Werewolf in Manhattan Read online

  “I appreciate that,” Aidan said. “It’s good to have contacts in an unfamiliar city.”

  “I know all the good places for music and dancing.” She gave him a coy look. “I’ll bet you’re a good dancer.”

  “Actually, I’m a little rusty.”

  Emma hid a smile. Rusty, indeed. He could melt an iceberg with his dance moves.

  “I’d be glad to help you get back into it.” Terry’s expression was hopeful.

  “It’s a nice thought, but I’ll be pretty busy helping Emma get through the book tour. Thanks, anyway.”

  “Okay, but let me know if you change your mind. With all those long hours, I hope she pays you well.”

  Emma almost choked.

  “She does,” Aidan said gravely.

  “Guess I’ll take off.” Terry didn’t move.

  Emma decided she was supposed to be in charge, so she stood. “We have to leave, too, Aidan. If you’ll arrange for the car, I’ll say goodbye to the bookstore manager before we leave.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Aidan all but saluted as he walked away.

  Terry sighed as she watched him go. “You are so lucky to have him.”

  “I am. Gay men make the absolute best assistants.”

  Terry’s eyes rounded. “He’s gay?”

  “You couldn’t tell?”

  “God, no! My gaydar must not be working at all, because I thought he was totally straight!” She shook her head. “Bummer. Well, good luck with the rest of your book tour.”

  “Thanks.” Emma watched to make sure Terry left the area before she began gathering her coat, purse, and the remaining bookplates. As she was wondering if she should call Aidan to check on his whereabouts, her phone chimed.

  When she read the text message, she laughed.

  Is she gone?

  Yes.

  We R at main door. Need me?

  She hesitated only a second while she entertained the idea of needing Aidan. She probably did need him, in many ways. But she wouldn’t indulge. She texted him back. No. B rt there.

  “Sold out of books, huh?”

  She turned. Standing about ten feet away was a tall, angular young man. His shaggy black hair needed a trim, and his jeans and grey sweatshirt looked as if they’d been pulled from the hamper instead of a dresser drawer.

  A squiggle of uneasiness settled in her tummy. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” She still had her phone in one hand. Feeling a little foolish in case she was wrong, she tapped Aidan’s number.

  “Guess it doesn’t matter.” The young man approached. “I met Terry coming out of the store and she showed me what you wrote. But looks like I get to meet you, anyway.”

  “So you’re Theo.” She prayed the phone picked that up. She didn’t dare take her eyes off him to check for other people around. It was late, and the bookstore had mostly emptied out. Her peripheral vision told her no one was in the immediate vicinity.

  “That’s me.” He smiled, and his teeth looked very white, and very sharp.

  She wondered if he’d gone so far into the fantasy that he’d filed them into points. She kept telling herself he was only a nineteen-year-old kid, but she hadn’t factored in his height, about six-two, or the predatory look in his dark eyes.

  He could be a nice-looking guy if he’d bothered with his appearance, but his careless grooming combined with those wicked-looking teeth sent shivers down her spine.

  He stepped closer. “Did you get my emails?”

  “So you’re the one who sent those.”

  “Affirmative, sweet thing.”

  Her skin crawled, but she kept her tone polite. “I’m glad you like my books. But they’re pure fantasy. As we all know, there’s no such thing as werewolves.” Her laughter sounded about as nervous as she felt.

  “Are you sure about that?” He held up a hand, a very hairy hand.

  “Amazing what a little spirit glue and fake hair can do, isn’t it?” She willed Aidan to show up now. She didn’t care if he claimed to be her assistant, her fiancé, or the mayor of Chicago, just so he used his well-sculpted body to put the fear of God into this weird person who was trying to convince her he was a werewolf.

  “This isn’t fake.” Theo held up his other hand, which was also covered with black hair. “Give me another couple of minutes and I—hang on.” He sniffed the air. “Gotta go.” Moving with astounding agility and grace, he slipped away down one of the aisles.

  He’d been gone about two seconds when Aidan arrived, panting. “Missed him. Damn it. Wait here.” Without asking her which way Theo had run, he turned away and scanned the various escape routes. Then damned if he didn’t sniff the air the same way Theo had before taking off down the same aisle Theo had used to escape.

  Emma wondered if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. The kid had looked somewhat unwashed, but she hadn’t been able to actually smell him. Maybe Aidan was sniffing because he was coming down with a cold. If so she needed to keep away from him, because catching a cold in the middle of her book tour would be hell.

  She did as she was told, though, and waited by the signing table for him to come back.

  After about ten minutes, he did, but he didn’t look happy. “He got away, probably had a car waiting outside, maybe even Terry’s. I can’t believe I missed seeing him come into the store.”

  “I’m sure there are lots of people out on the street, Aidan.”

  He gazed at her. “I just should have seen him, that’s all. It’s part of my job, and I wasn’t doing it effectively.”

  She took a deep breath. “Well, he’s gone, and that could be the end of it. I hope it is.”

  “I hope so.” Aidan didn’t sound convinced. “Give me your coat. We need to get out of here.”

