Honey, I Shrunk the Werewolf! Dakota Cassidy “I’m a what?” “A werewolf.” “A werewolf who can’t remember he’s a werewolf because he has amnesia.”
That pretty much sums it up. The timing couldn’t be worse, too. Just when the pain of booting her asshat of a husband to the curb has started to lessen, Ella gets stuck babysitting his hairy amnesiac ass. Well…she is a psychiatric nurse, after all. In exchange for helping Crosby rediscover his inner werewolf, Ella has the pack’s word she’ll be granted a divorce. She’ll be free to move on. Maybe continue the Twitter flirtation she’s got going with @Hairofthedog. Hey, it’s a start. But Crosby isn’t playing fair. No longer the Grand Poobah of Douchebaggery, with his memories gone, he’s more the charming, fun-loving man Ella fell in love with. How’s she supposed to hate him when he keeps smiling and charming and, oh yeah, screwing her six ways to Sunday? Though Ella’s body is game for more physical therapy, her mind hasn’t forgotten his betrayal. Crosby will need a damn fine excuse for what he’s done. As it turns out, he has one—and it’s a doozy.
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Honey, I Shrunk the Werewolf! ISBN 9781419936272 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Honey, I Shrunk the Werewolf! Copyright © 2011 Dakota Cassidy Edited by Kelli Collins Cover art by Syneca Photography: Anetta/Shutterstock.com Electronic book publication August 2011 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.
HONEY, I SHRUNK THE WEREWOLF! Dakota Cassidy
Honey, I Shrunk the Werewolf!
Chapter One “I’m a what?” “A werewolf.” “A werewolf who can’t remember he’s a werewolf because he has amnesia.” “If you’re into labels then, yep.” “Is this some kind of joke? Because, so not funny.” “Funny is in the eye of the beholder.” “This beholder’s eye isn’t laughing.” “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Beholder, but that’s how your unfortunate cookie has crumbled.” He scowled. “Cookies are stupid.” But oh so yummy. Especially his cookies. “I’m a werewolf? Really?” he asked once more. Ella Stills sighed with a sharp hiss that was meant for audibility and leaned back against the doorframe of the hospital bathroom. “You heard me.” “Just say it one more time so I can let it really sink in.” “You, Crosby Nash, are a werewolf. You know, big-and-hairy, howl-at-the-moon, eat-uncooked-cow werewolf.” Crosby raised a dark eyebrow, a rather condescending one. “I eat uncooked cows?” “Like you’re on death row and it’s your last meal before you hit the lethal injection chamber.” “That’s ridiculous. This is ridiculous. I feel like I’m in some werewolf version of Twilight.”
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Huh. Crosby the Amnesiac couldn’t remember he was a werewolf, but he could remember pop culture phenomena? She had to keep reminding herself that Crosby’s amnesia was declarative, and while he couldn’t necessarily remember his name or anything relating to his life, his memories of almost everything else remained intact. She let her eyebrow raise right back at him, mirroring his arrogant expression. “Lucky for you, this means you won’t have the grueling yet necessary task of choosing a team.” “Damn. I was so going Edward, too,” Crosby joked with a crooked grin. “He needs more friends, in my humble opinion. He’s always standing in the shadow of that kid Jacob’s ridiculously perfect abs.” Ella rolled her eyes. “Speaking of ridiculous…you don’t know ridiculous until you find yourself babysitting a thirty-eight-year-old man while he attends mandatory ‘find your werewolf’ therapy so he can search for his long-lost inner howl. All this because your pack says you have to. And let’s not forget the fashion statement you’re flogging to death here.” Ella waved her hand up and down, scanning the length of Crosby’s rock-hard body in a hospital gown. “That’s a whole new level of ridiculous. Not to mention, quite possibly epically apocalyptic, as fashion goes.” And hot. So. Damn. Hot. No matter what he wore. But she wasn’t going to let his brand of hot woo her ever again. Ever. As was the norm with Crosby, he ignored the important information and focused in on what really mattered—what had always mattered. Him, him and him. His eyes scanned his reflection in the bathroom mirror with a critical glance, brushing his lean fingers over the dark stubble on his chin. “So I’m thirty-eight?” “And a half, if you want to split hairs in human years.” Ella peered around his broad back, ignoring the longing sting it brought to see her image next to Crosby’s again after so long.
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“I look damn good for my human age, huh?” he asked, his lips tilting upward in a very familiar Crosby smirk. His green eyes twinkled while he waited for her response. She shot him a bored look and yawned for affect. “We’re werewolves. We all look good for our age—it comes with the gift of the shift, Crosby.” Ella kept her face impassive and her words dry. He cocked his dark, unwashed head. “So you know me?” In the biblical sense even. She bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing hard. “Well, yeah. I am your babysitter. Would you leave your thirty-eight-and-a-half-year-old werewolf with a babysitter he didn’t know? That would be crappy pack parenting, right? So, yes. I know you.” Crosby squinted into the mirror at her reflection, dragging his long fingers through his thick black hair. “Who are you again?” “The babysitter. Was your hearing affected?” “No. I mean, what’s your name?” “Ella Stills. The werewolf.” She curtsied, holding the edges of her cropped denim jacket out while forcing her face to remain emotionless to the fact he didn’t remember her name…or her face…or her anything. The doctors had warned her that showing any signs of shock about Crosby’s amnesia could be detrimental to his recovery. The pack didn’t like hearing that. They needed him on his feet, memory intact. But it wasn’t just the pack that needed him to recover his memory. Ella needed it, too. So she could get the hell away from him. Soon. Thus, she’d ixnayed on the ockshay. Crosby’s strong jaw clenched, leaving behind a tic she remembered well. Translation—she’d irritated him. “You’re really a werewolf, too?” “Really. Who isn’t these days?” 7
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“And I’m told I belong to a pack.” She twirled a long strand of hair around her index finger, examining it under the harsh glare of the bathroom lights. “A werewolf pack. Not to be confused with a clan.” His lean face distorted with disbelief and one raven eyebrow rose in that irritating way it did when he was shooting for patronizing. “A clan?” “Yeah. If you were part of a clan, you’d be a vampire. I’m not sure what a group of demons call themselves. Gaggle o’ Spawned from Lucifer—or Minions of Mayhem, maybe? I dunno, but you’re not one of those either. Just a plain old werewolf from a plain old pack of werewolves.” Crosby flipped on the tap in the sink and splashed water over his face before he spoke again. He used the front of his hospital gown to dry his jaw, the sound of material scraping over his unshaven cheeks harsh to her ears. “So let me be sure I’ve got this right. I’m a werewolf who had an unfortunate accident on my way to a destination no one knows but me—” “Sort of. Though let’s not confuse the issue. You did have an accident. But it was an unfortunate shoe incident, to be precise.” Ella studied her nails with another yawn. He nodded his head, the lean muscles of his neck flexing. “Right. Someone hit me over the head with a shoe. That’s what I was muttering before I lapsed into a coma. This, according to Nurse Jenkins—uh, the witch. Not a bad witch, as seen on the Wizard of SomeplaceIcan’tremember, mind you, but a good one—or so she claims.” Ella nodded her head in return, catching a glimpse in the mirror of the dark part in her otherwise sun-kissed, dirty-blonde hair. Leave it to Crosby to screw up a long overdue trip to the salon for some highlight-lowlight love. “That’s right. Everyone who works here in the hospital is paranormal, and yes, someone clobbered you with a work boot when you were in your were-form. Left a hella bruise, too.” She pointed to the misshapen egg on his head. “But we heal quickly. So your chiseled good looks will be back to their Calvin Klein-esque status in no time flat.”
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His brow furrowed. “The accident. Any thoughts on why someone would hit me with a work boot?” “The pack suspects you freaked out some unsuspecting human. When you’re in were-form, you’re just this much shy of Cujo.” Ella pressed her fingers together to emphasize just how scary Crosby could be when he shifted. “The human nailed you with the boot, clearly unaware, as most humans are, that we’re peace-loving. Anyway, somehow, big, brawny ninja-were that you are, you clawed your way back to Harry Levine’s house, shifted back and muttered a few clues to what happened to you before collapsing.” Crosby frowned again, deep ridges gracing his forehead. Ella decided a small nudge to his memory probably wouldn’t scar him for life. “Remember Harry?” His green eyes, fringed with smoky lashes, went blank. “No clue who Harry is.” “Bummer, that. You might want to try to dig deeper into your muddled were-brain for his stats. He’s your golf buddy. You love golf. He’ll be devastated that, even with amnesia, you don’t remember the power of his magic nine iron. Anyway, you told him what happened then lapsed into a coma and woke up with amnesia. Voilà. Now you’re here.” And so was she. Here. With Crosby. After a no-contact, three-month-long separation. “At the werewolf hospital.” His lips flat lined into the position grim. Ella clucked her tongue in admonishment. “Don’t be so narrow-minded. This is an all-inclusive hospital, silly, designed specifically for the paranormal in you. Every species of the paranormal is welcome here. Including, to my dismay, trolls. Watch for the trolls. They’re tricky bastards. And speaking of all-inclusive, get some clothes on. We have group therapy to hit.” “Seriously?”
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“If you want the doctor to sign your release papers so you can blow this Popsicle stand, you have to go to therapy. Hopefully, hanging around others like you in similar situations will unlock your memory. So, yes. Seriously.” Crosby grinned as he took the pair of jeans Ella handed him, and she turned her back so as not to get even a small glimpse of his sculpted ass. “No. I meant the trolls. There are really trolls here? That might be just a little more cool than werewolves and vampires.” Ella fought a grin while she studied her black, low-heeled suede boots. “Get dressed or we’ll be late.” “One more question before I do.” Ella let her hands slap against her thighs when she turned back around—now almost hoping she hadn’t missed the glimpse of his sculpted ass. If only to prove to herself she didn’t want his ass anymore. It was, after all, just an ass. “Fine. But note, you’re almost at your legal limit for allowable questions in a perilous predicament.” He grinned again—charmingly one-hundred watt. “Noted. Now, if I agree to go to this therapy thing three times a week starting today, they’ll release me and let me go home with you?” Ella fought a groan. Bringing Crosby home with her was a bad idea. Way bad. What if he, being the stubborn asshat he was, took as long to get his memory back as he’d taken to admit he was wrong when they’d argued? Jesus Christ and a fuzzy kitten— he’d be at her house until the end of millennia. But in an effort to do the doctor’s bidding, she kept her misgivings on the inside and replied to him as though he were merely one of her patients—which was the only way she was going to get through this. “Yes, Crosby. You can come home with me. Physically, you’re fine, so there’s no reason to keep you here. You just can’t be alone in case you have flashbacks of events you need explained to you. Sometimes they can be debilitating. Or on the off chance you shift and don’t know what’s happening. I can help you with that, too. I’m a nurse. A psychiatric nurse, by trade.” 10
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Crosby’s eyes grew wide with clear wonder. “Shift? Shut. Up. I shift? You mean like in-the-movies shift, where I morph and snarl all drooly? I can really do that?” Ella’s response was purposely dry. “You can really do that.” He grinned, apparently pleased by this turn of events. “Then this is way more like Twilight than you’re letting on.” “Did you actually see Twilight, Crosby?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking or keep the astonishment from her tone. If he had seen the movie, he hadn’t gone willingly. Getting Crosby to watch anything that didn’t involve a ball, big or small, was like asking the Pope to move out of the Vatican and into a one-bedroom walkup. He scratched his head, wincing when he hit the lump with his fingers. “I think I did…is that something I’d do?” Hah! “Let’s not worry about what you would or wouldn’t do. Let’s focus on the moment at hand.” “Right. And the focus is on going home with you.” Crosby, as an amnesiac, was handing out smiles like they were Halloween candy. He grinned yet again. That was more than two times in less than fifteen minutes and, on the whole, probably more than he’d grinned in the last six months. But she maintained the effort to divert him and winked. “You’re in luck, too. I have a spare bedroom. It’s a little lavender for such a manly man, but the mint-green ruffles on the bedspread are very tasteful. Promise.” His groan rang in her ears when she tossed his T-shirt to him and shut the bathroom door behind her. Ella took a shaky breath before turning to grab her purse from the lone chair in his hospital room. She hadn’t seen Crosby in nearly three months. Seeing him now, like this, was a sharp pain in her heart she could have done without. As an amnesiac, he was more like the Crosby she’d fallen in love with three years ago. Quick to smile, easygoing and funny.
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The Crosby she’d left three months ago had made the word “douchebaggery” seem light and frolicky. And she didn’t want to learn to like Crosby the Amnesiac, because Crosby the Asshat was sure to reappear when his memory returned. Boo-hiss. Then he’d surely remember she’d called him a fuckwit. But that had only been after she’d thrown all his things out the door of their house and into their small koi pond, and just before she’d set his favorite set of golf clubs on fire—bag and all. Like a big, four-alarm kind of fire. Impressive and blazingly colorful, with lots of blues and greens. Pressing her cheek to the cool hospital room wall, Ella fought for another breath and sent up a silent prayer she’d navigate this pack demand unscathed. But then she smiled. If not, she’d just set his shit on fire again. It really had been an awesome fire.
***** “Ella?” She’d been pondering her new circumstances while Crosby changed and freshened up when a familiar voice roused her. Without turning around, she responded, “Morton.” She didn’t need to ask why her pack elder and friend was skulking in the shadows of Crosby’s room. The pack wanted answers. They’d sent him to find out if she’d gotten them. Because she was magical and mystical like that. Morton placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm. “How’s Crosby?” She shrugged him off, pivoting on her booted heel to gaze up into his sweet, moonshaped face. “Oh, I dunno, Mort. He has amnesia. He doesn’t know who he is, much less who I am. He’s got a lump the size of a basketball on his fat head and he’s just been told he’s a werewolf. How do you suppose he is?” 12
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Morton leaned into her, his eyes warm, his words hushed to keep Crosby from hearing them. “Save your pissed-off for the people you should be pissed off with. I told the pack they shouldn’t drag you into this. We could have found someone else to look after him while he recuperates. I was unequivocally shot down.” Her shoulders slumped in regret. Morton was right. It wasn’t his fault. “Sorry. This whole thing has me on edge. Do you have any idea how utterly fucked up it is to have Crosby look at me with anything other than bulging-eyed rage? I’m a little flipped out by it.” Morton’s gray gaze softened. “It’s a little like starting over again. Isn’t it romantic?” Ella flipped him the bird before she could stop herself, catching a glimpse of her now ringless finger. “The. Hell. There’ll be no starting anything, over or otherwise, Morton. So if that’s the pack’s hope by asking me to do this, they can blow me. The second Crosby remembers who I am, shit will surely fly. I can promise you that, and it’ll be loud, loud shit. I’m doing my duty to the pack because for the most part, they’ve let me be lately, and they said if I did this they’d return the favor by letting me move on.” His chuckle was deep and amused, making his barrel-chest bounce beneath his suit. “Your duty… So it has nothing to do with the fact that when you heard Crosby was in a coma you were here in five seconds flat, the hair from your haphazard shift still poking out of your cotton nightgown and pink bunny slippers?” She rolled her tongue in her cheek, her eyes shifting to the shiny floor to avoid Morton’s gaze. “The pack, especially Ernie, made it sound like he was going to die, for Christ’s sake. Crosby has in the past, and still can be, a complete and utter douche, but I don’t want him to die because of it. Well, not today anyway. Besides, at the very least, I wanted to punch him in his egomaniacal head one last time before he hit the great beyond. Just so he’d always have something to remember me by. You didn’t think I’d pass up a shot at that, did you?”
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He chucked her under the chin with thick fingers. “You go right ahead and soothe yourself with whatever lie works. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about the close quarters you’ll be in together while Crosby remembers who the hell he is.” “Look. The fact is, Crosby needs a babysitter. I’m the logical choice because I know him best, and I am a nurse—or was, until I took a leave of absence. I know how to deal with the potential for flashbacks and nightmares and all the stuff associated with an amnesiac paranormal. If I can help him return to his former arrogant, assaholic ways so the women of the world won’t be out one bad boy playah, I’m down.” Mort cocked his silver-dusted head to the left. “You know, Crosby wasn’t the only one involved in that little misunderstanding.” Ella’s spine stiffened at the memory. “I wasn’t the one who classified it as a ‘misunderstanding’. He was. I personally classified it as bullshit. So moving on. Forget about the close-quarters thing. Forget about the fact that Crosby Nash is a shit like no other. Let’s just focus on getting his memory back so he can remember whatever it is the pack so desperately needs to know.” She whipped a hand up, palm forward. “And no. I don’t want to know what pack business he’s got locked up tighter than Fort Knox in his head. It’s probably the longitude and latitude of Jimmy Hoffa’s resting place.” Morton chuckled with that deep, indulgent warmth she was so familiar with. “Just remember I warned you this wasn’t a good idea. You’ll only be dredging up your own painful memories right along with his. You know; the ones you clearly like better left buried?” Ella’s lips thinned and her head pounded out a beat she could dance to. “If doing this means the pack will grant me this one last wish, then I’m all in.” “This magical thing you call a pack grants wishes?” Crosby asked, poking his head out of the bathroom door before strutting to stand beside her, tall, muscled and lean. “Badass… So how do I get in on that gig, and what do you want the pack to grant you?”
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A guarantee there’d be no jail time for Crosby-slaughter? “The chance to spend every spare moment I have with you,” she said sweetly then shot Morton a glare to quiet his blustering cough. “C’mon, Oh Forgetful One. Group therapy awaits.” Ella pointed to the door and Crosby obediently loped out. Mort grabbed her by the arm just as she was about to follow suit. His face had concern written into the wrinkles of his forehead and etched in his warm, sympathetic gaze. “I don’t like this, Ella. I’m worried you’ll kill Crosby before he has the chance to get his memory back. Or that you’ll end up hurt again.” She shrugged, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “I’m going to be fine—I’m doing this for a reason, Mort, and one reason only. The pack and I have an agreement. Besides, I’ve already begun to move on. Nothing Crosby does will change that.” Yeah. “By moving on, do you mean your little Twitter romance?” It wasn’t little. It was just in the early stages. Though it had cooled a bit this week because her Twitter hottie had informed her he’d be away on a business trip with spotty Internet. “How do you know about my Twitter page?” “You asked me to follow you, silly.” Her grin was sheepish. “I only had three followers. I needed an even number or my OCD kicks in.” Morton chuckled, pulling her into a tight hug. “I see all that flirting you’re doing with Hairofthedog.” Ella grinned. Yeah, thank God for Twitter—The Paranormal Edition, where the rest of the world who tweeted thought the members were all just crazy supernatural wannabes who role-played. Some wannabes, kids who thought it would be cool to be a vampire or a werewolf, had joined, but the genie with the high IQ who’d created the paranormal version of Twitter had a program to smoke the fakes out.
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Morton looked down at her phone. “You don’t know a lot about him. How could you, in one hundred forty characters or less? Yet I can almost hear your girlish giggles when he tweets you.” Ella blushed then frowned, tugging on the ends of her jacket. “Well, I knew plenty about Crosby, and look how that turned out? Our relationship was like Chernobyl and the Titanic mated and had evil twins. I figure it’s time to be less cautious and have some fun. My Twitter romance, as you call it, is fun.” And noncommittal. And, if she wished, easy to turn off with the click of her mouse. “And it’s not a romance. It’s just a flirtation as it stands right now. You know, dipping my toes into the shallow end of the single pool to see if the water’s fine.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Morton chucked her under the chin once more. “I’m just asking you to be careful—on both the Crosby and the flirty Twitter front.” Patting him on the back, Ella smiled, forcing her pending fears about Crosby coming home with her to STFU. She was taking one for the team because, if she did as they asked, the pack was going to give her what she needed to end this once and for all. Then she could Twitterpate to her heart’s desire. Because she’d be free and easy down whatever road she chose. Oh, and divorced—not a simple feat within all those pack rules. Her stomach clenched as she left to find Crosby while she forced herself to summon up the memories of the Crosby of old. Cranky, stressed-out and uncommunicative. That Crosby was going to be the end game. She’d do well to keep that shit in mind.
