Free Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) by Cherise Sinclair

for a child. I‘ve heard it‘s even harder for the mothers.‖
    She shrugged. ―My mom died when I was young and we didn‘t have any family, so my father dragged me with him anytime he couldn‘t hire a housekeeper to leave me with.‖
    Motherless, homeless—had her father filled the gap? A man dedicated to a political career.
    Doubtful. ―Then you were exposed to many cultures growing up?‖
    ―Exposed? That sounds nasty. But yeah.‖
    She might fit in better than he‘d anticipated. The question was how would the human-haters in town react? He picked up one of the checkers pieces and noted a spark of interest in her glance. ―You play?‖
    ―It‘s been years.‖
    ―Then it is time.‖ He set the game up. ―What brought you to Cold Creek? We don‘t get many tourists this time of year.‖
    She shoved her first piece forward. ―I‘ve always wanted to live in the mountains.‖
    That sounded like truth...but not all the truth. ―We‘re high enough that the weather here can be rather nasty.‖ He slid a piece forward.
    She played a canny game, surrendering pieces reluctantly, but sacrificing where needed.
    Aggressive, focused on the goal, much like Alec‘s style. Even his questions didn‘t distract her.
    But her answers stayed ambiguous. Worrisome. She tossed them off with a carefree voice, but he could almost hear her mind racing for the best response. As Alec had said, the little human was a puzzle.
    He won the game. Barely.
    ―This was fun.‖ She tucked the checkers into the table slots. ―It was a good way to unwind.
    Thank you.‖
    ―My pleasure.‖
    With their empty glasses, she disappeared down the hallway. A minute later, he heard the dishwasher start up. Smart little human—only needed to be shown something once. Did she know how rare that was? He followed her to tell her so.
    Across the kitchen, she was hanging up her apron, and then, hands over her head, she stretched. Her close-fitting shirt outlined the tight muscles of her stomach, the jut of her lush breasts, her muscular biceps. The harsh kitchen light acquired a glow as it rested on her skin, emphasizing high cheekbones, full lips, and the long line of her throat.
    His pulse picked up, and his hand tightened on the door frame.
    Lowering her arms, she touched her side gingerly as if it hurt. Spell broken, he blinked.
    What was he thinking? She was human. Inter-relations were not forbidden, but wisdom dictated avoidance, both physical and emotional.
    Daonain weren‘t attracted to humans anyway—they didn‘t have the right scent. Normally.
    Unfortunately hers was bloody appealing. Not wild as a shifter‘s would be, but clean as the mountain air with a hint of flowers and feminine musk.
    He cleared his throat, and she spun around fast, almost cat-like, taking a defensive stance.
    Her eyes displayed no fear, just a readiness for battle.
    If he‘d moved...but he didn‘t. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, waiting.
    ―Fuck, you‘re quiet,‖ she spat out, easing back.
    ―Please excuse me for my...silence.‖ He studied her for a moment. Her mouth drooped slightly, her eyes looked weary, and her fingers trembled. ―I should not have kept you up. I fear this evening has been more tiring than you anticipated.‖
    She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. ―I‘m fine. I had the flu last week so I wear out fast. Couple of days and I‘ll be back to normal.‖
    ―Then you are content with your employment?‖
    ―Are you sure you and the sheriff are brothers? You don‘t sound at all alike.‖
    ―Ah. I was raised in the British Isles; Alec joined relatives in the south.‖
    She laughed. ―In that case, I‘m surprised you can even communicate with each other.
    Speaking of communication‖—she gave him a narrow-eyed look—‖next time, I get to lead the interrogation.‖
    He tilted his head. He might well learn more from her questions than her evasive answers.
    ―Next time we‘ll play chess.‖
    * * *
    Tony Vidal