  “Okay.” She allowed him to help her with her coat. After dealing with Theo she wanted to snuggle against him as he slipped it over her shoulders. “I was planning to say goodbye to the bookstore manager.”

  “You can send a note.” He put his hand at the small of her back and urged her forward. “I’ll feel better once we’re locked inside the Palmer House.”

  “So will I. Theo is seriously whacked, Aidan. He’s glued fake hair to the backs of his hands and I don’t know if he’s filed his teeth, but they look really wicked.”

  Aidan cursed softly under his breath.

  “Do you think we should notify the police?” Emma asked as they hurried through the store. “I haven’t wanted to do that, but the kid may be a danger to himself and others…well me.”

  “I’m not sure what the police could do. At this point he hasn’t actually threatened you, and you do, after all, write about werewolves. He could say he was just playing along the way readers of vampire books show up wearing black capes and fangs.”

  “You’re right.” She saw the Town Car and Barry standing with the back door open for her. What a welcome sight. She wanted to run forward and fling herself inside the safety of the car, but she forced herself to walk. “Hello, Barry.”

  “Hello, Emma.” He glanced at Aidan. “Catch him?”

  “No, he got away.”

  “Damn.”

  “My thoughts, exactly.” Aidan climbed in after Emma. “I thought about having sandwiches ready for you, but then I decided you might not want to juggle a hot pastrami on rye in downtown Chicago traffic.”

  She buckled herself in, but her thoughts were focused on the hot pastrami and rye. “Was that sandwich suggestion a lucky guess or have you been talking to someone who knows me?”

  “Uh, Jenny might have mentioned that you liked those. Or it was in that interview I read.”

  “You must have read that interview with a highlighter.” She settled back in the plush leather seat. Her conscience didn’t even prick her at the luxury of it. She was safe, and after the encounter with Theo, that seemed more important than class distinctions and squandering of resources.

  “I’ve followed your career with great interest.”

  She turned her head to look at him. �
��Apparently so. I still don’t quite get it, though. I’m not putting down what I do, but usually it appeals to women who love the idea of an alpha male.”

  He glanced over at her and smiled. “I’ll be happy to explain what I like about your books over dinner. I can call the hotel and get them started on a room service order. Do you want the hot pastrami or something else? Steak? Lobster?”

  She thought about it and couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for a big meal at this hour. It was almost ten and she had to be up at seven. “The sad thing is that with all the running, I’m not really hungry anymore. Maybe just some cheese and crackers, stuff to nibble on.”

  “Wine? Champagne?”

  Oh, what the hell. She was in the company of a man who was so wealthy he wore an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar watch. “Champagne gives me a headache, but if you’ll choose a really good red wine, I’d like that. I won’t drink much, but I’m a little tense and that should relax me.”

  “You’ve got it.” He tapped a number into his phone and gave some instructions to someone.

  She heard the name of the wine, some high-priced brand she vaguely remembered from a movie. It probably cost several hundred dollars a bottle. She didn’t want to know. It would be wonderful, as everything connected to Aidan was wonderful.

  When he returned to New York and she flew on to Denver, the party would be over. For now, she was still doing research. At some point she should write down the name of the wine so she could use it in a book.

  Aidan muted his phone. “One more question, Emma.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They offered to run the water in the Jacuzzi for you. What do you say?”

  She ached all over from the constant pressure of being sociable for hours. She was essentially a hermit, but a book tour required her to be on much more than she was used to. For a few seconds she thought of all that water, all that electricity needed to heat the water, and how very wasteful a Jacuzzi tub was compared to a quick shower.

  She should really take a quick shower instead. But that wouldn’t help her with her research. “I say that sounds great,” she said. “But just to be clear, you can’t join me.”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He might not, but she would.

  Chapter Ten

  An hour later, Aidan paced the living room of the penthouse while he talked to Roarke. He’d ditched his suit jacket and rolled back the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Emma was deep into her Jacuzzi experience and had her cheese tray and a bottle of Lafite Rothschild in there with her.

  He doubted she’d be popping out to hear his conversation. Still, he kept his voice down.

  Roarke, who had no such restraints on him, was yelling into his phone. “You’re an idiot!”

  “Not according to my test scores.”

  “Which are nullified by your testicles, apparently. I knew you had solid brass ones, but this is arrogance taken to the max!”

  “Calm down, Roarke.”

  “Here I thought we had an understanding, and then I check with Dad and find out you’re on the damned tour with her, after all! What’s wrong with you, bro?”

  “When it turned out to be a Henderson, I thought that I’d be the best one to—”

  “Fuck it up? That’s my analysis of the situation, for what it’s worth. You were thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy. You’re in the penthouse of the Palmer, aren’t you?”

  “It’s safe.” He stared into the flames of the gas fire dancing on the marble hearth. The lit fire was part of the turn-down service. “I figured if it’s good enough for the President of the United States, then it’s got enough security for my purposes.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure security is the main appeal.”

  “Absolutely.” Aidan glanced around at the sleek penthouse furnishings predominated by a black and white color scheme. There weren’t enough plants to suit him, but otherwise, it worked. The windows presented a view of city lights and snow that had just begun to drift down in big, fat flakes.