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Chapter Two “Blood,” the pale, dark-haired man in the center of the “safe-share circle” began on a shiver, his robust body shuddering in ripples of his belly’s flesh, “makes me feel faint. I can’t even look at it. How am I supposed to live for an eternity if I can’t drink what keeps me alive?” “Technically you’re not alive, Bernie,” Dr. Ellicott, a rare mixed species of vampire and werewolf, pointed out, calm and serene. The scrape of chair legs resounded in Ella’s ears, alerting her to trouble. “Yeah. And you blow chunks as a vampire, Bernie! I swear to God, one more session with the whine about sparkling in the sunlight and I’m takin’ you on your own personal Jesus trip,” a group member who was struggling with ogre anger management warned with a stubby finger, his enormous body full of palpable tension. Dr. Ellicott whipped a warning paddle upward—the word “Caution” in bold black letters on a red background—making a whizzing noise of air. “Giuseppe,” he admonished, his sharp yet kind gaze darting in the ogre’s direction. “Everyone should feel safe when we’re in the circle. That includes Bernie. If you need to step outside the circle and go to the Contemplation Corner to direct your rage toward the punching bag, that’s certainly acceptable. However, I will warn you, pillaging the nurses’ station ever again while bellowing, ‘Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of Nurse No-Fun’ is absolutely unacceptable, and will bring with it solitary repercussion.” Giuseppe grunted his displeasure, shrinking his at-least-seven-foot body down in his chair. “I’m just saying, not everything’s always about stupid Bernie. We all have problems and if I don’t get a grip on my anger, I can’t go back home to my farm, and I really want to go—home!” he shouted, stomping his foot, making the floor quake beneath their feet. “I can’t get better if we don’t stop letting Bernie and his fear of blood 17
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be the center of attention at every dumb session we have,” he huffed, crossing his massive arms over his chest and planting a pout on his wrinkled ogre face. Crosby leaned into her during the disruption, the scent of the shower he’d taken with institutional soap wafting beneath her sensitive nostrils. His bare arm, sprinkled with dark hair, brushed hers. “There are ogres here,” he whispered, his tone tinged with obvious awe. “This—this—is all kinds of awesome.” All kinds. Ella forced herself to remain still and ignore his boyish glee. “You’re up next. So prepare to share how frustrating it is to not remember who you are.” “I’d rather share how frustrating it is to sit so close to you and smell your perfume. I can smell everything. Everything. It’s niiiice.” He sniffed her to make his point and grinned, sprouting deep grooves on either side of his mouth. Ella lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with stern nurse eyes. “Would you like to also share with the group how frustrating it is when a woman kicks your ass because you can’t behave and show some courtesy to your fellow group members?” “How did I luck out and get the thug babysitter?” “Thugs R Us had an overstock sale. I was part of a twofer deal. The other thug was sent on a much more exciting thug mission, I hear. I knew I should have chosen paper instead of scissors. I could be in an opium den right now with a big, big gun. Instead, I’m in werewolf therapy with an amnesiac.” Crosby’s grin widened rather than waned when she chastised him. “You have a great sense of humor. I like. It’s pretty hot.” “You have amnesia, which I’m sure you don’t like. In fact, I’d bet it’s not so hot, either.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. Shitty, that. Hey. Who’s Hairofthedog?” He pointed to her cell phone and the tweets she’d been scrolling to see if anything new had come in from her budding Twitter wooer.
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How awkward to be looking at old tweets from your potential Twitter-fair while your soon-to-be ex-mate looked over your shoulder but had no clue he was looking at his possible successor. “My OBGYN.” “Your gynecologist’s Twitter user ID is Hairofthedog? Worse, you actually tweet your gynecologist?” “You actually know what tweeting is?” His mouth fell open in a perfect O of adorable confusion she had to look away from for the adorableness of it. “I guess I do.” Dr. Ellicott’s voice thwarted further conversation when he called Crosby’s name. “Crosby Nash?” Ella watched him closely for any response to his name, but he was slow to realize the doctor meant him. She nudged him with an elbow, waving a finger in the direction of the doctor. “That’s you, werewolf.” Crosby instantly straightened in his chair, raising his eyes. “Um, yes. That’d be me—I think. I mean, that’s what they tell me. Everyone else seems to agree—so I’m going with the popular vote. Yes. I’m Crosby Nash.” Ella fought a giggle, sliding down in her chair to check her Twitter account for any sign of Hairofthedog. She needed a diversion from this uncomplicated, happy-go-lucky Crosby. He was too much like the man she’d once fallen in love with, and instead of all the renewed boyish charm he was oozing grating her last nerve, it was giving her that butterfly effect in the pit of her belly. Much like the ones she’d experienced when Hairofthedog had first tweeted her just a couple of weeks ago. Giggly, stupid, giddy, girlie butterflies. Note to self. Buy sledgehammer and beat those Crosby butterfly bitches down.
***** Precisely one week later, Ella gasped for breath, clinging to the edge of her kitchen sink while Crosby drove his thick cock into her, stretching her, leaving her pussy 19
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greedily clenching around him. She wanted him to consume her, get under her skin and crawl in beside her. His lovemaking, his talented tongue and hands, hadn’t changed one iota since the last time they’d been intimate. And she wanted it all. Now. His large hands dug into the swells of her hips, pulling her tight against him with each slick thrust. The ripples of his sculpted stomach rasped against the flesh of her back, making her nipples hard with a sharp sting of pleasure. Sweat pooled between them and the slap of skin on skin was driving her mad, rushing to her ears and settling there in all its eroticism. Crosby drove a hand into her hair, pulling it into his fist, tugging on it until her neck arched and his lips were at her ear. “God, you’re so tight—hot—wet,” he said on a harsh gasp, his voice warm and chocolaty in her ear. Ella groaned, lifting herself on her toes to take in all of him, wrapping an arm around his neck, grinding against him while her cunt throbbed a white-hot, rhythmic beat of hopeless need. The lips of her swollen flesh pulsed; her clit ached for his fingertips. His teeth grazed her shoulder, sinking into the flesh with a satisfied groan, making her buck against him with a husky scream. The edge of the sink dug into her abdomen; his thrusts were so forceful, yet she enveloped him like she was his personal glove. His cock grew inside her, swelling, stretching, filling, until the sweet pleasure-pain of orgasm began to tear at her gut. Crosby’s breath grew choppier, hot and silky against her ear when he slid one hand around the front of her body. “Open your legs wide, Ella,” he demanded, sending hot ripples of anticipation straight to her nipples. “Spread them until you can’t spread them anymore. I have to put my hands on your sweet, sweet pussy. I need to feel how hot you are for me. I need your cunt,” he ordered on a rasp, spiking her desire to a new, frenzied height.
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She did as he demanded, spreading her legs wide, arching her lower back so his cock was still imprisoned, and then his hands were all over her. Slipping between the folds of her lips, fingers gliding between them, spreading them open, dragging back and forth over her engorged clit until she straightened swiftly, the electric sizzle of sensation almost unbearable. Her moan was a whimper filled with a plea when he removed a finger and put it in his mouth. She heard him lick it, and trembled helplessly when he said, “So sweet—hot and sweet…” Her arm tightened around Crosby’s neck, silently begging him to let her come or she’d die. Surely she’d die without relief within the next second. But Crosby appeared to believe otherwise. He slowed his thrusts, leaving her mewling, tears stinging her eyes. His hands went to her breasts, cupping, rolling them in his big palms, tugging her nipples until her head thrashed against his. His mouth circled her earlobe. His next words were sinful and thick with desire. “Bend all the way over, Ella. I want to see your pretty pussy when it sucks my cock dry.” She fell forward upon his words, her body tight with tension. The cool steel of her sink against her arms and breasts brought with it her hiss, but Crosby made her forget the momentary discomfort when he planted his hands on her ass then reached between their bodies. A brief moment of recollection hit her just then and it pierced her heart for mere seconds before she did what she knew Crosby wanted. Slipping her hands between her legs, she felt for his fingers, fingers that would aid in driving his cock into her. Their fingertips touched and then he was jamming upward against her—into her, while they both caressed the base of his hot shaft with each stroke. The memory flooded her senses, invaded them until she couldn’t see straight, couldn’t do anything but feel. Crosby used his free hand to give a light slap to her ass, leaned forward and nipped her back, letting his teeth run along the sensitive skin until
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she shuddered. She was so close—so close her chest burned and her heart thrashed a harsh beat. As the tension coiled so tightly in her belly threatened to explode, Crosby leaned into her ear again. Nipping the lobe, he gritted out, “Suck my cock into your pussy, Ella. Fuck me hard. Make me God damn well come. I need you to…” His words were the catalyst for the ticking time bomb within her. Rearing up against him, she drove her hips back, dragging his arms around her waist and pressing his hands to her breasts, entwining her fingers with his while she bucked wildly. Crosby stilled inside her, the moment suspended, lingering, full of bittersweet memories. His whole body tensed, flexed so tight she felt each of his muscles react in increments, and then he was driving into her again, stealing her breath. Her orgasm was a scream of pent-up need. It roared through her, tore upward until she almost couldn’t stand the pleasure it wrought. It was hard and edgy, with no light or shade to the full-on assault of pleasure. There was only the blazing sear of relief—a relief so sweet, her uterus clenched as she clung to his forearms and sweat blinded her vision. Crosby’s body was heavy against hers, his chest heaving in and out against her back. He ran a hand over her forehead, pulling her head back to capture a kiss that made her heart clench with the tenderness of it. Ella began to tremble, shudder after shudder racking her deep in her bones until she couldn’t hold on any longer. She sank to the floor, her fingers still clutching the countertop, and took deep, cleansing breaths. From above her, she heard Crosby’s fight to breathe, too, and it made her smile. But only for like a half second. Then realization crept in. Oh. Fuck. What the hell had just happened? One minute she’d been rinsing their dishes from dinner, the next, Crosby’d lifted up her cute sweater dress, tore her lacy panties off and had his tongue buried in her pussy, licking it with hot stokes, spreading
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her wide and circling her clit with his lips until she’d spun around, wrapped her leg around his neck and succumbed to his unbelievable mastery. And it had been all over but the cryin’. There’d been no reason to the next choice she made. There’d been no sanity involved in her decision making. She’d caved like a hooker at a john festival. She forgot everything that had passed between them. Her brain had simply shut off, and her body had become one big, black vortex of horny. Crosby startled her when he helped her up with gentle hands, pulling down her knit dress from under her armpits and spinning her around to face him. His pants were still at his ankles, and his green eyes were wide with alarm. “What the hell was that?” Like she had all the answers? Well, stupid. You are the nurse in charge here. Ella frowned up at him, forcing her voice to remain calm even if she was a writhing mess inside. “I think the same might be asked of you. I know what I was doing, big guy. I was doing the dishes—messy dishes, too. It was, after all, spaghetti night.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Yeahhhh,” he mumbled. “And you know what?” Her eyes narrowed. Maybe this was it? Maybe he was going to remember everything about her in one upchuck of memories? Oh. This naked, post-coital incident was probably not the most medically or psychologically sound way for him to remember who she was. Who he was. Who they’d been. Jesus. She was a shitty, shitty caregiver. Her response was tentative and just shy of a cringe. “What?” Crosby pointed to the sink. “Seeing you do the dishes was very familiar. Doing what…you know, what I just did, was very familiar. It was like I’d done it a hundred times before.” It was probably more in the area of a hundred and fifty or so. If you counted the period when they’d dated, that is. Crosby had always loved a good sneak attack from behind. In the early stages of their relationship, hardly a night had gone by that they made it past the dishes before they were naked and he was deep inside her.
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And who was she kidding? She’d loved it, too. She’d loved every single mindblowing thing Crosby did to her when they made love. It had been one of the most difficult images to wash her mind of when they’d separated. The visual of him with his head between her legs, his dark hair against her fairskinned thighs, never failed to make her knees so much butter. But she’d managed to forget about that—erase the pleasure and replace it with the shitty thing he’d done. And now this. This. This. This. None of this cockamamie scheme of hers was going as planned. They’d been here for a solid week. A solid week with not a single memory regained. Nothing. Instead, they’d begun to create a whole new cache of moments she’d spend yet more nights crying over than the pre-amnesiac Crosby deserved. All week long she’d fought to avoid his flirtatious advances. All while they’d shared meals together and long walks in the woods behind her house and in-depth chats about life. They’d folded laundry together. They’d planted tulips for next spring together. They’d watched movies together and Crosby hadn’t even made a single request to watch a baseball game. She’d gritted her teeth each time he brushed against her in the tight space of her small hallway until her jaw was going to need a hinge. She’d considered bleaching her eyeballs to erase the tantalizing memory of him in nothing but a towel loosely draped around his waist. She’d dreamt about the chiseled, cut edges of his hips, the ripped line of his abs leading downward until she thought she’d scream with frustration. She had fought a long, hard battle all week long to keep her emotions in check and not fall for this fun, stress-free Crosby all over again. She knew the disappointment of his eventual return would only hurt more than it had the first time. But just look. Oh, Ella Stills. You dirty, dirty whore. Doing the humpback beast with him was rather defeating the purpose of bringing him back here in the first place, wasn’t it? She’d agreed to this so the pack would set her free from the binds that tied them, only to find herself binding them tighter. Or maybe
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it was bonding? Whatever. Either way, this wasn’t supposed to have happened. No matter how incredible or hot or missed. “Ella?” Crosby gave her a gentle shake, his fingers gripping her shoulders. “Did you hear me?” She cleared her throat, talking around the lump. “Yeah. I heard. Familiar, you said.” At all costs, she would remain calm. He nodded his dark head, his ruddy skin glowing under the recessed lighting above the sink. “Like I’d always done it. Did I live with someone when this happened? Have a girlfriend? Maybe that was why it seemed so natural for me to…well, you know…” Oh, she knew. “I’m sure you’ve had lots of girlfriends.” All whores, to be sure. One in particular? Definitely a whore. “You’re angry. Shit. Tell me you don’t have a boyfriend,” he said, concern flooding his green-green eyes. “No, no boyfriend, and ‘angry’ isn’t the word I’d use.” “What is the word you’d use? Personally, I’d go for hot. Now that I know you don’t have a boyfriend. But I’m a guy, and even though I’m a guy with amnesia, I don’t think that would change the fact that my vocabulary is a little stunted when it comes to expressing my emotions about this kind of stuff. I mean, I think it is. I don’t know for sure. I could be a real Romeo with the words and the ladies. But this silly amnesia prevents me from remembering,” he said on another infuriating grin, tapping his head. “I’d use a phrase. A phrase like ‘let’s forget this ever happened’ and go to bed. Separately. Though clearly we don’t need fineries like a mattress to get the job done.” Ugh. His smile was easy and full of his special brand of charm. “Well, again, I gotta go with the guy thing, and I’m not exactly sure I can forget something like that. It was a little unforgettable. I mean, how can I watch you do the dishes every night and not reminisce?” 25
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She crossed her arms over her chest. “You could do the dishes. That should do it.” Crosby chuckled, that warm, inviting chuckle that made her want to nestle against his chest and wrap her arms around his lean waist. “You said I wasn’t as good at rinsing them as you are.” Nuh-uh. She’d never said that once since Crosby had been back here. However, she used to say it to him all the time when she’d unloaded the dishes and they still had food caked on them. But if she reminded him of that, he’d likely make their connection, and though she’d gone into this arrangement with what she’d thought was a level head, she clearly hadn’t thoroughly thought out all the variations on a theme. Like—if Crosby was ever going to get his memory back, surely there were many things that would be associated with her while he connected the dots. So she backed off and didn’t point it out. “Well, it’s true. You did— Do suck at rinsing. Now pull your pants up. The werewolf community is small and they love a good piece of gossip. Especially Mavis Brecklestein and her ganstah crew of merry quilters.” She pointed to the window above her kitchen sink. He glanced over her shoulder at the darkened window, putting his arms around her waist. “You don’t have neighbors.” Ella nodded, moving out of his grip and keeping her eyes above his waist. “I don’t mean people who actually live in houses, no. They’re pretty spread out here in Rockmont. I mean some of the pack often roam my property at night, and there’s always the potential they’d see us. Like this…” “The pack wanders around at night? You lost me.” Perfect. Change of subject. She busied herself folding the hand towel they’d launched across the floor when they’d behaved like teenagers with a backseat and some lube. “In order to shift in privacy, yes, they roam at night. So pack lesson number one. The pack as a whole essentially lives near each other. It’s not mandatory, but most of us choose to stick close to one another, run businesses together, etcetera. So we can blend 26
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with humans, but still do what’s instinctual to us without ending up with a silver bullet in our heads.” “So the silver bullet thing is really true? Like on TV?” Crosby asked, pulling his Tshirt over his head and, thankfully, covering his luscious abs. “Yep. All true. Just like on TV.” “But unlike TV, we don’t hate humans and eat them like a ham and cheese Lunchable?” “That’s right. Absolutely no mauling humans—ever. They’re as safe from us as another pack member would be. In fact, if you ever harm a human, you’re subject to pack rule. Which is death, by the way. So know your rights and all that jazz.” Crosby brushed the filmy curtains back from the window and peered out into the black, chilly night. His glance was uneasy. “Are there a lot of these pack members skulking out there?” “The surrounding area is filled with pack members. Probably about five square miles worth. Most packs choose heavily wooded areas in outlying bigger cities. That way, we can still commute to our jobs but have a place to shift freely when the need arises. An especially critical asset when a full moon is upon us. There’s nothing tougher than a were in the city. That’s where I got my nursing degree. You have no idea how hard it is to shift between a bodega and Mr. Hwang’s Chinese Buffet. Anyway, our pack bought up a good deal of the land here in lovely upstate New York, dubbed it a quoteunquote wolf sanctuary, all so we’d have the freedom to do what comes instinctually. But there are humans surrounding us—which is always cause for care. But that’s for another day, another werewolf lesson.” Crosby held up a lean finger. “About that.” “The shift?” “Yeah. That. I haven’t had any instincts at all. Well, except for the one at the kitchen sink.” He grinned and wiggled his raven eyebrows. “So how do I know you’re telling
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me the truth? How do I know I really am a werewolf? I’ve been here a week, and nothing. Not a single flash of fur.” “I guess—aside from your acute sense of smell, the fact that the baseball on your head healed itself virtually overnight and you can eat a twenty-eight-ounce, raw porterhouse with a side of rib eye without yarking it back up—you don’t. You’re just going to have to trust me.” “Maybe you could show me?” “You mean show you the shift?” Ella ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “That’s the impulsive ten-year-old in you talking, Crosby Nash. The one who thinks this werewolf thing is crazy-cool—like Star Trek and Buck Rogers cool. But you’ve had a severe head trauma. Adding to that trauma by actually showing you the shift could make things worse. It’s not as cool as you’ve made it out to be in your movie-reel mind. It’s very intimidating, and not something you just show someone. Even someone who’s been prepared.” “You know what the impulsive thirty-eight-and-a-half-year-old says?” he asked, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger playfully. She batted his hand away from her mussed hair and frowned her Nurse Stills frown. “I’m all anticipatory.” “He says forget about shifting and packs, and let’s do what we just did again.” Planting a hand on his chest, Ella stopped him short, shaking her head and fighting a suddenly ridiculous rush of tears. They could never do that again. No matter how great the sex, Crosby was still no good for her. Her heart tightened, so she bit the inside of her cheek hard. “No, no and triple no. I made a huge error in judgment, Crosby. I’m your nurse, not your partner in porn.” Crosby tipped her chin upward, his eyes riddled with concern. “Can you get into trouble for what happened?”
