically talented. Fun. They’ve got the beat, and the crowd chants along at the tops of their lungs. Their lead singer is a beautiful black woman who appears the same age as Madison with tattoos down one arm and a nose piercing. She’s wearing a headband to hold back her wild mop of curls. She’s great, but I’m too taken by my pain-in-the-ass assistant to watch her. Madison is a rock star. The stage lights illuminate the whole band, but she shines brighter, as if lit from within. My eyes are glued to her and her alone.
I shouldn’t be surprised to find she has talents other than fielding my phone calls and remembering entire conversations verbatim–there’s probably nothing this girl doesn't do well.
And it hits me as I stand under the neon lights, in this dark, tight space with too many idiots drenched in cheap body spray. Everything I've done, every moment of my life has been with my pack, for my pack, to benefit my pack. My father raised me to know my duty and my destiny. The legacy of Alpha has ruled my days, months, years.
Up until now.
The music swells around me, too loud, too much bass. The place is foggy with human stench and sweat and hoppy beer. The carpet under my polished wingtips is no color and every color, marked with decades of questionable stains.
What in the hell am I doing here? What compelled me to come in? To stay? To actually enjoy watching this ridiculous show?
It doesn’t make sense, yet I can’t make myself leave. Can’t make myself stop looking at New Girl up there on that stage.
Madison and her friends finish the set and leave the stage, and I keep my eye on her as she goes to the bar with her bandmates, her guitar still slung over her shoulder.
I should leave. She’s here with friends. She can take care of herself. She may be a fragile human, but she’s smart and not alone.
But she’s also drinking. And if she thinks she’s taking the subway home, I will have to intervene. I keep my post in the back, irritated when I lose sight of her for a while.
“Brick Blackthroat!” She stumbles a little with exaggerated surprise, and I shoot a hand out to catch her elbow. I mean to help her catch her balance, but instead, I hesitate and let her tumble against my chest. I wrap my other arm around her waist. Her breasts press against my ribs. “Oh.” She tips her face up in surprise. Our lips are close.
So fucking close.
Close enough that I’d only have to move a half-inch to taste her beautiful, sassy mouth. I almost do it. I want to.
But it would be so very wrong.
The tequila on her breath sadly overpowers her natural scent. Okay, so there is something she doesn't do well–hold her alcohol.
Reluctantly, I release her waist, keeping my hand at her elbow to steady her.
“What are you doing here?” she slurs, making an obvious attempt to get her balance and square her shoulders like she’s not wasted.
“I’m here to drive you home.” I scowl because now her citrus spice scent invades my nostrils, and my hand automatically tightens on her arm, like I’m unwilling to let her go.
She raises her brows, and it makes her fall back again, so I pull her closer.
“Wait…did you see the show?”
I force my expression into one of scorn. “Don’t be absurd.”
She narrows her eyes, still swaying slightly. I can’t fathom what’s going through her mind, but she seems to realize something. To my shock, she pokes me in the chest. “You’re lying, Brick Blackthroat. I know when you lie. I see everything.”
Oh fates. She’s unbelievably cute like this.
I catch her hand with the pointing finger and hold it crumpled in my larger one. “That’s Mister Blackthroat to you, and you know absolutely nothing.”