The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf by Molly Harper Read Free Book Online Page B

you with fangs or claws, my mother did it with kind words and good meals.
    “Something smells good!” I called, inhaling the scent of my mother’s chicken and dumplings. She served huge vats of it with fresh, crusty sourdough and as much of her homemade applesauce as you could eat. “I hope it’s OK, we’re going to have some company for dinner.”
    “Yes, I know!” she called back. “I’m in the kitchen.”
    I rounded the corner and heard Nick Thatcher in mid-sentence, “There are a lot of theories about where exactly the line between man and animal is drawn. Psychologically, spiritually, physically. Where do the two lines split on the evolutionary scale? Is the missing link some step along the way? Or could legends that link man and animal be signs of a step forward? A mix of the best of both worlds.”
    Nick freaking Thatcher was sitting at my kitchen table while my mother served him chamomile tea and a piece of her special apple cake. My favorite apple cake.
    “Oh, my God! Is nothing sacred?” I howled.
    Faced with my mental tormentor, the interrupter of sleep, and his head-clouding scent, I’d expected to feel awkward and bashful again. But mostly, I felt anger. Sweet, clarifying anger. Who the hell did he think he was, waltzing into my valley, with his stupid feet under my table, eating my freaking cake?
    His feet did look awfully big, I noticed, biting my lip. And from what I could gather from a lifetime spent around men who were comfortable in the nude, the old wives’ tales about foot size tended to be accurate.
    Gah!
    Focus, Maggie, I commanded my wandering brain. My eyelid actually twitched when he looked up at me.
    “Hi, Maggie, it’s nice to see you again,” he said, smiling so sweetly I thought I might need insulin.
    “Your work sounds so interesting, Nick,” Mom said, ignoring my outburst and turning back to the stove to stir the contents of a huge iron pot. “But how do you even study something like that?”
    Nick smiled. “Eyewitness accounts. As many police reports as I can get my hands on. Local legends. Scientists tend to downplay the importance of oral history.”
    While he ticked down the list with his long, strong fingers, my mouth went dry. My worst fears were confirmed. He was just smart enough to be dangerous.
    “What are you doing here?” I demanded, tired of being ignored.
    “Well, I thought we got off on the wrong foot the other day, so I wanted to come by and try to make a better second impression. Your mom was nice enough to keep me company while I waited and serve me some of this delicious cake.”
    I scowled. I had to stop thinking about the cake. And Nick. And Nick smeared in cake icing. I glared at my mother. Clearly, this conspiracy was wider spread than I thought. I gritted my teeth and reached for my mother’s cake plate.
    “No cake for you,” Mom said, smacking my hand away. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”
    “He has some!” I pointed out, shaking my smarting fingers.
    “He’s a guest.”
    I narrowed my eyes at Nick while he smarmily chewed on a big bite of cake.
    He would pay for this. Dearly.
    “And I wanted to ask about your brother’s suggestion that you’d show me around. I’d be more than happy to pay you whatever you’d charge for guiding me around the trails. I’ve hiked around a little bit myself. But I haven’t seen much in the way of wildlife. Your brother has such a solid reputation in the field guide community, I was hoping you might show me the best places to look.”
    “I just don’t have the time,” I lied.
    “Nick, you’re going to stay for dinner, yes?” Mom asked, stirring the huge vat of chicken and dumplings on the stove. She had a knack for relieving the tension in a room by pretending my rudeness away with cooking. Many, many chickens had given up their lives to cover my conversational shortcomings.
    “No, he’s not.”
    “Maggie, I know you have better manners than that.”
    Damn it. Mom was right. Werewolves have