“Really?” Bracken leaned back. “Shit.”

Zander shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the discomfort caused by his half-hard cock pressing against his fly. It had begun rising to attention at the sight of her legs and was showing no sign of easing. Maybe if her voice wasn’t like a fucking stroke to his senses, it would.

“Any idea what she witnessed?”

Zander shook his head. “I couldn’t make out much of what was said.”

A skimpy redhead appeared at their table, smiling widely. She slapped down two coasters and then set the beer bottles on top of them. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked, her smile suggestive.

Picking up his beer, Zander took a long swig, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat, hoping the shock of the cold would make his dick settle down.

“We’re good,” Bracken told the waitress. Once she was gone, he eyed Zander curiously. “It’s not like you to turn away from a redhead.”

“You say it like I’m a slut.”

“No, that’s Marcus—or it was, before he mated Roni. But you didn’t even give the redhead an appreciative glance. I’m just saying, that’s not like you.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

“No.”

“Then let’s just end it.” Zander put down his beer. He wasn’t the only one to groan as the jukebox replayed the last song for the sixth time.

“Who keeps choosing that damn song?” one guy complained, holding a cue tight, as if imagining whacking the culprit over the head. That might have been why no one owned up to it.

The place was getting more and more crowded, but Zander’s wolf seemed more curious about the people and his surroundings than bothered by how packed it was.

A door creaked open, and then Gwen was striding out of the kitchen with a tray of steaming food. And, yeah, Zander’s eyes dropped to those legs that shouldn’t be legal.

Moving straight to their table, she set down their plates and a platter of nachos with dips. “Here you go.”

Just like that, his wolf mysteriously backed away again. Zander barely resisted the urge to grind his teeth. “Everything all right?”

She blinked. “Yeah, of course.”

“Looked like you were having an argument with your sister’s fiancé.”

“Gwen, I got a challenge for you here!” someone called out.

Zander turned to see a guy in the pool-hall section standing near a high-topped table where glasses and bottles rested, gesturing for Gwen to come over.

Mouth curving, Gwen rolled her eyes. “Enjoy your meal.” At that, she walked to the guy. A quiet fell over the pool hall, and people gathered to watch whatever was about to happen next.

“You got a challenge for me, Harry?”

“I don’t care how good you are. There’s no way you’ll pot that.” Harry pointed at the black ball on the pool table. “I’ve looked at it from every possible angle. It can’t be done.”

Gwen smiled. “It can always be done, Harry.”

He put a wad of bills on the side of the pool table. “You pot that black, it’s yours.”

She shook her head sadly. “Why do you want to give your money away?”

Harry just grinned. “I’m telling you, this will break your perfect record.”

Money changed hands, and Zander watched as Gwen circled the pool table like a predator, utterly focused on the two remaining balls on the table. Finally, she stopped and held out her hand. Harry passed her his cue, and she scraped the tip with a cube of blue chalk.

She stretched across the table and lined up the cue stick to the white ball. Damn if she didn’t look good bent over like that. Zander wasn’t the only one to take a moment to admire her ass.

Everyone seemed to hold their collective breath as, eyes narrowing, she aimed and took her shot. The white ball crashed into the side of the table, bounced over to the other side, hit the bottom of the table at a diagonal angle . . . and clipped the edge of the black ball, which then slowly rolled into a pocket.

Cheers went up and people clapped.

She grabbed the wad of bills and turned to Harry. “It almost feels like stealing.”

With an affectionate smile, Harry waved a hand. “One day there’ll be a shot you can’t make.”

“Sure, sure,” she said, stuffing the bills in her back pocket.

“A master at pool, huh?” said Bracken. “My kind of girl. What are you glaring at me for? Just because your wolf doesn’t like her doesn’t mean that I can’t.”

Zander took another drink of his beer. “He doesn’t dislike her; he’s just wary of her.”

“Isn’t that pretty much the same thing?”

“No.” He thumped his bottle down on the table. “Now let’s fucking eat.” He turned his attention to his meal, but he kept an eye on Gwen: observing her, studying her, assessing her . . . and, yeah, ogling her legs. His wolf watched her just as carefully, still cautious, and—for the life of him—Zander couldn’t work out why.

“Zander.”

He snapped awake at the whisper in his ear. There was no one there. Well, of course there was no one there. Blinking, he picked up his phone and swiped his thumb across the screen to check the time. Seven thirty in the morning. He’d always been an early riser, so his body’s clock had obviously woken him. Obviously. It happened often and—

The balcony door was open.

Suddenly alert, he slowly slid out of bed. There was no one in the room—he’d smell them if there were. Yet, he didn’t feel alone. And he knew for sure that he’d locked the damn balcony door.

He silently padded onto the balcony, stepping into the humid air. There was no one.

Hearing muttering, he looked down to see an Aston Martin parked outside. Nice car. But something about the guy who was standing beside it, talking on his cell phone, raised Zander’s hackles. Or maybe it was the draft that came from behind him and brushed over his nape. He already knew before he glanced over his shoulder that no one would be there.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, refusing to acknowledge any of the weird shit going on. His focus was on the shady-looking guy outside. A guy who was now walking toward the house, a determined expression on his face. He was probably a new guest arriving, but said guest was setting off Zander’s inner alarms. Maybe he should go down there and find out why.

CHAPTER FOUR

Having finished their pancakes, Gwen and Marlon cleaned up their mess so they could prepare breakfast for the guests. The kitchen was pretty spacious, with oak cabinets, a large pantry, stainless-steel appliances, and the wooden island in the center.

As she swept the crumbs from the counter into her hand, careful not to drop any on the tiled floor, Yvonne walked in.

“Morning, darlings.” Yvonne beamed. “Where’s Donnie?”

“He came by a half hour ago,” said Marlon. “I offered him breakfast, but he said he was still stuffed from the squirrel he snacked on last night. He went to his cabin.”

“Well, of course he ate a squirrel as a late-night snack,” said Yvonne drily. “Who doesn’t?” She sighed. “I need to speak with him. I shouldn’t be long.”

“We’ll be fine here,” Gwen assured her.

Casting them a sunny smile, Yvonne disappeared out the back door.

Marlon shook his head. “Like we don’t know when she’s fake-smiling. She always gets like this around Asshole’s birthday. I don’t know why, because, as the nickname suggests, he’s an Asshole.”