Free Four Weddings and a Werewolf (Entangled Covet) by Kristin Miller Page A

wedding you dream of having, or why the relationship with your sister is the way that it is. But I do know what you want. I know what turns you on, and what turns you off, and that should count for something.”
    Air caught in Veronica’s throat and her stomach went all topsy-turvy. How could Logan shake her up this easily? Was it the smolder behind those eyes? That strong, square jaw showing a hint of stubble? Logan shouldn’t have this kind of control over her, damn it! She needed to flip the tables! She smothered down the feelings fluttering deep in her belly and swiveled around on the bench to face him. She crossed her legs, drawing his attention there, and leaned forward so that he could look down her shirt if he let his gaze drift a bit.
    “Logan?” she asked, lowering her voice so that it came out as a purr.
    “Um-hmm?” He made the sound from his throat, as if he couldn’t find the strength to open his mouth.
    “You knew what turned me on and what turned me off.” She cupped his cheek in her hand, then patted. “You knew , sweetheart. Know implies the present tense, and we won’t be going there again.”
    As his gaze zoned far over her shoulder, his face fell.
    “What is it?” She craned her neck to look behind her. People strolled by, mostly tourists wearing sweatshirts and pants—travelers visiting Washington often didn’t expect the chilly summer days—with their cameras pointed at the water rising in the lock. “What’s wrong?”
    “I thought I saw something.” Leaning down, Logan tugged on something in his boot, then straightened. “I’m finished with lunch. Are you ready?”
    “I guess.”
    Logan scooped up their plates and tossed them into the trash, then pulled her by the hand. It was the first time he’d ever reached for her like that. His touch buzzed with electricity, shooting currents of bristly heat up her arm. His pace was quick, and they’d only made it a few steps before Veronica felt like she was being ushered away from a crime scene.
    “What are you doing?” She asked, as he opened the passenger door to the truck. “Why are we rushing? We have plenty of time to pick up my car. If something’s wrong, tell me.”
    “Nothing’s wrong.” Logan slammed the door shut and practically ran around the hood. He opened the door, brought the truck roaring to life, and slammed the gearshift into reverse. “I think your car is ready now, and there’s no reason to sit around here if I’m picking up a strange vibe.”
    “Okay.” There was more to it than that. “But I’d like to get there in one piece.”
    “That’s all I’m trying to do,” he said.
    The truck lurched into first gear, groaning as Logan pounded on the gas pedal. Veronica grabbed the oh-shit handle and slid across the seat as Logan spun out of the parking lot and headed for the freeway.

Chapter Eight
    Logan dropped Veronica at the car dealership and stayed outside while she went in to sign some paperwork and pay the bill. He kept his eye on the rearview mirror, searching for any sign of the stalker.
    Werewolves picked up more than common scents—they sensed heightened emotions, which were translated into different smells. Arousal or attraction was sweet and floral. Disdain or anger was bitter. Fear was sharp and crisp, often burning the nose. Hostility—what Logan picked up down at the locks—smelled like wet ash, pungent and nasty.
    He’d picked up the stalker’s scent at the dock, but at the dealership…nothing.
    Over lunch, Logan had spotted several people he thought might’ve been the guy following Veronica around, but none of them gave off the scent of a wolf. There was the guy with dark hair and binoculars standing at the edge of the waterway, leaning against the wooden rail. There was the guy buying hot dogs at the vendor down the street. And the guy sitting on a turned-over milk crate, playing a tune on the violin. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the scent was coming from, but the longer he