Claimed By the Wolf (BWWM Erotic Paranormal Romance) (The White Wolf Billionaire Book 1) by Candi Jackson
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Sitting in the dim, overcrowded bar, I began to regret my decision. It seemed like a lot of people had also thought to come out and get warm with some alcohol. That would have been great, except most of them looked like the kind of folks I didn’t want anything to do with: shifty old men in coats with collars turned up to their ears. A couple women here and there, chatting and checking out the options. They looked as disappointed as I felt. Well, they were welcome to the old guys. No, thanks!
I sighed and tipped back my whiskey sour. I’d been nursing it, but the ice had long since melted in the too-warm bar, and honestly, I was getting bored. Might as well go home and be bored in my bed.
I’d hoped to find a different bed to land in tonight, someone to take my mind off things, but it was shaping up to be one hell of a bad day. Why had I thought this would go any differently?
I slapped my empty glass on the bar and dropped a couple quarters after it. The bartender glanced at them, then at me, and raised an eyebrow. Shame rippled through me. I wasn’t a cheapskate. I really wasn’t. I wanted to leave more, I did, but this was more than I should even be spending right now, what with rent and bills due next week.
Shaking my head and wondering why I’d ever thought this was a good idea, I reached for my coat.
“Get the lady another of whatever she just had.” The voice was deep, masculine, baritone, and sent shivers up my thighs. Delicious shivers.
What?
I swiveled around on my stool, coat forgotten. My eyes landed on a man who had picked up my empty glass and was studying the dark plum lipstick print on it. Then he turned to me, and an electric shock shot through my entire body.
Beautiful wasn’t even the right word for this man. He looked like a Michelangelo statue come to life and dressed in a gunmetal-gray Versace suit. An Adonis! His thick yellow hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, revealing a jaw so strong, it might have been chiseled out of stone, and oh, God, those cheekbones! Perfectly tanned skin stretched over them, lush and clean-shaven, making me long to run my fingers over his face. He could have stepped right out of an ad for a beach resort, especially with those huge blue-green eyes. Like windows onto the ocean, I thought, licking my lips. Growing up in New Jersey, I loved the ocean. I quivered as those amazing eyes wandered casually over me, taking in every inch of my curvaceous coffee-with-cream body, my generous hips, even the hint of my nicely rounded booty spread over the barstool.
I couldn’t stop the flood of pictures that rushed through my head, showing me just how nicely I would fit against that tall, muscular frame. I couldn’t stop imagining my fingertips stroking the chest hair that would be just the right amount, not a forest and not bare like a boy’s. This was a man, after all, and what a man!
A remote corner of my brain nudged me. He looked familiar, but why?
Then he spoke, and I forgot everything else but that mouth. Those plump lips that formed perfect words. “Thanks.”
What was he thanking me for? My insides turned to jelly. I hadn’t done anything—yet.
It took me a second to remember we were in a bar and that he had just ordered me a drink. My mouth had gone so dry. Without looking, I reached out for the fresh glass.
The bartender took the tenner Adonis tossed at him and glanced back at me. I could see his knowing grin, but I ignored it. What did I care what he thought?
Adonis sat down next to me, and instantly I forgot about the bartender. There was only this impossibly gorgeous man with his butter-and-woman-melting voice. “You know, I almost didn’t come out tonight, but something told me I should.”
I made myself glance around the bar. Versace suit, gold earring, tasteful tattoo at the collarbone. “This doesn’t really seem like your kind of scene.” Where had I seen him before?
“Not so much, no,” he agreed. “But every so often, I get a hunch, and I’ve learned to follow my hunches. They lead me on adventures, you know.” He winked. “Today that hunch led me to you.”
I almost melted right there. “Me?”
He held out a business card. “My name’s Grant. Grant Beal.”
I took the card, then shook his hand firmly. It was so warm and strong . . . “I’m Zenobia Jones.”
“Zenobia.” My name in Grant’s mouth sounded like a promise. He reached forward and gently rubbed a thumb over the corner of my mouth. “I like your lipstick,” he said. “I think I’d like it even more if I were kissing it off you.”
I froze. No, that was the wrong word. Everything inside me was liquefying, dissolving. I felt like a volcano about to blow. “G-Grant Beal?” I repeated, trying to ignore what he’d said. Grant Beal. Why did I know that name?
I glanced down at the business card. My eyes flew wide open. “Holy crap, you’re the guy who owns American Western Oil!”
“That’s right,” he said, sounding a little disappointed. He looked over at a couple other men in suits I hadn’t noticed until now. One of them was flashing some sort of signal. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I let him help me into my coat, all the while trying to believe this was actually happening. As we walked out, I noticed the other women staring at me with envy and admiration. “You go get ’im!” one mouthed.
Oh, I would, I thought dreamily, Grant’s hand guiding me out of the bar. I absolutely would.