Free 2: Leer - Pack Takeover by Carys Weldon Page A

it back on the bar. He wrapped both his big paws around it. I mean, Leer’s got big hands. Not clubby looking things. No. His fingers are long, thin, huge.
     
     
    I know now that he was just waiting. He knew I’d strike up a conversation. I’m telling you, no woman can resist this pheromone thing he has going on.
     
     
    I cleared my throat.
     
     
    He glanced my way. Let me explain Leer’s eyes. Topaz with big black centers. No. I’m not kidding. They are such a light brown that they look gold. And oh my God, if they don’t melt you on the spot. I felt undressed, heated up and ready to beg. And all he did was glance my way.
     
     
    I readjusted in my seat, bumping him on purpose in one of those accidental type moves to get somebody’s attention. It wasn’t lost on him. He grinned.
     
     
    And you want to talk about wolfish grins? Leer is , by God, a wolf. I know he was thinking of eating me up right at that moment. And I would have gone willingly to the slaughter.
     
     
    I did, as a matter of fact.
     
     
    He said, “Sorry. Guess I’m taking up more room than I should.” His grin got bigger. “You know, over here--minding my business on my own bar stool.”
     
     
    I flipped my hair, hoping he’d notice that it was looking good. I get lots of compliments on the short, out-flipped, dark shag. I fluttered my eyelashes, too, when I came back with, “Yeah. You ought to get a booth.” Then, like my tongue was working without my brain, I added, “Or better yet, a room.”
     
     
    He chuckled, then he insulted me, but I couldn’t blame him. I did sound like a whore. He said, “Oh oh. Sounds like this could cost me.”
     
     
    Of course, I realized how freaking slutty I sounded and tried to recoup. “Oh. I’m sure you can find company that’s free around here.” I looked around as if I was gonna set him up.
     
     
    No way in hell. That man could have thrown me up on the bar and I would have been smiling all the way. I was just playing.
     
     
    I swear, it’s like the air around him drugs women. I could feel my crotch dripping. I’m sure I groaned when I realized it, too.
     
     
    Nothing gets past him, either. At least, not much. At the drenching feeling between my legs, I glanced over at him. You know, thinking...geez, what’s wrong with me?
     
     
    Must’ve been about the time I really started with the hot juice flow, because I saw his nose twitch. His fingers clenched around that bottle. His biceps bulged in his shirt.
     
     
    I glanced toward his crotch. Couldn’t see a damn thing, the way he was sitting. But I had this…I dunno…feeling that he was digging me about as much as I was him. It was insane, considering the length of time we’d been acquainted.
     
     
    Leer pretended like he wasn’t really interested. He tipped his bottle up to the ceiling, pouring it down his throat. I’ve since seen him howl at the moon with his head tilted the same exact way. He probably was crowing, knowing I was his for the taking.
     
     
    Let me back up and explain something. At that juncture in time, I was not cheap. I was not easy. And I sure as hell was not free . I could count one high school sweetheart on my list of men I’d been with.
     
     
    I’ve always been a tease, a flirt. I like men. Well, men in general. But, oh my God, I am in love with Leer. And it was love at first sight.
     
     
    So he downed the beer, set it quietly on the table and turned to me. Very quietly, he asked, “You think you could show me where the closest… room is?”
     
     
    Okay. It is more than stupid to go out into the dark of night with a complete stranger that you picked up in a bar. Especially one big enough to take out ten cops without blinking an eye, but I couldn’t hop off my stool fast enough. I abandoned half a bottle and a half-peeled label without a second thought. And I really like to finish things, so that’s saying something.
     
     
    So, he followed me toward the door--with a hand at the