  “Ha. I stayed there once, and the Jacuzzi is all gilt and mirrors. Is she in it yet?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I hope to hell you have the good sense to stay out of there.”

  “I will.” He’d been trying not to think of Emma naked in that Jacuzzi. The maid had lit about twenty candles in the room and Emma had been entranced. She hadn’t been able to change into the hotel robe fast enough.

  “You step one foot in there, Aidan, and you know what will happen. And worse yet, if for some reason you get interested and nothing comes of it, you have that little genetic problem to deal with.”

  Aidan blew out a breath. “You don’t have to remind me. I’m fully aware that I have that problem and you don’t, dickhead.”

  “At least you’re only a couple of blocks from the park in case you start shifting and have to work it off.”

  Aidan’s slight disability was a sore spot, and Roarke knew that, damn him. Aidan was older, but Roarke was free of that particular gene, and he liked to flaunt the fact. “Roarke, let me ask you something.”

  “No, I have never slept with Britney Spears. She wanted to but I said no.”

  “It’s not about your sex life which I find vastly boring. It’s about your watch. How much do you think Dad paid for it?”

  “Close to a mil, I guess. Why? Jealous?”

  “You know a family could get a really nice house or a great condo for the same price as that watch.”

  Roarke sighed. “That’s not the point. Fine craftsmanship is disappearing, but it still exists in some areas, like watch making, for example. You could argue that watch making is an art form. Your watch and mine are like one of the Renoirs or Picassos the family owns, except we can wear it, which is actually more useful than something that hangs on the wall.”

  “I suppose.” Aidan had been debating the watch question all day, but he felt better, now.

  “Artisans who make things like intricate watches and intricate blown glass and…”

  “Fine wines?” Aidan asked hopefully. He’d just dropped a bundle on the one Emma was drinking in the Jacuzzi, and in case she saw the bill at some point, he wanted to be ready with a justification.

  “Absolutely. Fine wines, and precision automobiles, and sleek yachts. These artisans need patrons, just like in the Renaissance. Without people like Dad and Mom supporting them, the artisans of the world would have to abandon their years of apprenticeship and dig ditches.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “Maybe not ditches, but you get the idea. Without patrons, many amazing creations wouldn’t exist. It’s our duty to make sure the culture continues in all its facets.”

  “Thanks. You’re the scholar, so I figured you’d be the one to give me the rationale.”

  Roarke chuckled. “I take it Emma disapproves of your watch.”

  “We had a discussion about it.”

  “Discussions are good, bro. That means you’re not getting horizontal. Keep it in your pants, okay?”

  “That’s always been the plan.” Aidan didn’t appreciate being lectured to by his younger brother, and it was becoming something of a habit with Roarke.

  “I don’t have to tell you that Dad’s nervous about the relationship between the Wallace and the Henderson packs.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Oh, and I’m pretty sure Nadia knows you’re in Chicago. You’ll need to at least pay a quick social call.”

  “When am I supposed to do that?”

  “Maybe Sunday, before you fly back.”

  Aidan groaned. “I’ll do my best.” His attention veered from the phone call as Emma padded out into the living room carrying a balloon glass full of the Lafite Rothschild in one hand and the half-empty bottle in the other. She was all pink skin and gold ringlets, and she was smiling.

  “This is great wine, Aidan,” she said.

  “Later, Roarke.” He disconnected the phone and turned to Emma.
“Glad you like it.”

  “I’m not even going to ask you how much it was.”

  “Good, because making wine is an art that needs to be supported by those who have the means.”

  “I guess.” She walked over to one of two sofas that faced each other in front of the fireplace. The sleek Scandinavian design was covered in black leather. “In any case, I started feeling guilty drinking it all by myself. I’m sure this penthouse must have another wine glass somewhere.”

  “I would imagine it does.”

  She held out the bottle. “Then have some with me. I discovered I don’t really want to drink alone.”

  He could imagine what Roarke would say about that plan, but Aidan thought he could handle it. Whatever the maid had added to the water in the Jacuzzi clung to Emma’s skin, disguising her scent. “I’ll get a glass.”

  Having wine wasn’t the worst idea in the world in another way. He walked into the large dining room and over to a cabinet where several goblet choices hung by their stems. Alcohol tended to mute his genetic problem, so he might actually become less aroused by sharing the wine with her.

  Then he came back to find her curled up on the end of the sofa nearest the fireplace, her bare feet tucked under her and the hotel robe representing the only barrier to touching her warm body. His chest began to itch.

  But he had the goblet in his hand and changing his mind now would make him seem indecisive. He shouldn’t care what she thought of him, but…he cared more than he wanted to admit.

  Now he had to decide where to sit. Roarke would advise him to choose the sofa opposite her, which put a brass and glass coffee table plus a couple of heirloom quality vases between them. But Aidan figured that would make him seem like a coward, and besides, the wine bottle was on her side of the coffee table.

  So he walked over to where she was sitting, eased down onto the smooth leather at the opposite end of the sofa, and reached for the wine bottle. He must have been paying more attention to the slight gap in her robe than what he was doing, because he bumped the wine bottle instead of grabbing it, and it started to go over.