Free Hair of the Dog by Kelli Scott Page A

hide his jealousy. The sound of pool balls
crashing against other pool balls rang out over the jukebox music. The breaker
of balls sunk three. Show off. Every man in town strutted and preened
for her.
    Grant didn’t have a cold shoulder to give, not when it came
to Ivy. Turning to her, he said, “It’s because you look amazing today.” The
truth—or half-truth. Every species wanted her for their own. To possess her
potential abilities would put the power in their corner. Wolves had always
dominated—financially, socially and politically. Having Ivy would level the
playing field for weaker species. His pack couldn’t allow it.
    A man squeezed by, brushing up against Ivy, inhaling her
scent. Subtle.
    Her eyes flitted away and she flipped her hair uneasily.
“Thank you,” she said to Grant, ignoring the other man’s violation into her
personal space. “You guys sure know how to make a gal feel welcome. Or
objectified,” she mumbled.
    He drained his third beer, signaling the bartender for
another. “Not accustomed to accepting compliments?”
    “No. I’m not.” She pushed the drink away. “And I don’t care
for white wine either.”
    He leaned in close. “I’d buy you a drink myself, but I’d
have to stand in line.” Not that he wouldn’t stand in a long line to be with
her. He shouldn’t. Grant had an entire town to think of and his dead wife’s
memory to preserve. Not his own selfish needs to fulfill. He had to prove
himself to be a better man than the Bobby Joe Dumfries of the world.
    “I think I’d like to buy you a drink, Mr. Mayor.” Her
voice rang seductively in his hypersensitive ears. “And discuss an advertising
budget while you’re in a relaxed mood.”
    “I think you mean vulnerable mood.” The bartender placed a
beer in front of him. Grant picked it up and clinked the beer bottle against
her wineglass. “This is my fourth, which is already two too many for me.”
    “I insist on buying your fifth.” Her eyelashes dipped in a
slow, seductive blink. “Maybe a sixth.”
    “Trying to get me toasted, Ms. Fontainebleau?” Please say
yes, even if it’s to steal my wallet in the parking lot or entice me to give
you an unlimited advertising budget.
    She took a sip of her unsolicited—not to mention
unwanted—wine. “At the very least.” Her tongue ran slowly along her lower lip,
leaving it glistening as well as irresistible.
    Grant longed to taste those lips. He planted his elbow on
the bar, propping his heavy head on his hand. “I could do that for you.”
    Her head tilted ever so slightly. “I’ll just bet you could.
And I’d wager you’d do a damn fine job.”
    “Your eyes, Ivy, have turned smoky.” They picked up the hue
of the dark mahogany of the bar. Her cheeks bloomed a rosy pink from the wine
or his words or her natural glow. Her scent…her scent had every beast in the
room on alert.
    “I have beer at my cottage,” she said.
    Deciding that he was overthinking things in general, he
quickly slapped a twenty on the bar.

Chapter Six
     
    Grant zipped the Jeep to a jolting stop in front of her
cottage, nearly giving Ivy whiplash. They’d calmly, nonchalantly slipped out of
the bar at the lodge, probably not fooling anyone about the reason. For
discretion’s sake they’d kept hands, lips and saliva to themselves, exchanging
only glances and polite conversation. Ivy had already decided that once inside
her cottage, all bets were off. She’d be on him like flies on shit. Wait, no,
bees on honey. Point is she’d be on him or him on her.
    Ivy dashed up the steps to the cottage, glancing back at him
over her shoulder.
    Grant surveyed the surrounding area before following her
inside. “You really should lock yours doors.”
    Ivy gathered up the fabric of his shirt into her balled-up
fist and pulled him closer. “You really should shut up and kiss me.”
    “You’re right.” He clasped his hand behind her neck, drawing
her closer. His lips came down fiercely on hers,