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Gut-shredding, red-eyed, drippy-nose trouble? Yes. Pack trouble? No. They’d probably all stand up and do the wave if they thought she’d consider staying with their golden boy. “No. It’s not that. It just shouldn’t have happened, and that’s that.” His face changed suddenly, going from light and playful to dark and stormy. “Hold up. Do I have a girlfriend or—Jesus, worse—a wife? Kids? Christ. I’m a cheater. Like on that show we watched last night.” Funny question, that. “No, Crosby. You didn’t cheat on anyone.” Not today, anyway. “It was just wrong for me to do something like that. It was unprofessional and wrong. So wrong. You need to heal and remember in the gentlest way possible. Not wonk.” His carefree grin was back in place, his green eyes full of mischief. “Well, technically, you’re not a nurse right now. You said you were on sabbatical.” “I am. But the pack didn’t ask me to undertake your recovery because of my incredible Tempurpedic skills. They asked me to do it because I know how to handle your medical issues. Not your love sacs.” Crosby leaned down and planted a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “In your favor, Nurse Ella, I don’t have any medical issues to deal with. And sometimes as a nurse, handling love sacs is part of the job, right?” He chuckled at how clever he was as he gathered up the sweater he’d had on over his T-shirt and sauntered out of the kitchen. Ella breathed a sigh of relief, reaching for one of her kitchen chairs. She sank down into it and let her head drop to her folded arms, clenching her eyes tight to thwart the threat of tears. No crying over spilled milk when you’d been partially responsible for knocking the glass over like you were a bull in a fucking china shop. Ella gripped the edges of the table. No crying.
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Crosby climbed into Ella’s guest bed with the lavender comforter and put his hands under his head, relishing the cool darkness enveloping him. He replayed in his mind what had happened with Ella at the kitchen sink, letting the hot visual of her bent forward, his cock balls-deep inside her, sink in, making him grin. He had no explanation for what he’d done. The action had been purely instinctual and strictly based on this overwhelming lust he had for a woman who was, quite possibly, the crankiest person on planet Earth. That she was, for all intents and purposes, his nurse, clearly hadn’t made the kind of impact on him in quite the way she’d hoped. He smiled again. Ella’s cranky was damn hot, and a challenge, and he had to wonder if challenges weren’t something he often rose to as Crosby the Werewolf. Her often sour mood stemmed from a place he couldn’t help but think involved him. Though he wasn’t quite sure how they’d known each other before his amnesia. He found it wasn’t the fact he was a werewolf that kept him awake with a million questions in this lavender bedroom night after night—it was Ella. Tall and curvy, with an ass it was all he could do not to reach out and grab a fistful of. It was the distantly familiar way she twirled her hair when she watched TV, and the comically haphazard position the clip in her hair ended up in when she tried to capture her thick, dirty-blonde mane. But she was angry. He’d sensed that from the moment she’d introduced herself in the hospital. He sensed a lot of things about Ella. Blurry things. Out-of-focus things. When he couldn’t pinpoint what those things were, he let them go. Instead, he went with the flow and didn’t fight for the return of his memory. Whether he was supposed to or not, he found himself almost enjoying the fact that he had no memories to recall. The black void in his head was like taking a long, cleansing nap and awakening to find everything was right with the world. It was like winning the
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lottery and finding out you’d never have to stress over another bill again because you couldn’t remember you had bills. It was on par with never having to work another day in your life because you had to. There were no obligations, no one needed anything from you, and you didn’t know if you needed anything from anyone else, either. This state of suspension, for him, anyway, wasn’t maddening at all. He’d leave the maddening state of mind to Ella. She excelled at it. Crosby smiled in the dark as another visual of Ella, her eyes closed, her sweet body writhing against his in hungry need, flitted through his mind’s eye. He licked his lips, recalling the taste of her pussy, the glide of her smooth cunt when she drove downward on his mouth. And then he smiled again, just for good measure.
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Chapter Three Ella breezed past Morton’s receptionist at Wolfe and Wolfe, the pack’s law firm, and pushed her way through the door of his office, averting her eyes to the strange looks she garnered from the people in the open reception area before she entered. Okay. She looked like a homeless-shelter resident out on a day pass. Her clothes were wrinkled and her hair was a stringy mess of a chip-clipped nightmare on top of her head. The fashionista in her had gone the way of the dinosaur because she was too busy stressing and avoiding close contact with Crosby to give a shit about her cute shoes and festively flirty skirts. By all that was holy, she was tired. Morton’s head popped up in surprise but then he let his glasses slide to the end of his nose, peering over top of them with an amused smirk. Ella flopped down in a chair in front of his desk, pulling her purse to her chest in protective mode. Her eyes felt grainy from lack of sleep and she was beginning to feel like a crazy bag lady from the strain of caring for Carefree Crosby. She’d been on pins and needles since the night they’d made love, just wondering when his memory was going to come back and remind her once more why sexing him up had been a huge mistake. Or was that it at all? Maybe she was more worried the fun Crosby she was spending so much time with would be gone too soon. Ack. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she fought a yawn. Crosby, in all his yippy-skippy renewed lust for life, was exhausting. The bone-weary kind. Morton tapped a ballpoint pen on the top of his shiny desk. “Oh look. It’s Nurse Ella, and only a week and a half into her impulsive yet prestigious return to the world of psychiatric nursing. I really thought you’d be in here day two of Crosby’s stay, but 32
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I’m impressed, princess. You’ve really put the ‘T’ back in the word trooper. Don’t ever let anyone call you a sissy. So have you worked your magic shrink skills and shrunk him back to remembering yet?” Waving a tired hand at him, she snorted. “Yeah, yeah. I’m a real ninja-nurse, and no, nothing yet. So, mind telling me about this super-sekrit Crosby’s got locked in that fat head of his that has the pack in such an uproar?” The more thought she’d given it while staring at her bedroom ceiling, all but tying herself to her four-poster to keep from banging down her guest bedroom door and hurling herself on top of Crosby, the more she realized, whatever was locked in his memory was of big-league proportions. Why else would the pack elders have asked someone to stay with him 24/7 and offered her a divorce like it was no big deal? Crosby didn’t need critical care. He wasn’t going to collapse at any moment. While flashbacks could indeed be debilitating, and in some cases, much more severe for a paranormal, he was of sound enough mind to pick up a phone and call for help. Something was rotten in Rockmont. If she could find out what smelled, maybe she could gently nudge Crosby’s memory enough to get him to come full circle, and thus, get the fuck out of her head. Morton pressed a button on his phone with a square-tipped finger. “Hold all my calls, would you please, June?” When Morton put all calls on hold, Ella’s experience told her it meant one of two things. There was a lecture coming—or he had something important to tell her. Ella hunkered down in her chair and waited while Morton steepled his hands under his full chin. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea. I told you it was impulsive and as reckless as the day you bet Grady Wharton you could beat his wimpy ass in a race against his new souped-up Chevelle—on your ten speed bike.” She gave Morton a sheepish glance. Yes. She could be impulsive, but Grady had been a showoff, and he’d been mean to Leon Lipknicki. Whatevs. “He was making fun 33
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of Leon’s older-than-dirt Yugo. I couldn’t let him pick on Leon. And I almost beat him… If he hadn’t been such a dirty cheater and taken that crossroad, I would have beaten him. And he was too a wimp. A wimp who didn’t know the meaning of the phrase ‘put your foot in the kitchen’. I mean, seriously, Morton. I was this close to walloping him on a ten-speed bike.” Morton scowled at her. “And then you fell off that bike after crashing into Landon Clooney’s porch—and broke four bones.” Ella sighed, rubbing her temples. “Please. We’re werewolves. It wasn’t like I didn’t heal.” “That’s not the point, Ella, and you know it. The point is, you wouldn’t have missed your junior prom if you hadn’t allowed Grady to get the better of you. Now,” he paused, giving her the look, “I’d bet my next retainer that Crosby’s beginning to push all those buttons of yours because he remembers nothing and you remember everything, and even the trained nurse in you can’t keep from reacting out of bitterness to every single word he speaks.” Yeah. He’d pushed a button. The “haven’t had sex in a coon’s age” button. “If you only knew. Look, he’s been at my house, eating and sleeping like this is some sort of upstate Club Med sans the sand, and he hasn’t remembered anything other than I used to tell him he did a shitty job of rinsing the dinner dishes. To boot, he didn’t even relate that memory to his past—he thought I’d said it during the course of our past week together. So, in my heightened Fear Factor-ish nights full of worry that when he does remember, this will all come crashing down around my ears, something occurred to me. Maybe he’ll never remember.” That terrified Ella. If he kept right on being this Crosby, she’d never be able to tread water long enough to dodge his playful advances and continue to hate on him. Unacceptable. Morton’s round face went dark momentarily, but he hid it just as quickly, giving her a smug smile. “You know the terms of the agreement, Ella. I warned you this 34
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wouldn’t be easy, but you, being the levelheaded, savvy negotiator you are, insisted on making a deal with the pack. So, Monty Hall, how’s that deal working out? Do you want out because you picked the wrong door? Or do you really want that divorce from Crosby?” Did she? Yesssss. Christ and a cocker spaniel, yes. She wanted a divorce from Crosby. The other Crosby. In the meantime, there had to be a way to get out of this mess and still get that divorce. “Yes. I want a divorce, Morton, and I know it’s rare for the pack to grant one.” When you were in, you were in, according to pack law. No matter how hellish the marital situation. But the pack had promised nothing that Crosby did, like his pre-amnesiac refusal to give her a divorce, would matter if she did this for them. “That’s why I jumped at the chance to make a deal.” Like a circus dog through a hoop, she’d jumped, all right. “Jumped being the operative word here.” She let her head fall to her knees and into the interior of her purse. “It was impulsive, okay? Is that what you want to hear, Mort?” She mumbled her defeat from inside her purse. “I just didn’t think it would be this hard. He’s not the man I threw out three months ago, and that’s not how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be the same supreme grand poobah of shitheads he was before he got clunked over the head—not fun and easy to be around.” While even to her own ears that sounded petty and ridiculous, it was how she felt. So there. The roll of the wheels of his chair against the hardwood floor and Morton’s gentle hand under her chin made her wince and simultaneously sigh in exasperation. He sat at the edge of his desk, hands now folded in a chubby fist in front of him, his eyes forcing hers to look at him. “I’m sure you didn’t, honey. But here you are—the proverbial rock and a hard place. We can call it off, you know. I’ll put the wheels in motion right now, if it’s what you really want.”
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Ella’s shoulders slumped. What she really wanted was for Crosby to show even the remotest sign there was still some asshole left in him. Then she could continue forward with righteous indignation as planned. “I just want this to be over so I can go back to my life.” “And stop liking amnesia-riddled Crosby?” “Yes. Yes, yes, yessssss,” she said on an all-out whiny gasp. “I don’t want to like him. I despise liking him. He’s utterly unlikeable. But his amnesia’s taken away all of my will to hate him—and it has to end, Mort. It’s neither fair nor just that he gets to forget all the damage he’s done and be someone he’s really not.” “But isn’t this the Crosby you fell so deeply in love with? The fun-loving man of your dreams?” He clucked his tongue at her. “You mean the man I originally married? Yep. This is the exact same one. Easybreezy, not a care in the world. But he turned into a bit of a prick, if you’ll actually allow yourself to remember the events and how they really played out.” Morton tugged on the end of her hair with a chuckle. “You know, keeping my promise to your father has not been easy, kiddo. You’re a helluva handful. You have crappy listening skills. If I say it’s not a good idea? It probably isn’t.” Ella’s heart clenched at the mention of her father, who’d disappeared twelve years ago when he’d been part of a rescue effort for endangered wolves. Werewolves were nothing if not humanitarians to the nth degree—especially when it came to wildlife. Contrary to popular belief, werewolves were technically half-human, too. They had no bloodlust for the kill unless it involved hitting the plastic-wrapped meat section at the local grocery store. She’d been twenty when her father left, and when he didn’t return, Morton, his best friend and colleague at the firm, had filled the empty, sorrow-filled space in her heart with fatherly advice and warm hugs. He just had this infuriating blind spot when it came to Crosby.
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“I was only trying to do what was best for me in order to move forward. Is that such a bad thing?” “It’s only bad if moving on isn’t the right thing to do.” Her teeth clenched. “So what you’re saying is, I should be all sorts of enamored with being forced to remain married to a cheating slug unless I do the pack’s bidding?” Morton gave her his disapproving fatherly look. “Is that who you were married to, Ella?” Okay. So she had no proof Crosby’d cheated. Not the kind that involved sperm samples and wrinkled motel sheets or even lipstick on your collar. But she’d seen what she’d seen—and she couldn’t unsee it. “I know what I saw, Morton. I’ve only said that a hundred times. I saw Crosby with a woman. A very svelte, hot-in-a-Budweisercommercial kind of way woman. And they weren’t exactly sitting Shiva together when I saw them. I also know that Crosby said and did absolutely nothing to explain what I can’t unsee. In fact, he shut up tighter than a scared virgin’s thighs at a ritualistic sacrifice. So the only safe conclusion to draw is, yes. That’s who I’m still married to, and I don’t want to be married to that anymore.” Morton sighed, tugging at his royal-blue tie to avoid meeting her gaze. It was what he always did when he was uncomfortable with a conversation. “Crosby’s a good lawyer, you know. He worked long hours. He was dedicated to the pack.” Closing her eyes, Ella sighed with more defeat. It was the same odd, yet old argument about her marriage to Crosby. “But he turned out to be a crappy husband. I’m not sure how his lawyer-ese relates to what he did to me, but clearly his legal genius impresses you more than his duties as a husband.” Oh, she was bitter. Bitter and hurt that Morton hadn’t done what her father would have done if he’d found Crosby had hurt his little girl. Killed him. There’d be no need for a stupid divorce if Crosby were dead. “Did you actually see any hanky-panky between Crosby and this woman, Ella?”
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Her spine stiffened, forcing her to sit forward in her seat and clutch her purse. “Don’t you lawyer me up, Morton Hensley! Don’t twist this to suit whatever your need is to defend Crosby. I saw Miss Jugs with her tongue shoved down his throat. Did I really need to see them buck naked and frolicking playfully to satisfy your definition of infidelity?” “But there was only the implication of sex, Ella. You have no proof they actually mated. A kiss is nothing more than just that. A kiss.” Rising from the chair, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh yeah? Tell that to your wife of thirty years. I bet Ruthie would beg to differ. Kissing someone else just ain’t okay when you’re married. Oh, and neither is Facebook sex. Lest ye waffle.” She’d had many long, tear-filled conversations with Morton’s wife Ruthie, who’d also taken on the role of surrogate pack mother to Ella when her father had gone missing. Over many, many trays of freshly baked cookies, several boxes of tissues and a Lifetime movie marathon, Ruthie had consoled her, agreed with her, raised her fist to the sky in angry indignation for her. She’d even stopped speaking to Morton until he’d agreed to let Ella lick her wounds in private and stop pressuring her to talk things out with Crosby. And that’s where they’d been for the last three months. At a virtual standstill. In the beginning, Crosby had made an effort to try to patch things up, but any communication between them always ended the same. Him denying anything was going on with the big-breastie babe and plenty of tight-mouthed jaw clenching in between denials. He’d told her the hot blonde was a client who’d made an unwanted advance on him. Period. One he’d turned down. He’d all but refused to delve deeper into the subject and he shot down every question she attempted to ask about the situation.
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Somehow, after each interrogation, she ended up feeling like she’d been the one who’d done wrong, instead of him. He’d turned the tables with his refusal to give details and his warning that she’d just have to trust he was telling the truth. Even if what he said really was true, and nothing had happened, couldn’t he have at least understood how hurtful it was to find him at his office, late at night, with a woman on his lap? Couldn’t he see how suspicious it looked that, leading up to that moment, he’d been working long hours, was always too tired to do anything but collapse into bed and, worse, he’d stopped talking to her? The last four or five months of their marriage had been more like they were roomies—and that wasn’t the man she’d married. The man she’d married was a sexual beast—sort of like the man he was now. Finding Crosby with whoever that woman was had been the final straw in a string of rejections. So she’d thrown him out—much to not just Morton’s dismay, but the pack’s. “Ella?” “Do not,” she warned Morton with the snap of a finger in the air. “Don’t say another word. I have to go fulfill my duty to the pack now. Oh, and I also have to tap the grocery store—again. Because your golden boy eats like four teenagers. I hope the pack is paying expenses. I’ll save my receipts,” she said over her shoulder with sarcasm. “Bye, Ella-Belle,” Morton called, his voice cheerful. “Don’t be late for dinner next Saturday. You know how Ruthie is about sitting down by six.” She gave him a mental flip of her middle finger as she let the door swish closed behind her. Head down, she ambled toward the elevators, only to pick up the scent of heavy perfume just before crashing into the wearer of the abomination to her nose. A woman. A gorgeous woman, whose purse fell to the floor in a plop of leather. Ella instantly stooped to help her pick up the contents—only to find a pair of wide, baby-blue eyes assessing her.
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“I know you,” the female drawled, plucking her wallet from the floor with redmanicured fingertips. Ella’s chin lifted. Indeed. Scrubbing at her eye, she nodded at the young woman. Wow. She was even more perfect in the light of day. Super blonde, super tanned, super ripped. Boo-hiss. “You sure do.” Her thickly fringed eyes, innocent and perfectly lined, gave Ella the once-over. “You’re Crosby Nash’s assistant, right?” Is that what he was calling his wife these days? Before she reacted in typical pottymouthed fashion, she paused and gave the woman a subtle whiff. She was human. Not that this surprised her terribly. In the effort to blend with the outside world, the pack did plenty of business with humans, just like everyone else. Ella sniffed again. She was also young. Very young. Totally explained Crosby’s knowledge of Twilight. Bet she was team Edward. In the chaos of the night she’d found Crosby with this woman, Ella hadn’t bothered to investigate her deeper. It was a defense mechanism, for sure. If she knew as little as possible about this alleged client who was so adept at borrowing her husband’s lap, the easier it would be to block her very existence from her mind. It was like closing your eyes and telling yourself the monster isn’t really under your bed. “I was his assistant. I’m not anymore. We broke up because I’m a crappy filer and my coffee-making skills were on par with making mud.” Her laughter tinkled in Ella’s ears, light and sweet. “I imagine he was a very demanding boss. I know he was very demanding with me.” She gave a slight shiver and shot Ella one of those looks of unspoken understanding girlfriends gave one another when they wanted to express the virility of a man.
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Okay. She was out. So out. No details. If she could put her hands over her ears and la-la-la her way out of this, she’d do it. Yet, her instinct to probe this bodacious babe further just wouldn’t kick in. She should be kicking her Clairol Number 222 blonde ass from here to Sunday for all the trouble she’d caused. She should be interrogating her about that night while she salivated over her immobilized-with-fear form in true, maniacal-werewolf fashion. To boot, she should really want to kill the woman for calling her Crosby’s assistant. In fact, it should make her feel downright stabby. Yet, the vibe this woman threw was anything but maliciously man-stealing. “Oh, I’ll just bet he was demanding. I’m Ella Stills, by the way.” Because Ella was a firm believer you should always know the name of the bitch who might still reconsider taking you out. She offered her slender hand with a warm and definitely genuine smile. “Marina Preston. Nice to meet you.” Nice, nice, nice. She had a name now. That was very nice. “Nice to meet you, too. I’d love to chat Crosby some more, but I have to run.” Ella pushed herself upright, but Marina grabbed her by the arm. “Can I ask you a question?” The hesitance in her voice, the wary look in her eyes, struck Ella as odd, making her pause. God damn it. Why wouldn’t this woman just let Ella hate her all right and proper like? “Sure,” she found herself responding with a smile, as if they were old friends and not archenemies. “Have you seen Crosby since you two parted ways? I’ve been trying to get in touch with him, but some man named Harry Levine said I should come to the office and see a Morton Hensley, because Crosby was out of the country on business.”
