By Lex ValentineBUY YOUR COPY TODAY
As the pack Alpha, Roul Verlaine always looked out for his twin brother Ranulf. Now, Ran's mated and run off to New York City. Deciding to check up on his twin, Roul hires the Watcher Agency to follow Ran and his new mate. But when Roul arrives at Watcher, the owner is not what he expected.
Morgan Kale is a rare white werewolf, a lone wolf. She's not looking for a mate so when Roul walks into her office and her senses start pinging, she's not exactly happy about it. With Roul only in New York for three days, Morgan has to decide whether to tell him they are mates... or let him walk out of her life forever.
“The danger of staring too long at a sigil is that it can leech away your control.”
The woman’s voice tore Roul’s gaze from the magical diamond-shaped mark that famous wizard artist Nick Diamond used to sign his paintings. A woman with long, blonde hair stood in the doorway. Her eyes met his easily and he realized she must be at least six feet tall. Then her scent slammed into him like a Mac truck: rosemary . . . and lemon. Sweet, spicy, tangy . . . his mind and his cock reacted in the same millisecond to her scent.
Mine!
The woman’s elegant brows flicked up as, with a fierce growl, his wolf roused. Possessiveness filled every atom of his body and he wondered briefly if the magic of the painting had gotten to him. Gods! He wanted her. All rational thought fled his brain, leaving behind only primal urges. Driven by his base needs, he promised himself that before dawn lit the sky, he would have her beneath him, moaning in supplication.
A sardonic expression settled on her elegant features, almost as if she’d heard his arrogant thoughts. “I can see I’m way too late with my warning about control,” she murmured, her lips curling in amusement.
Roul knew his hard cock blatantly strained the front of his jeans, but he didn’t care. His wolf wanted her to see how she aroused him. “I’m Roul Verlaine,” he said in a voice husky with lust.
The woman stepped toward him. “I know. I’m Morgan Kale. Welcome to New York.” She held out one elegant hand.
Shock rippled through him. He’d thought the head of the Watcher Agency was a man. Her eyebrows arched up as she gazed at him. Again, her expression gave him the sense that she’d heard his thoughts. “Are you an empath? A telepath?” he asked abruptly as he set his suitcase down and extended his hand toward hers.
Her polite smile became a wide grin. “I wish. It would make my work much easier.” Her palm met his and she shook his hand firmly, but briefly. As her fingers dropped away, she gestured toward the office door. “Please come in.”
Her touch unnerved him even more than the persistent notion that she could read his thoughts. Despite her assertion that she was neither empath nor telepath, Roul’s instincts told him to shield his thoughts as he often did with his twin brother. A woman like this one—professional, capable—wouldn’t give him the time of day if she had heard his arrogant thoughts about having her beneath him before dawn.
The woman’s voice tore Roul’s gaze from the magical diamond-shaped mark that famous wizard artist Nick Diamond used to sign his paintings. A woman with long, blonde hair stood in the doorway. Her eyes met his easily and he realized she must be at least six feet tall. Then her scent slammed into him like a Mac truck: rosemary . . . and lemon. Sweet, spicy, tangy . . . his mind and his cock reacted in the same millisecond to her scent.
Mine!
The woman’s elegant brows flicked up as, with a fierce growl, his wolf roused. Possessiveness filled every atom of his body and he wondered briefly if the magic of the painting had gotten to him. Gods! He wanted her. All rational thought fled his brain, leaving behind only primal urges. Driven by his base needs, he promised himself that before dawn lit the sky, he would have her beneath him, moaning in supplication.
A sardonic expression settled on her elegant features, almost as if she’d heard his arrogant thoughts. “I can see I’m way too late with my warning about control,” she murmured, her lips curling in amusement.
Roul knew his hard cock blatantly strained the front of his jeans, but he didn’t care. His wolf wanted her to see how she aroused him. “I’m Roul Verlaine,” he said in a voice husky with lust.
The woman stepped toward him. “I know. I’m Morgan Kale. Welcome to New York.” She held out one elegant hand.
Shock rippled through him. He’d thought the head of the Watcher Agency was a man. Her eyebrows arched up as she gazed at him. Again, her expression gave him the sense that she’d heard his thoughts. “Are you an empath? A telepath?” he asked abruptly as he set his suitcase down and extended his hand toward hers.
Her polite smile became a wide grin. “I wish. It would make my work much easier.” Her palm met his and she shook his hand firmly, but briefly. As her fingers dropped away, she gestured toward the office door. “Please come in.”
Her touch unnerved him even more than the persistent notion that she could read his thoughts. Despite her assertion that she was neither empath nor telepath, Roul’s instincts told him to shield his thoughts as he often did with his twin brother. A woman like this one—professional, capable—wouldn’t give him the time of day if she had heard his arrogant thoughts about having her beneath him before dawn.
Lex Valentine
No comments:
Post a Comment