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Really? Well, well. She patted Marina’s hand. “Nope. I haven’t seen him, but if I do, I’ll tell him you asked about him.” “Oh, that would be awesome. Thank you, Ella,” she cooed, swiping the length of her hair over her shoulder. Awesome. “Marina!” a harsh voice called from the elevators, anxious and gruff. “What have I told you about getting ahead of me? If I can’t see you, I can’t protect you.” Protect her? Ella took in the man who slipped his hand under Marina’s elbow. Tall, reed-thin and in an impeccably neat suit, he shot Marina an irritated glance. A bodyguard, maybe? If he was some kind of bodyguard, she had to wonder what they were making bodyguards from these days. He didn’t look like he could take Pee-Wee Herman, let alone someone who might pose a deadly threat. Marina waved a hand at him with a girlish giggle. “Oh, stop being so overprotective, Franklin. It was just an elevator ride. And this is Ella Stills, by the way. Ella? Franklin Little.” Franklin gave her a curt nod and all but dismissed her with a short, “Right. We have to make this meeting, Marina. Let’s move.” He began to usher her away. “Nice meeting you, Ella,” she called over Franklin’s shoulder before they made their way down the long office hallway to a conference room. Ella turned on her heel and headed for the elevator, pressing the button while her mind raced. Why was Marina so interested in Crosby’s whereabouts if they weren’t involved, and why had Harry lied about him being out of the country instead of just telling her he’d had an accident? Moreover, why did Marina Preston need someone to protect her? Things to ponder.
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***** “Harry?” Morton barked into the phone, peering into the reception area from the glass windows surrounding his office. He yanked the blinds down with a harsh tug. There was a slight pause before Harry asked, “Something wrong?” “God damn it, Harry, everything’s wrong! Look, we need to figure this out, and I mean soon. Ella’s no idiot, and it won’t be long before she starts snooping around now that she has a name.” Morton virtually heard Harry’s blood drain from his face. “She knows about Marina?” His grip tightened on the phone. “She just met her right outside my door. What the hell were you thinking, bringing her here to the office, Harry? All meetings are to be taken at her townhouse.” There was a shuffling noise, as though Harry were closing a door to keep their conversation private. He cleared his throat. “She insisted, Morton. Insisted she come to the office to take the meeting. I think she was hoping to find Crosby even though I told her he was abroad. What was I supposed to do? Say no to the woman who holds the key to this damn mess?” Clearing his throat, Morton clenched his jaw. “Well, we’re going to have much bigger trouble if Ella starts poking around, especially if Little continues to keep such a tight rein on Marina. At least when Crosby was here, we had a shot at keeping that scum of the earth out of this transaction. Now do me a favor, would you, Harry?” “Anything, Mort. Anything.” “Tell your secretary all calls from Marina Preston are to be redirected to me, and keep your big mouth shut!” He slammed the phone down, knocking over the engraved pen stand Ruthie had given him for Christmas. Time was running out.
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His contacts had tipped him off to some stirrings in the black market. If the tip he had on those potential foreign sales had anything to do with what Crosby had been investigating… Christ. And if the merchandise really was what he’d been told… He shuddered. No. He couldn’t go there. Wouldn’t. It was unthinkable.
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Chapter Four “What are we watching again?” “Hoarders,” Ella responded dryly, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth and keeping her eyes trained on the TV. She was raw. Raw and agitated. Agitated because Crosby just couldn’t wear anything—any stupid thing—that didn’t look good on him. Not even her purple bathrobe with the splotches of ’70s flowers all over it. The color enhanced his dark hair and made his eyes a deeper green. On her? Well, it just looked purple with white, splotchy flowers. Dick. As to the raw, that was due to the fact he just wouldn’t quit poking around. It would seem, even as an amnesiac, Crosby’s inner lawyer was lurking just beneath his forgetful surface. He’d asked her more questions today than a new car buyer, and she’d responded with vague answers. But what she really wanted to do was scream in his face, “I met your ho today, yo, and guess what? I like the bitch!” He tucked the lapels of her robe under his chin and hunkered down on her deep brown sofa with the squishy, cushiony back. “Hoarders, huh?” “Good times, right?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Crosby’s luscious mouth fall open again in clear horror when the TV flashed to a woman’s tiny apartment filled to the ceiling with useless items. “Did I watch stuff like this before I lost my memory?” Squirming, Ella fought to keep the bitterness out of her tone and stick to only facts. “You never had time to watch anything but the occasional football game. You were always too busy working.”
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As a result, she’d gotten good at amusing herself by watching marathons just like this while he’d burned the midnight oil. That he was now forced to watch with her was some kind of weird justice. “Well, then. I can’t believe I didn’t stop and smell the Hoarders more often. Who’d want to miss this screaming freight train in favor of work?” he teased, nudging her with his elbow. She inched to the right on the couch, pushing into the puffy arm until she was almost hanging over the side. The scent of Crosby alone was enough to drive a weregirl mad, but couple that with his long, thick thighs poking out from beneath her robe and it was just too much. Just his presence had her girly bits on fire with need. “Hoarding is a serious affliction.” “Says Ella the Nurse.” “So sayeth she.” “So did you know me before I had this accident?” He wiped his luscious mouth with a paper napkin, smiling over it before balling it up and lobbing it at the coffee table. “Hey! You know, there’s a garbage—” “Can for that,” he finished for her then caught her eyes, surprise in his return stare. His chin lifted. “I think you knew me before my accident. Did you?” Ella forced her eyes back in the direction of the TV. They’d finished each other’s sentences often. Well, before there weren’t any sentences to finish because Crosby had become so uncommunicative. “Everyone knew you.” “That’s not what I asked, Ella. I asked if you knew me.” He poked a teasing finger to her waist, walking them along her side and up to her shoulder. One more time. One more time Crosby touched her, and she was going to jump right out of her skin. She stiffened. “I did.” “Did you like me?”
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“Why would you ask that?” “I’m just wondering what kind of person I was. Was I a nice guy? Was I as charming and witty as I am now?” Torture. If the pack had sawed off her fingers one at a time while they yanked her teeth out and dripped water down her throat, it couldn’t be worse than all the questions Crosby had suddenly begun to ask. “What do you think? Do you think you were a nice guy?” Crosby turned to face her with one of those disarming grins. “Again, you’re deflecting. I asked if you liked me.” “You were nice enough.” “Really?” “Ish.” Now his eyes, almost always so pleasant and rather vacant of much lately but amusement, went hawkish. “That was a hesitant ish. This werewolf thing makes it easy to pick up on changes of mood. Your mood changed when you answered.” “That’s because you’ve asked me a million questions today and it’s like hanging out with a nosy fifth grader. Now let’s have some quiet time. Intervention’s on next.” “How about we talk about you? For instance,” he said, sliding closer to her on the couch and pointing to her cell phone. “I don’t think Hairofthedog is your OBGYN. I think you like him and he liked you. Will he be mad that we, you know—did it in the kitchen?” Well, she wouldn’t know that because Hairofthedog had officially left Twitter-ville. Probably another cheating bastard. Why she’d even bothered to check if he’d tweeted her after a tweetless two weeks had to be chalked up to the fact that she was desperate for a good diversion.
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One more night on the couch with Crosby, watching TV in this suddenly intimate setting after they’d had dinner and a bottle of wine, was going to have her running screaming from this house. It was brutal to sit with a man you’d loved since you were twelve and he was eighteen and act as though you hadn’t spent long nights in bed together. Paid the bills together. Laughed together. It was brutal that the universe was taunting her with the man she’d been so head over heels for only to realize that, at any moment, it could all change. And she refused to fall for this cosmic joke. Crosby planted a chin on her shoulder and blew in her ear. “So do you like this Hairofthedog? Like, like-like?” She batted a hand at him with a frown, ignoring the hot shiver along her spine. “He’s funny, and we have great conversations. Or he was.” And he was sweet and thoughtful, and he always asked how her day had been. “So you’ve met him?” he purred at her earlobe. “Nope. He’s just a Twitter ID as of now. I’m sure the image I have of him in my head wouldn’t be the same as what he’s like in real life anyway. I was just passing the time.” She tilted her head up and away from his mouth, only to find he was now closer to her breast. Crosby grinned, the light of the end table lamp making his teeth white in his tanned face. He laid his head against her breast and hunkered down. “So you’ve never seen his picture?” “Nope. But he’s a terrific conversationalist and quick with a comeback,” she said on a gulp, palming his head to give it a shove away from her even as her belly pooled with heat and she wanted to do nothing more than let him wrap his lips around her breast. Crosby changed tactics and let his fingers drift to her thigh, caressing it through her legging. “Something all women of your ilk need.”
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“My ilk?” she asked as her eyes began to drift closed and his fingers crept closer to the apex of her thighs. “Yeah. The cranky, snarky ilk.” Ella’s eyes snapped open. She flicked his hand away from her thigh. “I’m not cranky.” Crosby shoved his hands under her and hauled her to his chest, making her arch her back. He smiled down at her. “You’re the crankiest person I know, Ella Stills.” Her breasts pressed to his hard chest so enticingly, so achingly, she wanted to give in. So wanted to give in. Instead, she put her palms on his shoulders. “I’m the only person you know, Crosby Nash.” Crosby let his nose press to hers, his teasing smile in place. “Yeahhhh,” he said. “And you always have that sourpuss on. But when you smile, everything changes. It’s golden. And apparently, when you were scrolling through the old tweets you shared with the Dog, he made you happy. So I say you let me make you happy. Because I’m a real guy, right here, right now, not some Twitter dude you don’t know thing one about.” She tried to escape his arms but they were bands of steel. And okay, fine. She wasn’t really giving it her were-girl all. Shit. Even as she said the words, she knew she was going to eat them. “That’s not going to happen, Crosby. Have you even considered the fact that you don’t remember anything about your life, and getting involved with someone is crazy at this point?” “I’ve considered that you told me I didn’t have a girlfriend and that means I’m not a douche-bag cheater. I’ve also considered that you’re apparently single and not just a saucy wench, but smokin’ hot. I’ve considered that I don’t understand how much about me could possibly change once I get my memory back. I’ll still be the same guy I am right now. Except I’ll have a job… Wait. I do have a job, don’t I?” Ella writhed under his heavy weight, unable to squirm free. “You do. You’re a lawyer.” It couldn’t hurt to tell him that much. 49
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“Oh, good,” he said, sagging against her and pressing his lips to her neck. “My selfesteem was precariously swaying like a rope off the side of a cliff. Do I have a place to live, too? Can I see it? Maybe it’ll jog some memories?” He had a back room at his office since their separation. It might not be a good idea to share that much just yet. “You do, but that’s phase two of getting your memory back. It could be dangerous to push too hard. I’ve seen shifters with amnesia experience flashbacks that can be pretty brutal. It could hamper your recovery, and some, due to the trauma, never shift back at all. Which would suck, because you’d have to live outside all the time. You shed a lot in your were-form. There aren’t enough vacuum cleaners in the county to keep up with you. So I call, as your nurse, we wait on pushing too hard.” Crosby lifted his chin as though he were considering her explanation and then he shrugged. “Okay. I say you know best. Anyway, after I considered all these things I mentioned, I considered something else, too.” Crosby slid a hand between them, trailing his fingers over the waistband of her leggings. Oh, will. Wherefore art thou? “What else did you consider?” He cocked his head and wiggled his eyebrows. “May I be bold?” She fought a sigh when he ran his hand along the curve of her hip, kneading the flesh, sending ripples of pleasure to every nerve in her body. “Like if I said no, that would stop you? It was you who never even asked if I wanted to be slammed at the kitchen sink, wasn’t it?” Crosby let his lips hover above hers, mere inches away. “That was definitely me. Which leads me to the bold part of this conversation.” Ella held her breath just after swallowing hard. God, she wanted him to kiss her. Rip her sweater off. Consume her. He leaned in and touched his mouth to hers, but his eyes remained open, compelling her to look at him. “I can’t stop thinking about how hot and tight your cunt is, Ella. How I want to lick your pussy until you scream. Fuck you until you beg me to 50
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stop. I want to drive my cock into you over and over and then I want to do it again because I haven’t stopped thinking about you bent over that sink since that night. You’ve been the visual subject of many a night spent wide-awake while I think about those plump lips of yours wrapped around my cock instead of my own hand.” Her breath hitched, making her chest heave against his. She couldn’t move or she’d break apart in a million pieces from the tension…the need. Her limbs froze in place in a bizarre war with the white-hot heat engulfing her nerve endings. “Too much?” But Crosby didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, he jammed his hand into her leggings and spread the lips of her pussy, swollen and aching for his touch. Her throat was dry and her heart crashed against her ribs. Yet here she was, arching against his hand, moaning her pleasure, letting her eyes slide closed when his tongue caressed the inside of her mouth. She had no will where Crosby was concerned. When he touched her, nothing else mattered. Nothing but his hands on her, his tongue, slick and rasping against her desperate flesh. Ella pressed upward against Crosby’s chest, spreading her legs wide, digging her heels into the couch so not only her mouth was crushed against his, but her pussy against the width of his hand. He took her lips again, driving his tongue into her mouth, stroking hers, dragging his fingers over and over her clit until she bucked against him and a strangled scream tore from her throat. Her orgasm was fast and hard-edged, slamming into her and making her clamp onto thick thatches of his hair, forcing his mouth to remain on hers. Her fingers clenched the silky strands as Crosby kept tugging at her swollen clit, unrelenting and unmerciful. He didn’t answer her plea for mercy when he slipped his fingers into her wet folds, circling her clit and grinding his hips to hers. Instead he chuckled before delving into her mouth again, driving his tongue between her lips and stroking her pussy harder. 51
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Her lungs burned from their kiss—the mastery with which he forced her to bend to his will. He cupped her pussy, pressing his thumb to her clit in the way he’d always known drove her insane with desire, while his other hand yanked up her sweater. Crosby’s next words were possessive and so sinfully erotic, they made Ella dizzy. “This is mine, Ella. Never forget every inch of your hot, wet cunt will always belong to me,” he growled, his warm breath fanning her face. And then he slid a finger into her slick passage and fucked her. Hard. Those words, words he’d whispered so many times before, made her next orgasm painfully bittersweet. Her chest rose and fell hard when she reared up against him, crashing her hips upward to drive his finger deeper while he let go of her mouth and latched onto her nipple. Nipping it, tugging it, licking it through the thin material of her bra. His teeth grazed then his lips seared, wrapping around the tight bud while his tongue swirled over the surface. Ella came furiously, the familiar wave of electricity clawing its way upward from the tips of her toes to settle heavily in her cunt. Her hands tore at his shoulders as she rocked against the shelter of his hard body until she whimpered and slumped against him. Crosby cradled her, stroked her thighs with his hands, kneaded her flesh until she caught her breath. Tears stung her eyes at how easily he shifted from one gear to the other. He was a forceful lover, demanding and relentless when it came to pleasing her with his body and his erotic words. Yet, he was gentle and tender in the aftermath. The reminder of what they’d once shared made the sting in her heart sharpen and burrow deep. Sweat glued her clothes to her body and dripped from her brow. The rigid heat of his cock seared through the thin material of her leggings, her breasts scraped against the robe he wore until she wanted to rip everything off. But she didn’t have to bother. Crosby placed his hand at her waist and, curling his fingers under the band of her leggings, yanked them down with a hard jerk. 52
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She gasped a hiss of pleasure, writhing upward when the cool air of the room hit her hot, exposed flesh, lost to everything but the anticipation of his tongue buried deep in her cunt. He shoved her sweater up, dragging it over her head then unclipping her bra with expert fingers, popping open the clasp and pushing it away with impatient hands. The scrap of lace parted, exposing her hard nipples—the sight of which had Crosby taking in a harsh breath of his own. Ella groaned when he straddled her hips and sat upright. The sight of his bare chest beneath her purple bathrobe made her fingers itch to touch. Crosby shrugged the bathrobe off, revealing, as she’d suspected, that he had nothing on underneath. His cock, thick and rigid, lay on her naked abdomen, so scrumptious it begged to have her lips around it. That impulsive nature everyone was always cracking on her for made her slide down the couch until his cock was directly in front of her lips. Ella snaked her tongue out, lashing the head in one swipe. His shaft was hot beneath her tongue, smooth and pulsing. Crosby’s hands instantly drove into her hair, his hips making tight circles as he thrust between her lips. She stroked him with her tongue, focusing on the spot just under the head of his cock, drawing her hands up and down, cupping his balls until they were tightly drawn against his body. His head fell back on his shoulders and hand shoved hers away, gripping his shaft, slipping his fingers between her lips and touching her tongue. The air between them grew heavy and thick, and Ella sensed Crosby’s release nearing. As she took another long pass over his shaft, he snapped back with an almost angry growl and dropped down on top of her. His heavy weight sinking against her was welcome. He lifted her right thigh by hooking his arm beneath it, stretching her pussy deliciously. Her clit, now exposed, throbbed and scraped against his crisp pubic hairs. Crosby took her lips in a fierce kiss
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before moving his head to her breast and capturing a nipple. He bit at it, licking it to keep the sting pleasurable. And then he drove his luscious cock into her, making her head thrash against the couch and her back bow with tension. Crosby stilled for a moment, immobilizing her. His head rose and his eyes, darkened with desire, stared down into hers—as though he saw something no one else did. The moment was vulnerable and fleeting, and she couldn’t bear his apparent confusion. Reaching up, she cupped his face and pulled his lips back to hers. Ella lifted her hips, encouraging him to take her. Crosby responded instantly, gyrating his hips, rolling them so he touched the deepest part of her. The moan that screamed from her lips was almost a howl, a wail, as her orgasm tore through her. She planted her hands on his shoulders and crashed upward against him. Their flesh slapped together, sweat sealing their skin in an erotic union. Her bones jarred and her cunt flamed with the rush of electricity Crosby created as she reveled in his final thrust. He released a whoosh of air, his chest expanding against hers. Driving a hand under her waist, he nuzzled into her neck and inhaled. That’s when reality sank back in. When they made love, Ella could almost forget what had passed between them. In fact, it was the perfect way into her panties. This was only going to make absolutely everything worse. Recrimination stabbed her in the gut. She gave his shoulders a shove. “We did not just do that again!” Crosby’s head popped up, his grin typically mischievous. “I hear your indignation and return it with a renewed sense of rage for my total impulsiveness.”
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Ella grimaced, ashamed she was so damn weak. “You’re not at all sorry you bagged me.” “Why, no. No, I’m not. I don’t know why you have to be. It’s harshing my afterglow,” he teased, nuzzling her neck. “But I do have to use the facilities. So I’ll remind you to keep your nursing and all your recriminations to yourself. It’s bad for the patient’s self-esteem.” He plopped a kiss on her cheek, sat up and moved off her, rising to head toward the bathroom. Ella closed her eyes, shutting out the image of a rounded, sculpted ass attached to thick thighs riddled with sinew. Pulling a pillow to her chest, she came to a decision. She loved Crosby Nash—still. But he couldn’t stay here anymore. Her self-respect and her will to keep her hands off him were fading. Had faded. Maybe she could talk her BFF Lola into hiding him at her place, with her own occasional check-ins? A loud crash startled her from her misery and had her bolting from the couch and running for the bathroom door. She knocked on it with her knuckles. “Crosby? You okay in there? You’re holding up my nighttime ritual. If I don’t moisturize, I flake from all the shifting back and forth. Hazard of the were,” she joked, hoping to keep things light when she felt anything but. No answer. She tried the doorknob, only to find it locked. Concern welled in her while her stomach lurched. “Crosby!” Ella cocked her ear and still heard nothing. Yet her nose picked up the scent of fresh air—and blood. Crosby’s blood. Positioning her shoulder at the door, she rammed into the solid wood, wincing when pieces of it splintered and flew in the air in every direction.
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She fell into the bathroom. tripped over Crosby’s clothes and crashed soundly into the edge of the pedestal sink, where something caught her eye. She looked up and winced. Just to the left of her sink was a window. Was being the operative word. Now it was just a hole in the wall. A big, gaping hole with tufts of black wolf hair clinging to the sharp edges of broken glass. Hoo boy. Amnesiac werewolf on the loose. Were there Amber Alerts for that?
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Chapter Five Her paws scraped the uneven dirt floor of the woods behind her house with frantic rasps, the broken limbs and fallen leaves scattering in the wake of her mad dash to find Crosby. Her heart crashed against her ribs even as her nose lifted to the chilled wind for any hint of a scent of her AWOL werewolf. Ella’s eyes darted to her right, peering through the thick trees and noting the few houses with lights on that dotted the woods. Fear coiled in her belly as Crosby’s scent came and went, drifting away like wisps of disappearing smoke. Another snort and the scent of blood lodged in her sensitive nose. Oh God. What if Crosby’d crossed over into human territory in his were-form? The pack owned much of the surrounding land in Rockmont, and some wildlife laws protected it and the pack from hunters. But that land bordered a totally human patch of woods and a totally all-human town. There were no laws that said some unsuspecting human couldn’t shoot your ass if you were in their living space. Shit, shit, shit! If he were hurt because she was the worst nurse ever, she’d never forgive herself. Ella skidded to a halt in front of a fallen tree, placing a paw on the rotting trunk to regain her focus. She was drawing closer to the forbidden zone. What to do, what to do? Use your senses, Ella. Breathe. Think. The wind howled with a ferocious gust, tearing through her thick coat of fur and sweeping up a swirling patch of dead leaves. With it came the scent of more blood. A lot of blood. Crosby’s blood. It didn’t smell like “here’s a Band-Aid” blood—it smelled like “serious injury” blood. 57
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If Morton was right about anything, he was right about her not wanting Crosby dead. Fine. She still loved Crosby. The mother-effer. And even if she didn’t want to be married to someone who couldn’t trust her enough to let her in on whatever was going on with Marina Preston, she didn’t want him to be dead. Jesus, please don’t let him be dead. Her head fell between her shoulder blades while she forced herself to tamp down the rising panic and refocus. A sharp rustle past the thicket of enormous oak trees just a few hundred feet away had her head up in a shot and her ear cocked. Ella took a tentative step over the tree trunk, avoiding as much of the crunchy debris as possible in order to keep from being heard. She’d never been this far into the woods before. The pack had strict, fenced-off boundaries and no one crossed them in were-form. Not even reckless, impulsive Ella. Because a pissed-off pack was scary, yo. While she didn’t mind the occasional adrenaline rush of a good risk, and she didn’t always think things through before she jumped into the deep end of the pool, she’d never disobeyed a rule as severe as the one that said if you tread onto human territory you knew you shouldn’t be treading on, you were on your own. So, if you ended up dead (because it’d be just her luck that some human would actually own a gun with silver bullets), sucked to be you. In human form, she spent lots of time patronizing the towns surrounding Rockmont, but she’d certainly never skipped through the human woods in her human heels to actually see the chain-link boundary everyone in the pack fussed over. To be so close to it in, of all things, her were-form, after all those scary warnings while growing up, was on par with sneaking into Area 51. Yet, her were-form was the quickest way to find Crosby.
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A low growl in the distance gave her pause. It was a warning; a familiar, animalistic warning. One that didn’t stop her, nonetheless. She had to find Crosby and she had to find him before he found his way to a fearful human with a big, big gun. Morton’s accusation that she was impulsive rang in Ella’s ears when she made a slow jaunt around the perimeter of the trees. Ella’s pulse raced, her nose assaulted by a multitude of scents mingling with Crosby’s. With cautious eyes, she got her first glimpse of the edge of pack land as she wove into the monstrous groups of trees. What the hell was that smell? Sweet baby J. It was a vile pot boiling with fear, desperation and the stench of rotting flesh. And mixed with it all was the hint of a scent so familiar, but it escaped her memory before she was able to place it. It came and went, totally blocked out by the fumes of death. The crunch of a branch was the only warning she had before she was knocked to the ground with an impact so bone-shattering, she nearly crumbled. On her feet and ready for battle, Ella fought the yelp forming in the back of her throat at the pain coursing through her hip and gave off her own low growl of warning. If the wolf responsible for getting her fur covered in dirt was Luke Bocock and his beer-swilling, womanizing, asshat friends, she’d gnaw his tail off all slow and painfulish. However, her eyes caught sight of her attacker just as he came in for another bonecrushing tackle. Thankfully, this time she was quicker. She waited until the very last second to dart to the left just as her mammoth, hairy-assed opponent leapt high in the air, lunging at her with a feral growl. Concentrating on shifting back to her human form before he attacked again, she rolled her neck and allowed the twist of flesh and bones to take over while the offending were recuperated from his slam-dunk into a nearby tree.
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She held up a hand just in time to thwart another attack. “Crosby!” she hissed into the darkness. “It’s me, killer—knock it off!” His abrupt halt at the sound of his name, all paws digging into the hard ground and ears cocked upward, would have made her giggle—except she was naked. There was nothing funny about naked in human form when it was thirty flippin’ degrees out. She pointed to the ground in front of her, her teeth chattering. “Come here. Please. Now.” Crosby skulked to her, dark and unkempt, the moonlight shining on his patchy coat. To anyone else, he’d appear pretty intimidating. Intimidating and ugly as hell, but she knew him this way. Yes, he had nightmare properties. His coat was stuck together in clumps of matted fur and his toenails were more like unsheathed talons, true. Not to mention he was a drooler when he got worked up, and personally, it was just a little squicky to watch saliva drip from his razor-sharp teeth. But he was her drooler, and she knew once she made him understand, there was no need to fear him. And in his were-form, he could still understand everything she said. The beauty of this was, he couldn’t smile all charming-like and make snarky jokes to lighten the severity of the situation. For the first time, under the pale light of the moon, she saw the blood she’d smelled so acutely. He must have cut himself on the bathroom window. But it didn’t account for the other scents she’d encountered—scents that still filled the almost-starless night. She sniffed one more time to try to grasp the thread of that familiar smell in the bag of disgusting odors. But again, she lost it. Shaking her head, Ella asked, “You cut yourself. And did you try to jump the fence?” His eyes instantly went downward in guilt. “Jesus Christ in a miniskirt, Crosby! You could have been killed.” Naked and freezing, she knelt to look at his right hip. He had a small gash; not too deep, but deep enough that she needed to get him back home and tend to it so he’d heal properly. 60
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Ella wrapped her arms around her chest and bit back a scream of frozen discomfort when she rose. The wind whipped through her tangled hair and slashed at her cheeks. She bent at the waist and tapped his nose, her lips pursed to keep them from slapping together and chattering. “Incoming lecture, fledgling werewolf. First, if you ever blindside me like that again, I’ll kick your ass,” she whisper-yelled. “Have you seen the size of you? You’re like five times as big as me. You clearly didn’t use your acute sense of smell to identify who I am. Which is something you’d have learned had you waited instead of running off. Now sit down and listen to me. This is your werewolf form, I know. It’s awesome with awesome sauce, right? All those hormones rushing, your testosterone at an all-time high. You just had to run—I get it. It’s a deep, deep need.” Crosby bowed his wide head in response, dragging one of his meaty paws through the dirt to signify she was right. She patted him on his bulky head, rubbing between his ears. “Okay, but here’s the thing, Cujo. You’ve wandered into territory that’s forbidden. Just beyond those trees, we’re not protected from the wildlife laws the pack has in place. Which means at any given time, you could feel the sting of a bullet piercing your gargantuan ass. So walk with me, would you? Away from the bad humans who could have guns.” And far away from that smell. He nudged her hand with his muzzle, the heat of his breath almost welcome in light of the fact she was still naked, naked and, oh yeah, effing naked. Stepping over the tree trunk, Ella picked up the pace. “So rule number two twenty two bazillion and five in Pack-landia. Never, and I do mean never, come this far into the woods in were-form.” He huffed his agreement, eyes glowing red in the dark with understanding. “Now here’s a Nurse Ella rule. Ready, Oh Reckless One?” His sigh was a Crosby sigh—even in shifter form. Put upon.
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Ella plucked at the fur on his back. “Save the eye roll, Crosby Nash. Don’t ever, ever run off like that again without me. Got that? Do you have any idea how tweaked the pack would have been if you’d ended up full of buckshot? I’m supposed to be protecting you. I don’t know what made you do something so irrational as break my bathroom window just to go exploring your wolfie side. And I hope, in all your amnesia, you somehow remember your carpenter skills so you can fix said window, because it’s going to be a mighty cold potty break if you don’t. It would have been just as easy to stroll out the door—with me. We did discuss the onslaught of the shift, didn’t we?” Crosby reared his head; the snort he omitted blew from his jaws in a puff of condensation. She tapped her chin with her trembling, icy finger in mock thought. “Yeah, yeah we did. It was over two pounds of bacon, home fries and a T-bone, you caloric nightmare. I told you what to expect of your body, what would trigger it, and yet still you went it alone. For shame, Crosby,” she chastised, hopping quickly from foot to foot to keep warm as they made their way back toward the entry to the woods. “The shift isn’t something to play around with, especially in your state. I would have talked you through it if you’d given me the chance. I know the surge of hairballand-gnashing-toothed power is overwhelming—exciting even—but you own it, not the other way around. It’s one of the most crucial lessons you can learn about your metamorphosis. Also, your sense of smell will help you identify other pack members. You know, like me—so I don’t have to shift back in order to prove I’m me and, oh, be naked when it’s thirty fucking degrees out.” He burrowed up against her hip; pushing into her in what she guessed was his werewolf act of chivalry to warm her. Stopping short, Ella made a face at him in all his furred-out glory. “Okay, so here’s the deal. No more solo shifting until your memory comes back. And now, I’m shifting back, too, because I’ll never make the two-plus miles back home like this. You know,
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naked. Follow me, Crosby, and don’t stray because if you even consider frolicking blissfully through the woods, I might be persuaded to leave you outside on the front porch instead of granting you the splendor of my lavender, mint-green and white guest bedroom. Got it?” She cupped his muzzle, wincing at the saliva on her hand. He licked her hand with his long tongue. She made a face at him, using her shoulder to brush strands of mussed hair from her chin. “No sucking up, and it’d do you well to pay attention when I shift, so maybe your next one won’t be so violent. It hurt, didn’t it?” He flopped down on the ground, placed his nose between his paws and huffed, kicking up loose dirt. Ella nodded her head. “The first time can be a bitch. If you’d just told me you felt off, I probably would have pegged it and could have talked you through it. It would have hurt less. You’re such a man, Crosby,” she teased, but she couldn’t keep the warmth out of her voice. At least he could shift again. He’d been without relief for almost two weeks. It could have become unhealthy if his true nature continued to be denied. She’d seen that in her time as a nurse—and it was a lot like watching a J.J. Abrams production. Lots of hair poking out of places you shouldn’t necessarily have hair, and the distortion of your limbs when you were stuck in a shift was, in all honesty, god-awful. Warding off another violent case of the shivers, Ella reached her arms upward, clenching her fingers together and cracking them. “Now here’s the key to the shift, Crosby. It’s not just about relaxing. It’s about letting it happen rather than forcing it to happen, or fighting if it does. Once you get the hang of it, it’s simple and you can control it at will. Just think about freeing yourself from your human constraints by clearing your mind and visualizing your arm or your leg.” As she spoke the words, the hair on her right arm began to sprout and her fingernails changed shape. Crosby backed up, his eyes widening, nostrils flaring. 63
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“I know, crazy, right?” Ella held up her paw and assessed it under the moonlight. “I mean, I’ve been doing it all my life and it still makes me a little giddy. Anyway—here we go.” She smiled just before she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the light of the half moon. Her human form melted away, twisting, reshaping itself, molding her were-form with gentle ease until she dropped to her haunches beside Crosby. Crosby lifted his muzzle in contemplation before swishing his hip against hers. Just like he used to before their relationship had collapsed. They’d roamed together often, and more often than not, since she’d thrown him out, her heart had been heavy with the loss of his companionship. They trotted over the small peaks and valleys of the woods in the way they’d always done, bobbing and weaving over the rough surface until Ella broke into a run toward home, her heart crashing painfully against her ribs. Crosby was still a bit awkward in his were-form, and she was grateful he couldn’t keep up. Shifting with him, roaming with him, hurt. It stirred up emotions she’d much rather leave buried. It dredged up all the old questions about his fidelity she’d finally begun to let go. If Crosby and Marina hadn’t been slamming each other—why did he have to keep so many secrets about it? Their shifts together had always been a time for them to quietly contemplate—to communicate without words. Now, it was just her job to teach him how to do it right so he wouldn’t get caught and find his head on some human’s den wall. Booyah.
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Chapter Six “It’s coffee. I made it myself.” Crosby handed her the mug with an endearing grin. Thankfully, under her tutelage, he’d shifted back with no issues. Now dressed in some faded jeans and a thick pullover sweater, he was making nice. “Coffee will never make up for the possible toes I’m going to lose from frostbite, Crosby Nash.” She put her hands around the hot mug and clenched it to her chest, burrowing under the blankets Crosby had tucked around her with such care. Even after her shift back, she was still freezing. “I did apologize, and you accepted. How long do you plan to cling to this iceberg?” “Until I’m no longer an iceberg myself.” Driving his hand beneath the blankets, he scooped up one of her icy feet, clad in two pairs of socks, and began to rub. “You know, the best way to get warm is skin-toskin,” he offered, his tone sexy and teasingly suggestive. “Thank you, Dr. Nash. My frozen toes and drippy nose thank you, too.” He didn’t respond to her sarcasm, which led her to believe he had some internal dialogue going on in his gorgeous head. His silence, which would have been welcome earlier, now left her uneasy. She let his hands work their magic for a moment before she asked, “So, what were you doing there anyway, Crosby? Any thoughts on what made you go the way you went?” She had to wonder if instinct had been his guide or it was something more. Like maybe he’d smelled what she’d smelled. If he had, he hid it well. Neither of them had made mention of it. He ran a hand over his face, the stubble on his jaw audibly rasping against his hand, his eyes focused on everything and nothing. “Part of it has to do with that fence. I
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don’t know what it is. I just know there’s something just beyond that fence that’s so familiar. Also, a woman named Marina. You know her?” Ella struggled to keep her expression passive, but her heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “I think the question is, how do you know her?” Avoid, avoid, avoid. God, this was killing her. He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know she’s in that direction and just before I shifted, I saw a blurry image of her in my head. The strangest damn thing, too…” “What?” “Hey, do I have a sister?” She shook her head with a violent shiver as another set of chills assaulted her. Chills she wasn’t sure could be attributed to being exposed to the below-freezing temperatures or Marina’s name on Crosby’s lips. “No. No sisters. No brothers, and your parents are in a relocated pack in Boca because your mom hates the cold. She wanted to come, by the way, but the pack asked her to wait a bit before overwhelming you. Why do you ask?” Crosby shook his head, the dark strands of his hair still mussed. “That’s the strange thing. I felt like this Marina was my sister. In fact, I was sure of it.” Huh. “Well, she’s not your sister. So this vision you had of her led you to the fence?” His face went dark even as his hands continued to massage her calves. “I smelled her. I’m sure of it. I don’t know why I can associate her scent with her face, but I smelled her, and she’s somewhere over that fence.” Among other things. Ella closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to dwell on the scent that kept cropping back up in her nostrils to taunt her with its familiarity. “So that’s all you remember is her name and what she looks like?” “That’s it. Well, almost it. When I saw you in your wolf whatever—”
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“Werewolf form.” “Yeah, that. Anyway, I know I’ve seen you before—in your werewolf form, that is.” Ella’s eyes darted to the edge of the blanket. “It’s not unlikely. We do live in the same town—we definitely run in the same circles, no pun intended. I’m sure we’ve crossed paths at some point.” His fingers stopped moving over her now-toasty skin. “Then why don’t I remember anyone else but you?” “Because I have a fabulous coat that I maintain to within an inch of its life? It’s hard to forget fabulous, even with amnesia,” she countered, keeping her words and her smile light. “Nope. That’s not it.” “Are you saying my fur isn’t fabulous?” “I’m saying nothing of the sort. In fact, I’m going to keep saying nothing of the sort in my lavender and mint-green, frilly bed. I think I need some of that alone time you’ve been muttering about under your breath. Us werewolves have serious hearing, too, huh? So don’t think I haven’t heard all that complaining on the phone you’ve been doing to your friend Lola, about not being able to get away for girls’ night because you’re too busy babysitting the feeb.” Ella’s cheeks grew hot with shame and guilt, but she shrugged it off. “If it’s any consolation, Lola said you could join us. This week’s theme is Tiaras and Tequila. You can borrow one of my tiaras…” Crosby lifted his long length from the couch and gave her a distracted chuckle. “I’d rather perform my own Brazilian wax. Which, FYI? On you? Hot. Crazy hot.” Bracing his arms on the back of the couch, he loomed over her, his handsome face shadowed by whatever he needed to work out. “But I’m not done with you just yet. I might have amnesia, but I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t change what I want. And I want you—again and again. So you soak that up while I go do some serious introspection. Night, EllaBelle.” 67
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She bit back her surprise at his use of the pet name he’d given her. Everyone called her Ella-Belle, but that it had slipped from his lips without prompting, coupled with the other visions he’d had, had to mean he was working this amnesia thing out. Crosby pressed his lips to hers, letting his tongue slip into her mouth to take a quick taste before he was gone. Leaving Ella alone with some of her own quiet introspection. Fuck the sound of your own misgivings in your head. She voted tequila.
***** “O-em-gee!” Her best friend, Lola Bradshaw, squealed when she opened the door to her townhouse with a burst of enthusiasm. “It’s my long-lost BFF who’s shacked up with her brick-shithouse, hot, almost ex-hubby because she’s a masochistic fucktard. Yay!” She reached for Ella, pulling her into a tight hug before promptly handing her a glass of tequila and leading her into a shiny kitchen full of chrome and glass. The scent of Lola’s perfume, light and musky, soothed Ella. She followed behind her friend, envying her petite frame and cute jeans. Ella slid onto one of the red vinyl barstools, plunking her drink down and watching the amber liquid slosh against the sides of the tumbler. She planted her cheek on the cool countertop and inhaled the scent of silence in all its bliss. Crosby was at his therapy session and Morton had offered to pick him up and take him to dinner, leaving her free to have girls’ night in peace. Lola laid her cheek on the counter, too, her green eyes taking in Ella with an intense gaze. “So who needs a drink, princess?” Ella rubbed at her eye with her thumb. “I need more than a drink. How many bottles of tequila does it take to fill a pool?” “More than I can sleep with Gary from the Booze Bin for?” “Shit. I really need to get snockered.” 68
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Lola’s eyes narrowed, her pink-glossed lips pursed against the counter, making them look like fish lips. “You didn’t.” “Oh yes. Yes, I did.” “What have I told you about keeping your cootchie-la-la to yourself, Ella?” She groaned. “He’s just so irresistible.” And sweet and fun and hot. And hot. And omigodhot. Lola’s eyes narrowed to slits in her head. “I knew this would happen.” Ella slapped her palm on the counter in a weak defense. “Well, thank God for you and Morton, Madame Lola. Hey. Idea. Maybe you and Morton could open a fortunetelling booth together. So I’ll always know what my future holds. I’ll expect discount coupons, of course.” Lola pushed a strand of Ella’s windblown hair from her eyes. “You’re an epic mess, my friend, but I’m here to tell you, I have no more double-chocolate, coconut-almond ice cream left. You ate your weight in it last go ’round with Crosby.” “So what you’re saying is, you won’t provide the favors for my pity party?” Lola nodded her fiery red head and grinned her beautiful smile. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You didn’t have to do this, Ella. You could have walked away. The pack counsel did give you a choice, but you were hell bent on getting a divorce. Yay, you.” “I just wanted to move forward all healthy-like.” She closed her eyes and gulped, warding off the ugly image of the old flannel shirt rolled at her wrists. She hadn’t even dressed up for girls’ night. Who was she? Lola nudged her arm, the shiny spikes of her black leather wristband gleaming under the kitchen lights. “Oh honey. You can’t move forward until you finish sweeping your past under a rug.” “I did not do that.”
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“Yes. Yes, you did. You took a sabbatical from work, hid at your house and refused to answer calls from Crosby.” “Because he kept showing up at the hospital and those calls got me nowhere. He wouldn’t explain what I saw that night and I can’t exist in a marriage without trust.” “No, you’re right. He didn’t offer any explanations, and that’s shitty-bad on his part. Regardless, you’re not done with him, Ella. Even if consciously you think you want to be. Because if you were done, you’d have found a way around nursing Crosby back to health in order to get your chains that bind broken, and you never would have slept with him again. I don’t care how irresistible he is. You’re not the kind of woman who sleeps around just to appease her lady bits. You’re not one-night-stand material. That’s me. You are, however, in mad love with Crosby. Always have been, probably always will be. You did this because you couldn’t stand the fact that he needed help. It wasn’t so much about the pack granting you a divorce as it was about making sure Crosby was okay. So own that shit, would you?” The whiny, petty, overstimulated emotionally and physically half of her offered the broken-record defense. “I can’t trust him,” she said on a huff, blowing her hair out of her face. Lola’s head swished on the countertop, her red hair a pretty contrast to the black granite. “Uh-uh-uh. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times. I’m not convinced of that, friend. It’s just never added up for me. I know what the evidence says. I just think there’s more to it than meets the eye. Like there’s something we missed while I handed you gobs of tissues and helped plot his unmerciful death. Now, you did this to yourself. You know how to say no, and I’m sure Crosby would have backed off had you said that magic word. You didn’t because deep down, you know something’s not right about his supposed cheating. So can the bullshit and drink. Drink a lot while freedom is yours for the taking and he’s off finding himself at group therapy.” “You’re a traitor.” “I’m a realist,” Lola said on a chuckle. 70
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“I have the name of the woman I caught him with that night.” Take that, traitor. “Bully for you.” “Don’t you want to know what it is?” Lola’s pierced eyebrow rose. “Not even a little.” “What the hell kind of friend are you?” “The kind who wants off the Tilt O’ Whirl.” “She’s gorgeous. Even in broad daylight,” Ella pouted. “Bet she has big, perky lady lumps.” Ella sighed in defeat. “The biggest, and they’re real. I can’t smell any silicone on her. Not a scrap.” “The bitch.” “That’s more like it.” “So I know you’re dying to tell me,” Lola prompted. “Tell you what?” “Her name.” No, she wasn’t. “It’s Marina. She’s human.” “Quaint.” So quaint it hurts. “She’s like twenty.” “How predictable,” Lola drawled. “Aren’t all ‘other’ women no older than twenty?” “Funny.” “True.” Probably so. “I met her at the law firm.” “Big jugs and smart. You should just lie down and die now.” Ella made a face, wrinkling her nose. “Shut up. She was there as a client.” Lola cocked her eyebrow again. “Whores need representation?” 71
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“I never called her a whore.” Did. “The fuck you didn’t.” Ella’s shoulders slumped. “Okay. I called her a whore.” “Barbie Whore,” Lola reminded. “Right. Well, she is blonde.” More weakly offered defenses. “And smart with big, big jugs.” “I think I liked her.” “I didn’t know you swung that way.” “No. I mean, she’s really genuinely nice.” The Barbie whore. “A nice whore. There’s one in every pimp’s stable. Whoda thunk?” was Lola’s dry question. “She asked about Crosby.” “Did she want to know what size man-panties to buy him? You know, ex-partner to new partner?” In Ella’s estimation, that probably would have been easier to explain. “She wanted to know where he was.” “Did you tell her he has amnesia and he doesn’t even know where he is?” “I told her I’d pass the message on if I saw him.” Lola winked a long, black false eyelash at her. “You’re such a givah.” Ella’s eyes rolled upward. “She thought I was his assistant. That must be the line Crosby fed her about me that night.” “Good thing she has big jugs. Her smart just blew up.” “Crosby remembered something last night.” “Please tell me he knows who shot J. R.” “He remembered Marina.”
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Lola made a fist and dropped it on the countertop. “Fuck. How will I ever sleep at night if I don’t find out who shot J. R.?” “He said the vibe he got about her was a sisterly vibe.” “That’s just gone all kinds of too kooky-kinky even for me, sister.” “When he shifted, he went to the fence.” “That warrior.” “He said the reason he went to the fence was because Marina was on the other side.” “Ah. Behold the power of the booby.” “Something’s not right on the other side of the fence, Lola.” Lola dragged the tip of her finger down the bridge of Ella’s nose. “You’re not right on the other side of the fence, kitten.” “No. I mean, whatever’s on that land between our side and the next town is wrong. There’s this smell… Well, let me clarify. There are lots of smells, and they’re bad. So bad. But there’s also one I can’t pinpoint for the life of me because the other bad smells keep getting in the way, but I know it’s important. It’s something I can’t even begin to describe, but it kept me up half the night.” “You sure that wasn’t Crosby up half the night?” “I’m being serious. I smelled something indescribable. Fear and…something that scared the hell out of me.” “Well, that’s a human’s scent for you.” “No, Lola. I’m not jacking you around. Something’s on the other side of that fence. Something, someone… I dunno. It’s just something.” The aroma of it still lingered in her nose even now. Or maybe it was just her imagination. Either way, the fear she’d sensed on the other side of the fence was bigger than she was, and it deserved investigation. It made her shiver all over again. “I know that look, Ella.” 73
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She frowned. “What look?” “The one that says shit’s gonna fly because you can’t keep your impulsive hair combed.” God. Was she that transparent? “Nuh-uh.” “Oh, uh-huh, girlie.” “Okay. Maybe shit will fly. I’ll try not to let it hit you if it does.” “When it does. It’s always when with you,” Lola reminded her, finally sitting up and rubbing at the red mark on her cheek from the countertop. Ella rolled her head with another groan, this time pressing her forehead to the cool stone counter. “I need a distraction from all this Crosby time.” “Distraction…unfavorable, freaked-out pack reaction. Really, what’s the difference with you?” “Again, I ask, whose side are you on?” “The side that has the least Dorito-flavored vomit on the floor after the party.” “So you’re saying you don’t want to help me?” “I’m saying no Dorito-flavored vomit.” She lifted her glass and slammed back her shot of tequila with a hiss of pleasure followed by a grin of satisfaction. Ella sat up now, too. A renewed sense of purpose. “So, where’s your laptop?” “What did it ever do to you?” “I’m not going to hurt it, silly. I just want to Google it.” “So you can leave a trail of your shit that leads right back to me. Perfect.” “Oh, stop. It’s not like I’m looking up ways to make nuclear bombs.” Lola grabbed her Mac from the far corner of the kitchen and slid it toward Ella with a wary glance. “Well, you’re sure not lookin’ up the Booty Pop.” “Nope, but I am looking up a booty that pops. Among other things that pop.”
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“Ah, yes. The other woman you like who has big brestesez and big brainz and big Barbie hairz.” Ella nodded, the clip in her hair swaying. “Yeah. It’s time I figure out who this woman is. How many Marina Prestons can there be in Gordon’s Crest?” “My impossible dream says only the one you’re looking for. My reality says that, while it’s not a common name, it’s not Moon Unit. So I call we drink while we surf your doom.” Ella held up her glass and chugged the liquid back, the stinging in her throat a welcome reminder she was about to embark on some therapeutic boozing. “I love you so hard right now. So. Hard. You’re a good friend, Lola-Falola.” “No. I’m an enabler. And give me that—you’ll scratch the mouse pad with your goofy fingers.” Ella gave her a wobbly hug, planting a kiss on her best friend’s check before refilling their glasses. “Thank you, enabling friend. You’re an enabler among men.” Lola waved her off, pulling her long thatch of hair over her shoulder and brushing her bluntly cut bangs from her eyes. She rolled up her sleeves and cracked her knuckles. “So here we go. Marina plus Gordon’s Crest.” She typed the words into the search bar with deft, pink-tipped fingers and clicked on the first link. Their mouths fell open simultaneously when they saw what the link had opened. “Hey, you know? She does kind of look like Barbie,” Lola muttered, chin in hand. “I’ll drink to that,” Ella agreed, clinking her glass with Lola’s. A very rich Barbie, in fact.
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Chapter Seven “Crosby?” “Do I know you? I’m not supposed to let strangers in or Nurse Ella will feed me to the vampires. She said so. Have you ever seen her cranky? She’d do it. I’m a believer.” He leaned against the doorframe, subtly sniffing the pretty lady with hair the color of a crayon and eyes so green, they reminded him of those green Jolly Ranchers he used to eat as a kid. He paused—another memory. They’d been batting at his subconscious like moth’s wings all day. “I’m Lola, Ella’s best friend. I have a package for you out in the car. I’d drag it in here, but why should I mess up a perfectly great coat if she decides to yark all over it? I have a date, and if you have to change your clothes, you have nothing but time on your hands and a TiVo to pause Cops on.” She eyeballed his flannel shirt and faded jeans. He motioned out the door. “Lead the way,” he offered, following her to a compact white Prius. She propped open the back door and pressed her knee against Ella’s slumped form to keep her from falling out. “Nice car,” he commented. “Nice chick in nice car,” Lola remarked. He grinned. “Drunk chick in nice car?” “Oh, Jesus and all twelve apostles, you have no idea how drunk. She slammed back like four tequila shots. Someday, you know, when you don’t have the amnesia funk, you’ll remember Ella’s a lightweight when it comes to booze. For now? You’ll just have to trust.”
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Crosby ducked around the car door and pulled Ella out by the arm, bending at the knees to place her over his shoulder. He scooped her up with ease and turned to smile at Lola. “Did I know you?” Her eyes took on that cautious look Ella’s always had. “Do you think you knew me?” He gave a disappointed grunt. “You sound just like Ella now.” She waved a ringed hand in the air, delicate and finely boned. “Fuck that. I’m no nurse. Yes. You knew me. We knew each other. But not intimately. That’s someplace I’d never go.” “I feel like you just called me ugly,” he joked, sensing something so distinctly familiar about her, it made his head hurt. “No. I just called you my best friend’s—” Lola stomped a leopard-print, highheeled foot and hooked Ella’s purse over his shoulder. “No, no, nooooooo! That’s it. I’m out. You know, I’d suck as a spy, and I think I’ve just proven that. So do with that slip of the tongue what you will, but I’m not getting into trouble with the pack.” She ran around to the driver’s side of the car and shook a finger at him in stern warning. “Ella said you were asking a bunch of questions lately. No way am I going to be the one to trash your recuperation. So forget that shit, pal. Now you make sure she wakes up long enough to take an aspirin. She’s an unusual werewolf in that she suffers from hangovers. And put her to bed. Make sure she can’t fall off said bed. She’s a dead sleeper. Forget it, you already knew that, didn’t you?” Lola shook her head briskly and made a face. “Forget the answer to that. I don’t want to know. I’m out. Bye, Crosby!” Lola hopped into her car, slamming the door shut and taking off like a shot. Crosby stood at the end of Ella’s driveway while she hung over his shoulder. Huh. How could Ella’s best friend trash his recuperation? And what did she mean he was someplace she’d never go because Ella was her best friend?
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Yet more questions. Questions he’d become quite adept at shoving aside in favor of blissful forgetfulness. Turning, he strode up the driveway with a passed-out Ella. Popping open the front door, he ducked inside, protecting Ella’s head with his hand. The soft feel of her silky, dirty-blonde hair made him pull a strand to his nose and sniff. God, her shampoo was familiar, too, and not because he’d been using it for the past couple of weeks. Because it made him remember—something. Wandering to her bedroom, with its gray and teal throw pillows and matching comforter, he sat at the edge of the bed and slipped Ella off his shoulder gently. She molded to the bed, long and supple, curvy and fucking so sexy, so lip-smacking good, it was all he could do not to peel her clothes from her body and slide his tongue inside her. Just to have the smallest taste. She brought him to his knees whether he had amnesia or not. As Crosby settled her in, his eyes wandered to the slope of her breasts while they rose and fell in deep sleep. His tongue ached to trail across her nipples, lick the rigid buds until she grabbed his hair and arched her back, pushing her body into his. But there was more than just the sex. In all her cranky, standoffish mouthiness, there was something else about her. Lately, it seemed there was always something else. Something right on the outermost fringes of his memory that just wouldn’t allow him to put a finger on it. He shook his head before lying down beside her and tucking the covers under her chin. He couldn’t take a chance she’d fall out of bed now, could he? She’d pitch a hissy fit if she found him in her bed. She’d been adamant about sleeping in separate beds. Crosby figured it had to do with boundaries and nursepatient bullshit. Whatever. That wasn’t going to stop him from making sure she was his. So tough shit if she didn’t like it.
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Setting aside everything but the gentle inhalation of Ella’s breathing, Crosby closed his eyes and hovered between consciousness and sleep. That’s when it hit him. What was on the other side of the fence.
***** Ella woke with a slow groan, an arm around her waist preventing her from sitting up. She looked to her left to find Crosby nestled against her. Her body was instantly on fire—instantly needy and hungry. She stretched upward, hoping to ignore her out-of-control hormones, and realized she was still in her clothes. Slipping out from under his arm, she rose to make her way to the bathroom and grab a shower. Oddly, her head wasn’t pounding, a very rare occurrence for her when she drank, but she was grateful. She had a lot to ponder after finding so much information on Marina Preston—poor little billionaire heiress who’d been cloistered in one boarding school after another since she was a child by a father who was too busy to have tea parties and take her on trips to the park. Stripping out of her clothes, Ella turned the shower on and stepped inside, letting the water ease her aches. As she lathered with her favorite pomegranate body gel, she tried to piece together what kind of legal advice Crosby was helping Marina with that had kept him out all night. She might never know, if things kept going the way they were. Once Crosby’s memory returned, what would change except for the fact they’d had a lot of great sex? He’d still be unwilling to tell her what was going on, and she’d still be unwilling to remain married to someone who couldn’t be honest with her. While she dried off, the anguish of having him, and having to let him go again, left a sharp ache in her stomach.
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Too exhausted to give it any more thought, Ella spritzed herself with body spray, wrapped herself in a towel and padded back out into the dark bedroom. Crosby’s long body sprawled on her bed made her ache with longing. There was nothing she wanted to do more than burrow down next to him and have his arms around her all night. But it would only add to this new cache of memories she was making with him, and she couldn’t bear it. Crosby had to go to his own room. It was the only boundary she’d drawn that she’d actually stuck to. Ella put a hand on his arm, fighting the smile he brought to her lips. “Crosby? Wake up. Bedtime.” His hands reached for her so quickly they were a blur, and before she could stop him, her towel fell to the floor and she was on top of his chest. His naked, yummy, broad, thickly muscled chest. He lifted her hips and planted her on his waiting cock, drawing a gasp from her when he entered her pussy. Wiggling his finger, he motioned her to come closer. Ella leaned forward, unable to stop her hips from gyrating, loving the feel of him inside her. “Did you have a good time tonight?” he drawled, swiping his tongue over her bottom lip and making her press her forehead to his. Ella’s eyes closed as she hissed at his upward thrust. “I had a great time,” she murmured, widening her legs to let one dangle over the edge of the bed. It always made for the deepest penetration. Crosby licked his finger and circled her nipple with it, the bud responding by hardening instantly to his warm saliva and the cool air of the room. “Did you miss your ward?” Slumping into him when he pushed her breasts together and sucked both nipples at once, she gasped again. “God, Crosby…”
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“Say it or I’ll stop,” he teased from around her nipple. That made her sit up straight, taking all of him inside. “Oh really?” She gave him a coy, flirty smile she knew he could see, even in her dark bedroom. “I don’t think you will. In fact, I know you won’t.” Now Crosby countered by ramming his hips upward, driving deeper. “Okay, fine. I won’t stop,” he drawled then grinned maddeningly. “Now come here and let me make love to you properly.” Those words made her melt back into him and allowed her to seek solace in the shelter of his strong arms. When Crosby placed his wide hand on her ass and forced her down on his cock, she came hard, with a flash of white lights behind her eyes. The relief was welcome and sweet. Crosby came, too, rising on his heels and pistoning into her until they both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and sweat. Rolling off him, Ella panted, forcing air back into her lungs. He pulled her back against him, his cock hard and ready for more against her ass. “Oh, we’re not done yet, cupcake.” A shudder of anticipation raced along her spine. “More, you say? I don’t think you can top that last performance.” His lips pressed to the top of her head as his hands brought her body back to life. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that when you’re begging for more.” Her mind was exhausted, but everything else just wanted Crosby. “I never beg,” she whispered on a sated grin, cupping his hands when he captured her breasts. Crosby rolled her to her back, his green gaze hot and dark. “Tell me how you like it, Ella.” He drew a finger along the swollen lips of her pussy, tenderly tracing the outline. “Do you want my tongue in you, licking until you wrap your soft thighs around my neck and beg me to make you come—to fuck you?”
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Her breathing was choppy, but she couldn’t look away from his mouth, from the sensual words slipping from his lips. “Yesss.” She drew out the word. “God, yes…” Crosby’s chuckle had a confident cadence that left her shivering while he teased her until she wanted to spread the lips of her pussy herself and drive his fingers into the wet depths. He nipped her jaw, sending a hot ripple of awareness to her nipples while his fingers skittered back over her flesh and up along the curve of her hip. She arched into his hand, into his lips that were silky hot. His tongue slithered over her rigid nipple then snapped back. A groan of frustration escaped her throat in the way of a husky protest. His light licks continued, swirling the tight bud but not enveloping it in his mouth. Her hands clenched at his sides and her hips bucked when he moved to her other breast, repeating the agonizingly slow action. Every muscle in her protested—each nerve raw from his slow loving, overstimulated and desperate. His hair trailed along her fevered skin, brushing against it with silken friction as he slid back up to her lips. He pushed a hand into her hair, drawing her head back until her neck arched. “Touch me. Stroke me, Ella,” he said through clenched teeth. The demand made her that much hotter. It was like Crosby, even in his amnesia, knew what made her tick sexually. Slipping her hands between them, she dragged her nails in a light scrape through the thatch of hair on his chest, moving downward over hard abs and toward his cock. Hard and thick, it jutted forward, demanding she engulf it with her hands. When she tentatively grazed a finger over his shaft, he ground his hips against her. “Don’t play, Ella. Do it, damn it.” She followed his command, grasping him in a firm hold and circling his cock, twisting her hand in a spiral motion up and down while his breath fanned her face in choppy spurts. Ella cupped his balls, roaming over them until they were tight and he 82
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was writhing. He came in a steady stream against her hand, his cock pulsing with release, rocking into her hand, straining against her. Crosby pulled away, the thick cords of his neck bulging as he lifted her up, his hands forceful and hard when he pulled her to sit on his chest. Cupping her jaw, he asked, “What is it about you, Ella? Why can’t I get enough of you? Just when I think I’ve fucked you out of my system, you just leave me wanting more.” Ella’s breath caught in her throat. He’d once asked her that—a long time ago when they’d first started making love. She didn’t respond; couldn’t respond. Instead, she closed her eyes and slid up his chest. She wrapped her hands around his head and guided him to her cunt, relishing his hot breath on her abdomen. Soaking in the rich scent of him and his desire. She held her breath when he groaned his pleasure at the freshly waxed flesh of her pussy, and let it out when he slid farther down the bed so his mouth was directly under her. His soft hair brushed her thighs, tingling, taunting her. His lips trailed light kisses along them, licking and nipping as he went. Ella’s back arched and she reached for the headboard to clutch when he ran his tongue along her slit, flattening it, pressing against her throbbing flesh until she almost wept. He sipped at her clit, circling it, taunting her with anticipation. The sound of his mouth moving over her exposed flesh was titillating, making the experience that much more heady. His unshaven jaw rasped against her when he lifted himself on his elbows in order to gain leverage and opened his mouth wide. And then she was screaming his name—with the razor-sharp pleasure of it, the allencompassing exquisiteness. Her hand went to the back of Crosby’s head, jamming him flush to her body while he swirled his tongue inside her cunt—while she called out his name and gyrated against his mouth.
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Her orgasm ripped from her with a fierceness that had a sweet burn and flowed to her every nerve ending. She stiffened as he wrought every last ounce of pleasure from her body, her muscles aching, cinching tight then releasing. Crosby reached upward, massaging her back, drawing his hands down over her ass and running them back along her spine again, soothing, bringing her back to reality. He coaxed her to let go of the headboard and ease down into his arms. Where they lay—together—in silence. The last thought Ella had was of peace. The first genuine peace since she and Crosby had parted. And it was good. So good.
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Chapter Eight “So. I have to go out for a little while. Can I trust that you won’t play with the TiVo again and mess up my taping of Dancing with The Stars? If I miss one more paso doble with that hot Tony Dovolani minus his shirt because of you, I’m taking away your Ice Road Truckers privileges,” she teased, making sure she kept her face serene with no hint of her real intent. Crosby leaned back in the recliner and smirked. “I can’t even believe you made such a boldly ridiculous statement as that. Maksim is so much hotter.” Ella chuckled and threw her purse over her shoulder. “You stay put, and if you feel the shift coming on, call me. Got that? No shifting alone. After all the practice this week, I’m still concerned about how disoriented you are when you first shift. So behave.” While I go investigate that smell, the town of Gordon’s Crest and then snoop around in the rich Marina’s life. She had to pinpoint that familiar scent—even if it meant braving all the others. Crosby tucked her bathrobe lapels together and smiled angelically. “I’m not moving from this chair. Swear it on my Argentinean tango. So where ya goin’?” Her eyes shifted to the door. “To run errands. Someone has to feed you.” And find out what was going down on the other side of that fence… “Can I have chocolate ice cream? I don’t know why, but I can’t stop craving it. Did I like chocolate ice cream before I was an amnesiac?” By the truckload. She gave him a cocky grin. “I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.” He eyed her from the recliner. “I know, I know. ‘I don’t know, Crosby. Did you like chocolate ice cream before your amnesia?’” he said, mocking her favorite phrase. “Wow. You’re so good at that now, you could be the nurse.” 85
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He popped up off the recliner and was across the room in a shot. Hauling her against him, he tilted her chin back and ran his tongue along the length of her neck then nipped it with a chuckle. “I’ll show you nurse.” His hand flirted with the top of her jeans before he dove into them, making her hiss her pleasure when he spread the lips of her pussy and toyed with her clit. Her purse fell to the floor even as her hands went to his shoulders and her hips jutted forward to find the hard ridge of his cock, straining against his sweatpants. “No, no, no,” she moaned, more out of regret that she absolutely had to turn him down. “I have to go to the store or it’ll close and then there’ll be no chocolate ice cream…” She whimpered when he cupped her breast, pushing upward with a forceful hand and thumbing a nipple through her lacy bra. “I’d much rather lick you than chocolate ice cream,” he coaxed, working his lips over her jaw until his mouth was on hers. He drove his tongue inside, making her knees buckle. There was never any hope of denying Crosby. The moment his hands were on her was the moment she was pathetically lost. “It has to be quick,” she gasped when he tore at the button on her jeans and dragged them over her knees while she kicked off her shoes. “We really need millllk,” she muttered against his neck. “I reallllly need to fuck you,” he said against her lips, his voice thick with desire. Crosby pulled off his sweats and backed her up against the wall, lifting until her legs wrapped around his waist. That first graze of his cock against her clit jolted, sizzled when flesh met flesh. Her head fell back against the wall with the searing heat. Hard and swift, he drove upward, filling her until he tore the breath from her lungs. The impact of his entry shot white-hot heat to her cunt, which was already wet and aching. His thrusts had a new, more forceful feel than usual—and it was hot as hell. Ella squirmed against him, tore at his shoulders to pull him as close as possible then lifted his jaw with both hands so their lips met. 86
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Their harsh breathing mingled, the rock of their bodies banging against the wall erotic to her ears. Crosby was fucking her, making her his. Nothing else mattered. She clung to his neck, driving her breasts against his chest for the delicious friction, lost in her need to come. Crosby’s tongue skimmed her teeth, his hands cupped her ass, kneading the flesh until her skin burned beneath his fingers. She hooked her ankles tighter around his waist and used her thighs to lift herself upward then drive down on him. Her pussy was slick, throbbing hot, drawing his cock deeper until there was nothing left to do but succumb to Crosby’s madness. His hard muscles flexed, tensing and bunching under her hands. His chest expanded when he rasped against her mouth. “This is how it always should be, Ella. Always.” Yes. Always. It was her last thought before the raging heat in her pussy exploded. She squeezed his waist, her scream raw and hoarse in its intensity. Crosby was right behind her, but just as he climaxed, he spoke words she’d once sobbed over. The words that made her heart clench in painful memory and her eyes mist with tears. “I love you, Ella,” he whispered, urgent and silky against her mouth. His final grunt was long and harsh, his hands clenching into tight fists on her flesh, his cock jerking within her. Boneless, she fell against him, burying her head in his neck and luxuriating in his cologne. Ella absorbed his statement in slow increments; afraid it might just be the kind of statement one made to their caregiver rather than one between man and wife. Falling in love with someone who took care of you 24/7 was textbook psychiatry. But somewhere deep inside her, Ella prayed it was the Crosby she’d married, fighting his way back. And if it was?
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There was a whole lot of explaining to do. Until then, she needed to see what was beyond the other side of the fence. The plan was to just snoop around, nothing more. If she could find out what the fence had to do with Crosby, and if it might help with his recovery, then she had to at least investigate. Because she’d never survive falling in love with a man who only existed because he didn’t know any better. Going to the pack with this information had been like ramming her head against a brick wall. Morton had scoffed at the notion there was anything in Gordon’s Crest that need concern her, and he’d reminded her of Crosby’s youth. One filled with daredevil stunts that had probably led him to the fence on many dares from his buddies. Morton had dubbed Crosby’s recollection a mix-up of memories, and dismissed them. But she knew better. The more Morton denied, the more certain she was that he was full of shit. So it was over the fence she was going, with the hope that she’d find absolutely nothing and come back home to finish nursing Crosby back to health. “So about that ice cream? Can there be cookies, too?” he asked against her neck. “Cookies will help me recuperate faster. I’m sure of it.” Her laughter bubbled in her throat, escaping in a deep chuckle. “Cookies make everything better.” “Isn’t that bacon?” “No cookies or bacon,” she chided. “Your cholesterol’s going to be through the roof as it is with all the red meat and eggs you eat. Now put me down, heathen. I have gathering to do.” She unwrapped her legs, mournful when he removed his still semi-hard cock and slid her down his body.
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Crosby pulled her tight to him. “Double Stuf Oreos. I think they’re my favorite.” He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m all over it.” Totally all over it.
***** “Morton?” “Crosby?” “That would be me. Former amnesiac.” “You remember?” He heard the surprise in Morton’s voice. “You bet your ass I do. Now gather the pack and let’s get this done. Ella deserves an explanation, and the bunch of you have kept me from her for far too long with all this secrecy and spy crap. If we’re quick, we can have this sewn up before she gets back from her errands.” He heard Morton bluster. “I doubt that’s going to give us the kind of time we need, Crosby. We have to handle this delicately,” he urged. Crosby popped the wall with his fist. “Fuck delicate. Balls to the wall. I’m not wasting another second. Besides, how long does it take to kick some human ass? We’re werewolves, Morton. You know—big, strong, sharp-sharp teeth. Now gather the pack and let’s do this so I can come home to my woman. Finally.” He clicked his cell phone off—the cell phone he’d snuck from the office Morton had said was his when they’d had dinner together the other night, then charged secretly in Ella’s guest bedroom. While Morton had ordered out, he’d scoured his office, at that point, still crippled with amnesia. But just before he’d gone to sleep with Ella, he’d remembered everything.
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Marina Preston, Franklin Little, the bidding he’d done for the pack instead of putting Ella first. The reason he’d ended up with amnesia in the first place. And now it was time to take his life back. Take his wife back.
***** So whatever. She was impulsive. Fine. Label, label, label. The trouble with the truth was, it always revealed itself at the most inopportune time. You know, like when you were tied up in some crazy motherfucker’s closet while he ranted and raved? Her eyes darted to the door of the walk-in closet. The walk-in closet a.k.a. dream come true. While she should be panicked half out of her mind, she was too busy eyeing all the designer dresses and shoes to be very freaked out. Wow. Somebody was a lucky, lucky girl. Her nostrils flared. Holy shit. It was Barbie Whore’s closet. Yes, it was. Her scent was emblazoned in Ella’s memory. Had Marina tackled her, slapped some nasty-smelling cloth over her mouth and shoved her into her closet? No. Not a fucking chance. First, Marina was half the size of Ella in terms of height. Second, she was a human. No tiny human with big boobs and the face of an angel was responsible for hoisting her size-twelve ass over a shoulder and dumping her here. Clearly, whoever had grabbed her while she was digging around the woods on the other side of the fence didn’t know she was a werewolf. Because, oh look—there went the badly wrapped duct tape on her wrists with a stretch and a snap. Duct tape + werewolf = stupid kidnapper. Ella ripped it apart with ease, pissed that the sticky residue was stuck to her sweater.
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For the first time in days, she’d finally put on some cute clothes and now they were ruined with duct tape glue. The fucker had to pay. When she got her hands on the shit who’d taped her up and given her a black eye—the whoop-ass was on. Next she tore off the duct-tape on her mouth and around her ankles then rose to her haunches. She listened with her ear pressed to the closet door. Nothing. Okay. So in this case, maybe she should have listened to Morton. No sooner had she hopped over that fence and begun to explore, following her nose to a dreadful yet maddeningly recognizable scent, than she’d been knocked out cold. She cocked the closet door open and peered out the crack. Again, nothing. There was no light on in the opulent bedroom draped in tasteful moss-green silk and ivory. Ella slipped from the closet and dashed toward the bedroom door, once more stopping to listen. Now, outside the dream closet, the scent that had brought her here in the first place overwhelmed her. The instinct to follow it was innate. Her eyes scanned what she figured was Marina’s bedroom and landed on her own purse, scattered on the bed—with a broken strap. Damn. What a shitty thing to do. It was such a cute purse. A cute purse with, hopefully, her cute phone still inside. She dug around the interior until her fingers felt the rough bumps of her pink rhinestone phone cover. Sure enough, there it was. What kind of moron kidnapper left all of the hostage’s stuff out in the open? She was more convinced than ever. It was the kind of kidnapper who didn’t know he’d nabbed the wrong werewolf broad. Which meant this person felt safe enough to
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leave her in a closet while he did his evil bidding. It also meant the kidnapper could be back at any time. Shit. Grabbing her phone from the pretty bed, she jammed it into her back pocket and closed the closet door, making sure everything was mostly the way she’d found it. A quick survey of the room revealed a window seat with fluffy pillows. The window made for a surefire escape. Crossing the room, Ella peered out, that scent of desperation ever present. She flipped the window open with a quick snap and snuck out onto the roof, compelled to find out where the smell was coming from. Lying flat, Ella shimmied along the roof, scanning its line and row after row of shingles. Damn. This was some house—or estate, to be precise. The roof spanned almost farther than she could see. Sliding to an edge, she peered down. No one. Perfect. Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side and jumped to the ground with a soft grunt, landing on a terra cotta-colored patio with French doors, through which she could see clear to the monstrous entryway at the front of the house. Assessing her surroundings, she flared her nostrils again. Then put the back of her hand to her mouth and tried not to gag. What the hell was that smell? It was coming from around the huge kidney-shaped pool with the most perfectly trimmed flowering shrubs and green bushes Ella had ever seen. White twinkling lights graced bonsai trees now out of season, and enormous pots stuffed full of colorful mums that had survived the frost sat in groups amidst patio tables and chairs. She followed the stench, winding along the house, ducking behind arborvitaes and spindly rhododendrons, passing windows that went floor to ceiling.
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Ella stopped at the middle of the house and covered her mouth again, the smell was so overpowering. Amongst the fear and sorrow, she smelled something so distinctly familiar, it rooted her in place. What was that, God damn it? And why couldn’t she decipher it from everything else? And then a scraping noise, light and probably only audible to her sharp hearing, made her stop breathing. And again she heard it, persistent and grating in her ears. Ella rounded another corner, following the sound until she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in horror. Holy shit.
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Chapter Nine Ella fought for breath—fought to keep from dropping to her knees and screaming with rage as her eyes took in the horror on the other side of the basement window. Thinking, Ella, you’re always thinking. Think now, dummy—think fast! Morton—she’d call Morton. If she could just keep from being caught. Ella sank to the ground, making herself as small as she could against the concrete foundation of Marina’s house, and let her head fall to her arms, gasping for breath with ugly wheezes. Before she had the chance to pull her phone out of her back pocket, it vibrated against her ass. If it was one of the pack elders, calling to razz her about Crosby and his damn amnesia, she’d throw the fucking thing out. And then she’d move to a pack in Tibet where she was free to be herself. Sliding her finger over the screen, Ella realized it wasn’t a call at all, but a Twitter notification. She had like five followers, one of which was a Britney-bot. Who the hell was tweeting her now, of all times? Clicking on the app, she cocked her head at the Twitter message. It was from Hairofthedog. Long-lost Hairofthedog. The social-networking, cheating bastard. Where had he been when she’d been banging her brains out and could’ve used a distraction? Her eyes focused on the tweet. A tweet that, instead of making her do what it demanded, made her roll her eyes. Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Tell me where the hell u r?
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She cocked her head. Now? Really? Now he was suddenly, mysteriously available when all hell was about to break loose? Wasn’t that just like a man? Yet, even in the face of imminent danger, she was compelled to impulsively ask where the hell he’d been. EllaBelle: @Hairofthedog WTF? Where the hell have U been? Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Now isn’t the time to argue. Y r u always so mouthy? Pay attention. Where r u? EllaBelle: @Hairofthedog #Youreastupidhead She almost clicked off the phone to return to calling Mort, but it vibrated angrily. God damn it. Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Tell me where u r? I know ur not at the store. #dontbaPITA. Ella’s eyes grew wide. Who the hell? She craned her neck to take a look around, fear pumping through her veins. How did he know she wasn’t at the store? How the fuck did he know she’d gone to the store to begin with? There was obviously a connection here, though one she clearly wasn’t capable of making due to her fear of what lay beyond that basement window. Ella gulped and shoved a fist to her mouth when her phone vibrated again. Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle I need u to pay attention. If u r where I think u r, I’m going to take u over my knee. WHERE R U? Ella’s lips thinned even as her eyes peered into the darkness. It was like this person was watching her. Oh shit. Was he? Her stomach took a lurching nosedive. EllaBelle: @Hairofthedog I’m not telling u where I am. That’s careless, foolish social networking. #nodummyhere Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle Ella! This is Crosby! Tell me where u r NOW! That stopped her cold. Sure. It was Crosby. She almost laughed. Almost. Except… How the hell had Hairofthedog known to use Crosby’s name? 95
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A last frightened glance down at another incoming tweet, along with the scream of her name, were the last two things she saw and heard. Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle #DangerWillRobinsondanger! Okay. There were three things. The third being a roar so filled with rage it made her chin swing upward. Just in time to see a bat come hurtling at her head.
***** “Ella, honey,” someone crooned against her throbbing, tender head. “Wake up, sweetheart.” Oh no. If her eyes were closed, she didn’t have to acknowledge that she’d been nailed like some sissy in front of whoever wanted her to wake up. She sniffed, her nose pressing into a material she identified as leather. It was Crosby. In his old leather jacket. One he’d worn a million times before. This was so nice. For a change, he was tending to her… Hold up. What the fuck was Crosby doing at Marina Preston’s badass mansion? Propping one eye open, she fought to focus on his blurry image. It faded in and out while she squinted painfully. He ran a hand over her sore cheek, tracing the lump. “Wake up, Ella.” Someone pressed a cold compress to the side of her face and Crosby thanked them. She struggled to sit up and take in the sounds, but it made her dizzy. “Where are we, and what are you doing wherever we are? God. You just don’t listen. I told you to stay put, didn’t I?” She closed her eyes and mumbled her discontent, even if that discontent was sprinkled with joy that it was Crosby’s arms holding her. “Woman, pay attention. You scared the hell out of me. What were you thinking, coming here?” “Where exactly is ‘here’ and what do you know about ‘here’ anyway?”
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“Open your eyes, Ella.” With Crosby’s help, she sat upright and winced at the glare of floodlights bouncing off the dead grass of Marina’s football-field-sized backyard. The man she’d met with Marina, Franklin Little, sat on the ground in a corner, blood dripping from his nose, his lip fatter than a monster truck tire. “Why is that Franklin guy bleeding on Marina’s lawn?” “Because I beat the living shit out of him for hitting you.” “He hit me? I’ll kill him!” But then everything rushed her at once. What she’d seen before someone had knocked her out, creating a horrifying visual in her brain. Wolves—locked up in Marina’s basement. Weak, hungry, pacing, afraid and so neglected, it had torn a hole in her heart. Real, full-blooded wolves. So thin and undernourished, Ella might have mistaken them for dogs if not for their scents. Her nostrils flared for the hundredth time that night. There it was again. That one elusive scent she just couldn’t distinguish because the other aromas were so overpowering. She shook her head and closed her eyes at the sight of those same wolves now being led away by her pack members. Pack members who coaxed, spoke with gentle voices, encouraged the wolves to come with them. “What is this?” she asked from between lips that trembled. “This is Marina Preston’s house—or at least, it’s in her name. She doesn’t actually live here. She has a townhouse on the other side of Gordon’s Crest because she said after her father died, the house was too big and drafty to live in alone. Franklin Little, her guardian and supposed financial advisor, offered to look after the place.” “Franklin Little… He was with her when she came to Morton’s office.” “You met her?”
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Ella heard the disbelief in his tone and fought not to scream the word “YES” in his face. Being childish and petty served no purpose other than a quick fix to her pent-up resentments. This time, when she told him to take a hike, it would be all adult-like. And even though the very idea that he wouldn’t sit on the couch and watch Hoarders with her anymore hurt so deep, she’d do it in order to remain true to herself. Ella flapped a hand upward. “Hold on. Before we go any further and I kick your ass for not listening to me, how is it you remember everything about Marina and nothing about anything else?” Crosby’s handsome face changed from concerned to confident. “Oh, I remember everything now, Ella-Belle.” Several different emotions attacked her at once. The old Crosby was back, and while that was good news for the pack—not so good news for her. “So you have your memory back,” she said, her tone wooden and lifeless. But Crosby didn’t seem to pay much mind. He grinned the grin that had nearly driven her nuts for two weeks now. The playful, fun grin. “You bet I do.” Ella pushed past his arms and tried to stand. She had to get away from him now. Run from the pain of losing him again before it caught up with her. “Then I can find out everything I need to know about your girlfriend from Morton. I’ll make sure your stuff’s packed and ready to go for you.” Letting her head drop, she hid a rush of unbidden tears. “The hell you will,” he grated, gripping her arm and ushering her to a patio chair. “What you will do is sit down, shut that luscious mouth and listen to me.” “I used to love it when you were demanding. Right now? Not so much.” “Sit, Ella. Sit and listen.”
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Fine. It wasn’t like she could stand for long without wobbling anyway. But she wouldn’t listen to him drone the same lame story again. Nope. She dropped into the patio chair, facing Crosby. He grabbed it by the arms and dragged her as close to him as they could get, so close her knees were between his. His gaze pierced hers. “Marina Preston owns a lot of land.” “And clothes. Jesus. You should see the clothes she has. I hope when she goes to jail for harboring exotic wildlife, they have an estate sale. I’m in like Flynn.” Crosby placed a finger over her lips. “Listen,” he ordered, his own lips thinning in impatience. “She owns this land and the land running right up to the forbidden fence. She owns this house, too, among many, many houses and yachts and all sorts of islands. When Marina’s father Glenn Preston died, the pack decided to offer to buy this land in order to make room for more wolves—to create a bigger sanctuary and integrate with full-blooded wolves that were being ruthlessly hunted.” “How hospitable.” His dour expression clamped Ella’s mouth shut, but it didn’t keep her from childishly rolling her eyes. “But that was partially a setup.” “A setup?” “Yep. Morton got a lead on some fishy goings-on with a pack of full-blooded wolves no one has been able to locate for almost thirteen years now, and everything led back to Marina. Which made no sense—she was a kid when they went missing. So the pack decided to send me in to woo her into allowing us to take over her financials, so I could snoop around. What we couldn’t figure out was why Franklin Little was so opposed to it. We just couldn’t figure out why he’d even care who handled her money.” Ella clucked her tongue. “Wow. You’re a good wooer, huh? You wooed her so hard, she ended up on your lap in a rousing game of tonsil hockey.”
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He tugged at her ear and gave her an admonishing smile. “Listening. We’re still listening, honey.” She sank back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “In fact, Franklin was vehemently against it. But in the end, Marina held all the cards and because she’s of age, he didn’t have a choice in the matter. When I looked more closely at her assets, I found some serious glitches.” Ella’s shoulders shrugged. “Really? I didn’t see any glitches in her assets. They looked pretty perfect to me.” “Bitter is ugly on you, honey. Knock it off.” Ella rolled her eyes again and shut up. Bitter-schmitter. “Anyway, I brought it to her attention, and with her permission, I started to dig, all the while hoping to find something on this pack of wolves that she supposedly bought, knew of, whatever. In the meantime, we kept getting anonymous tips about inquiries into a foreign sale of exotics. Morton keeps a pretty close eye on anything suspicious when it comes to an illegal sale because, you know, we have to look out for our own. His contacts, albeit shady, are usually pretty solid. But back to Marina. It took a long time, and the process was tedious, but what I found out was that Franklin had been embezzling from her father, and now Marina, for years. Franklin Little is a douche bag of the highest order.” Maybe the clunk to her head was keeping her from connecting the dots because none of this made any sense, and it didn’t explain why kissing Marina didn’t deserve an explanation. “Okay, so how do wolves in her basement fit into all of this?” Crosby drew a finger along the length of her nose and smiled. “Marina had finally decided to sign over the deed to the land as well as let the firm handle every last cent of her money. She was going to tell Franklin the night I had my little accident—the night I was also going to tell her that Franklin was a prick and have him arrested for embezzlement. I set up a meeting with her at the estate, but she was late and wasn’t
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here when I arrived. I started looking around…and that’s when I saw what you saw tonight.” “The wolves.” Oh Jesus. The half-starved wolves. He nodded with a curt bob of his head, his eyes grim. “The wolves. Jesus Christ… I’m not sure what happened after that. I guess I was overwhelmed and I shifted—and couldn’t shift back. So I ran for pack territory to gather the council, but I didn’t make it before some human woman with a voice like a sonic boom, big purple curlers in her hair and whiskers on her chin nailed me when I tried to get through her backyard to the fence. Then the amnesia, yadda, yadda, yadda.” Sympathy flooded Ella and she almost let everything else go. “But the wolves. Why would Marina have them here, of all places?” “She didn’t. Franklin did, and he bought them with Marina’s money—which explained why he didn’t want anyone else but the crooked bastard he’d hired to handle her finances. It seems Franklin’s dealt in buying and selling all sorts of nefarious things with Marina’s money,” Crosby spat. Ella shivered. “Like exotic animals?” Crosby’s nod was curt, his face full of disgust. “Just like it. Anyway, this is what I found out just before my little accident. The pig who originally bought this particular pack illegally had grown weary of the expense and the novelty of owning wolves, giving Franklin the opportunity to swoop in and nab them cheap—which he did. Again, with Marina’s money and the help of her financial advisor, who was in cahoots with Franklin. “As neglected as the wolves were, Franklin swung himself a deal with the guy who just wanted to be rid of them. He stood to make a great deal of money if things went right. I assume, the plan was to resell them on the black market to foreign buyers who like to own exotics. I guess Franklin had them transferred here a few weeks ago to keep until he found the highest bidder. I didn’t know he’d housed them here until the night I
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was hit and I saw them myself. I can only thank God that shithead didn’t find any buyers while I had amnesia.” Sorrow swept over her, so swiftly she had to put her hand to her mouth to keep from gagging. It made sick sense. “Hide them in plain sight, right?” “Right. That leads me to Marina and her land. Marina was going to sign over the deed, but she wanted me here with her when she told Franklin the firm was taking over. She was afraid she’d hurt the freak’s feelings, but she still doesn’t know the full story. I was going to beat the location of the wolves out of him while we waited for the cops.” “But if she was ready to sign the deed, why didn’t she just say so even after you were clobbered?” Crosby gave her another confident, told-you-so look. “Because Franklin’s a total worm. I’m betting the night we were supposed to meet, when I didn’t show, out of some bizarre loyalty, Marina told him she was going to hand everything over to the firm and he dissuaded her. I suspect he used his friendship with her father to make her feel guilty and rethink her choice to use us. Seeing as I wasn’t around to counter, she didn’t sign the deed over. In fact, when you met up with her at the office, Franklin almost had her convinced she should sign power of attorney over to him. Thankfully, Morton talked her out of it. Marina’s young and impressionable, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Little. He’s known her all her life. That he betrayed her like this would cut her deep. Will cut her deep.” Understanding hit her like a freight train, and she shoved aside her anger about Marina for a moment. “So the pack needed Marina to sign over the deed to the land and you were all they had for leverage, but with your amnesia, they were screwed, right? So the deal came to a halt.” “That, and I’d also found the proof I needed to absolve Marina of any wrongdoing and pin Franklin with the purchase of illegal exotics. I left a message for Morton just before I came here that night, to tell him I thought I could find out where the wolves 102
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were, but then the accident happened. Morton couldn’t get anywhere with Marina without the info I’d found. That was why it was so urgent I regain my memory.” Everything made sense now. Except that kiss she’d seen Marina slather on her man. None of this absolved him from sticking his tongue down another woman’s throat. No matter how cute her Barbie Dream House was. “Well, I guess then everything’s good to go, right? Back to the pack business at hand.” She slapped her thighs and tried to rise. “I’m going to go see if I can help with the wolves. They’re probably freaked beyond freaky.” He waved a finger under her nose and shook his head, pointing to the patio chair. “Nuh-uh-uh. Sit. There’s more.” “After stolen wolves, what else is there? Giraffes?” “You know, I have to remind myself a lot that one of the reasons I’m so foolishly crazy about you is your humor. It’s a belly full of laughs when it’s directed at someone else.” He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose, clearly enjoying himself in this game of cat and mouse. She was waffling. Crosby was hardest to resist when he was sweet and endearing. “What does my razor-sharp wit have to do with what you did with Marina Preston, cad?” His eyes grew serious again, and his gaze was direct when he said, “What you saw that night, honey, wasn’t at all what it looked like.” “Very soap-opera-ish defense, honey,” she emphasized, narrowing her eyes to remind herself he wasn’t getting off that easy. “Marina was petrified to make a move away from Franklin. She’s never been on her own, but the one smart thing she decided to do was not end up like every other poor, little rich girl. So in order to continue courting her financials, and under pack orders, I agreed to her terms. Which was to explain every single thing her father owned from the inside out and spend as much time doing it as she needed me to.”
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Ella’s hand flew up in the air when realization hit her squarely between the eyes. “Hold on! So what you’re saying is, you couldn’t tell me about Marina because you were part of the deal?” He ran a hand over his hair and ruffled it. His smile was ironic. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. If I breathed a word about it, if even the smallest hint got out that we were not only buying that land, but Marina realized we were going to take out Little, it could have all fallen through. She trusts the prick—or she did until I came on the scene. I got her to agree to deal only with me, and it damn well wasn’t easy.” “Still doesn’t explain that kiss, Crosby. And it doesn’t explain why you couldn’t just tell me what was going on. That you let the pack interfere in our marriage so severely blows my mind.” “There’s more, punkin’.” “All of this is a real clusterfuck. I’m not sure I’m up for more. The kiss. Explain. Please.” “Marina’s a kid. She became a little bit enamored with me during the course of our dealings and the kiss was nothing more than a crush on her teacher.” Relief almost washed over. She so wanted to believe. “So she really did come on to you?” “She’s young, honey. Young and lonely. She’s been surrounded by people who are paid to look out for her best interests and shelter her from the big, bad world at large. But that’s not like having real friends or real encounters. She’s low on life experience, and when we approached her about selling that land—land she didn’t even know she owned—she sort of latched onto me. I let her because it was for the good of the pack. That kiss you saw totally caught me off guard. I was as surprised as you and after you skulked out of there, Marina and I had a long talk about not just the difference in our ages, but how impulsive and inappropriate it was for her to lay one on a married man. She’s just a kid.”
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Ella’s knees began to weaken. “Yeah? Well, she’s a pretty hot kid… You told her I was your assistant, Crosby.” “To keep her from going anywhere near you. Werewolf versus Pampered Princess, even if she is a pretty decent princess, would have only ended badly for Marina.” Yeah. True that. “So, why didn’t you just tell me what happened?” Crosby gave her a pointed look. “I did tell you. I told you nothing happened, and that was the truth.” She shook her head with vigor. And it hurt. So she stopped and gave him the eye. “Oh no. No fair! You didn’t expound on that. Never once did you say she was some rich heiress who held the key to those wolves’ freedom.” “You were the one person I most wanted to tell, Ella. But I couldn’t. I was under strict pack orders to keep my mouth shut. We couldn’t afford a leak. We couldn’t afford to lose track of Little and we couldn’t afford to lose track of something else. Something much bigger than you catching Marina in my lap.” “Is this the more-more part?” she asked, tired and achy and so desperately wanting to believe because she loved him so damn much. “It is. Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand. She put her hand in his and let him lead her to where the pack was loading the wolves into large trucks. Again, she smelled that familiar scent—a distant memory she just couldn’t quite grasp long enough to place and muddled by so much desperation. He put his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “See that wolf over there? The big gray one with his ribs poking out?” Ella winced and leaned back against Crosby’s chest. It hurt just to look at the poor animal. He was almost unrecognizable, with large patches of hair missing from his coat and his ribs outlined against his thin flesh. Her heart swelled with sympathy again. “I do. I hope the pack gives him a side of beef to fatten him up.” “You know what I hope?”
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“He shares his side of beef?” “No. That you’ll finally understand I didn’t keep this thing with Marina from you without a really good reason.” “And that is?” “That wolf right there? He’s your father.”
***** Ella curled into Crosby’s naked length, burying her nose in his neck. It had been a long night but her father was now safely with the pack, and though he hadn’t shifted yet, the hope was, with nourishment and proper care, he would soon. Her father. After all these years of wondering, praying and then finally accepting he was gone—he was here. At first she’d been unable to believe the wolf she’d seen tonight was her dad. He was worse than a former shadow of himself; in such bad shape, in fact, she’d had to touch him. Smell him up close in order to be convinced. But once she was close enough, Ella knew the scent she’d picked up, the one that had eluded her since the night she’d gone looking for Crosby, had been her father’s. “I can’t believe I didn’t know he was my father, Crosby. What kind of werewolf am I? How could I have missed it?” Crosby’s response was tender. “It was pretty hard to define, honey. And I had a tip to go on. So I was looking for him specifically. If I hadn’t already had a suspicion he was in the mix, I might have missed his scent, too, with all the other smells involved. Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?” Warmth and gratitude raced through her veins. It would be all right. Somehow, she just knew it would. And it was because of Crosby. “I love you.” So hard. So much. “After what just happened up in here, I should hope so.” He chuckled against the top of her head and gestured to the rumpled sheets. Regret for the time they’d lost, remorse for her angry judgments and the cruel words she’d spewed, ate her from the inside out. “I wish I had known, Crosby. I’m 106
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sorry. I’ll say it every day of our lives together if you want me to—even if you did let the pack come between us and our marriage.” He flipped them to their sides and spooned her, running his hand along her ribs. “I couldn’t tell you we thought that fuck had your father, honey.” He was right. So right. After the pack found out Franklin had purchased the wolves illegally, they’d also discovered at least two of the alleged wolves were shifters, forced to stay in were-form in order to hide. Her father was one of them. He’d been caught during a rescue effort twelve years ago and had been stuck ever since in order to stay hidden. When Crosby had gone to Marina’s house that night, he’d actually scented her father, and it was probably what pushed him into a shift. “I would have kept my mouth shut.” He growled in her ear, the purr making her shiver. “Hah. We both know that’s crap, honey. Know what the first thing you would’ve done was if you’d found out? Found a way to stick your nose in where it didn’t belong just like you did tonight. Jesus, Ella. You could have been killed. That fuck Franklin is crazy. We knew he’d stop at almost nothing to sell those wolves. We also had to find out where he had them hidden—we just couldn’t figure it out until I did by mistake. You in the middle of that, with the possibility your father was amongst those full-bloods, would have been disastrous.” Her eyes filled with tears again but she wiped them away. “IknowIknowIknow. I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know he was harboring werewolves? It’s like claiming Lola has white tigers and Penn and Teller in her attic. I just had to figure out what that smell was.” Tugging at her nipple, Crosby admonished even as his hands loved her. “You weren’t just tracking that smell. You were fishing for info on Marina Preston.” Okay. Guilty. She squirmed up against him, feeling totally guilt-free about being naked with him for the first time since his accident. “But after all the months of 107
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subterfuge and late nights, and close-mouthed bullshit, not to mention the happy-golucky amnesiac you were, I needed to know what was going on. Each day got harder and harder when I knew if you finally remembered, we’d be right back to a very bad place. I just wanted to get it over with so I didn’t have to keep torturing myself.” “Morton told me you agreed to be my nurse so the pack would grant you a divorce. Is that true?” Ella took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t let what happened go. I thought maybe a fresh start would help me forget.” His grip tightened on her when he slid his hand to her waist. His words were hushed and solemn. “The pressure of the whole mess was killing me. Add in the fact that Marina took to me like a duck to water, and I was doing almost nothing but holding her hand the entire way while we made this deal, and trying to figure out what Franklin was up to, stressed me out to the point where keeping my mouth shut was the only way to keep you out of danger. I think we both know if I kept explaining away all those late nights, and I added Marina to the mix, you would have come looking.” Her sigh was dreamy and light when his fingers caressed the outside of her thigh. “I sort of did.” This time, Crosby chuckled. “Like I could forget? It was me who came home and found every last thing I owned outside on the front lawn, wasn’t it?” She kissed her way along his forearm, willing her lips to heal the wounds she’d inflicted. “I’m sorry. Swear I’ll buy you more clubs. You were trying to save my father. You found my father, Crosby. Nothing, absolutely nothing can ever make up for the stress I caused you because you were looking after me.” Lifting her chin, he turned her head to face him. “I think there are some things that might come close.” Ella flipped back over, nose-to-nose, kissed his lips soundly and smiled, filled with relief and love—more love than she could ever express. “Anything. Absolutely anything.” 108
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Crosby wiggled his eyebrows. “Ménage?” “Fuck you.” He laughed, deep and hearty. “That’ll work too.” Without another word, Ella slid along Crosby’s chest, trailing her tongue across his abdomen, finding the ridges of each of his hard abs along the way until she reached the head of his cock. He drove his hands into her hair, cradling her head close to his skin and hissing when she finally drew his cock into her mouth, engulfing him deeply. She swirled her tongue over each vein, licked at the heat he emanated, smiled to herself when he wrapped a thigh around her back and arched into her with a forceful press upward. His hot moan filled her with pride, his hard hands drove her insane when he dragged her away from his cock and pulled her back to the top of the bed. Rolling, she was back on her side again and pulled forcefully back against his length. He wound her hair in his hand and tugged it so her back bowed, forcing her ass to settle at his cock. She lifted her thigh willingly, wrapping it around his calves, and when Crosby entered her, knowing she was his wife renewed her connection to him—sealed her fate. She was Crosby’s, and he said as much as he drove into her passage, slick and swollen. “This,” he husked, slipping his hand between the lips of her wet pussy, “is mine. Never forget you’re mine, Ella. Never.” “Never!” She gasped out the word, rocking against him, placing her hand over his, the hand that so expertly rubbed her clit. They climaxed simultaneously, in the explosive chemistry they couldn’t help but create when they were together. Her orgasm was long and sweet, mingled with a completion she hadn’t felt in months, and as they rode it out, Ella clung to her mate. His chest crashed against her back, hers hitched in jerky upward motions. Crosby gripped her shoulders and kept her tight against him. “Jesus.”
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“Yeah. Him,” she said on a raspy chuckle, finally expressing a thought that had niggled at her since he’d saved her from Little. “So when did you get your memory back, mister?” “The night before last.” “And you didn’t tell me, why?” “Because I couldn’t get away from you, Nurse Ratched. I had to have the proof in hand before I was going to tell you anything. I wanted to be sure Little was taken care of and your father was safe before I ever opened my mouth. Besides, our bed is really comfortable. My office couch? Not so much. No way in hell was I going back to sleeping on that piece of plywood before I at least got a word in edgewise in my defense.” More remorse for time lost reared its ugly head, twisting her heart. “I missed you, Crosby Nash.” He pulled out and rolled her over, his green eyes dark with emotion when they captured hers. He ran a tender hand down the side of her cheek. “I missed you, too, Mrs. Nash. Don’t ever do that again. It blew.” “I hated every second,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around him, her hands caressing his broad back. “Really? I had some seconds that weren’t so bad,” he teased against her lips, reaching over her head to grab his phone. His fingers flew over the keys in a text. “Really? Maybe you might want to relive those seconds back at your office then?” she answered, sugary-sweet. “It’s a pretty nice office.” “Oh yeah? Do you think you could live there for the rest of your life?” “Without you?” “Well, why would I live at your office when I have satellite TV and a big sunken tub right here? Yeah, without me, Crosby Nash.”
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Honey, I Shrunk the Werewolf!
“Oh. Then forget it, Ella Stills–Nash.” “Good answer,” she cooed against his mouth, loving the freedom to indulge in his lips whenever she wanted from now on. “The only answer.” “Yeah,” she said on a deep sigh of satisfaction. “The only one.” Her phone beeped and she groaned, arching her neck into the kisses he was trailing over her flesh. “Maybe you should answer that, honey?” She shook her head in an absolute no. “No. I just want to be in this bed with you.” “But what if it’s important—maybe it’s about your dad.” She was up in a shot, grabbing her phone and sliding it open. “No. Not my dad. It’s just a stupid tweet.” “But maybe it’s an important tweet.” Oh—he knew about Hairofthedog. Shit. “Look, let me explain Hairofthedog. I was just hoping to move forward because I was sure you were more interested in Barbie and her Dream House and Corvette. I was convinced the pack was making you stay with me, and I didn’t want that.” Crosby smiled wide. “Look at the tweet, honey.” “Are you going to yell? Because I’d deserve it.” “Just look.” She scrolled down to the message and paused, her breath caught in her throat. Hairofthedog: @EllaBelle I love you, Ella. And then it all came together in a rush of warmth settling deep in her heart. The tweets when she was at Marina’s and the confession that he was her Twitter-fair. She’d forgotten all about that after Franklin had clobbered her and the subsequent revelations. “You were Hairofthedog all this time? You?”
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His grin was crooked. “Well, you wouldn’t talk to me, so I thought I’d talk to you. I found you on Twitter and started doing just that.” “So that’s where you were for two weeks? With me?” she asked on a giggle. “Damn it, Crosby. I thought I’d been dumped again. Good thing you’ve got all that expert lovemaking on your side, or I’d clunk you on your head again. Not funny, mister.” Hauling her over top of him, he nipped her jaw. “Know what’s funnier?” “Can’t think of anything right now.” “I was, in my amnesiac state, jealous of myself.” Her head fell back and her guffaw was loud. “All that gushing I did about his tweets… Omigod. I can’t believe it was you.” Crosby plucked the phone from her hand and chucked it to the end of the bed. “It will always be me, Ella. Always.” Pulling him tightly to her, she bobbed her head before falling into his embrace. ”It’ll always be you, Crosby. Always,” she whispered back, putting all her heart and soul into her words. And it was from that day on. Crosby and Ella. Always. The End
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About the Author Dakota Cassidy lives for a good laugh in life and in her writing. In fact, she almost loves a good giggle as much as she loves hair products, and that’s saying something. Her goals in life are simple, (like really simple): banish the color yellow forever; create world peace via hot rollers and Aqua Net; and finally, nab every tiara in the land by competing in the Miss USA, Miss Universe and Miss World pageants, then sweeping them in a stunning trifecta of much duct tape and Vaseline usage, all in just under one week. Oh, and write really fun books! Dakota lives in Texas with her two sons, her mother, more cats and dogs than the local animal shelter, and she has a husband who puts the heroes in her books to shame.
Dakota welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Dakota Cassidy Blood Lite F.M.P. Society
Print books by Dakota Cassidy Lady Jaided’s Virile Vampires anthology
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