Hunting Ground (Alpha & Omega #2)(40)

He was magnificent. He'd scorn the comparison, but she always thought of him more like a lion than a wolf when he was in his human form. Even when he was in his four-footed form, he was tawny and gold.

He stood now, gazing out the window with his arms clasped behind his back, giving her a lovely view of his backside. She'd never told him, of course-he wouldn't appreciate it-but she'd always loved his derriere.

She still couldn't believe she'd managed to catch him, not even after all these years. He was everything she'd ever wanted: wealthy, powerful, honorable, and well-bred. He could not claim it, not now, so long after he should have been dead, but he was the younger son of a baron. He was smart and sweet-he still brought her flowers for absolutely no more reason than because he wanted her to have them. She loved to travel, and he could not-not being who and what he was. But he allowed her the freedom to do it on her own.

She still loved his backside.

She hid her smile and tried to look serious when he turned to her. He frowned, and she blinked innocently at him. She'd long ago learned that there were some jokes he could not share, and it didn't do any good to try.

Finally, in a grumpy voice, he said, "I'm going upstairs to get some work done. If they get here, tell them I'm busy." And he stalked up the stairs.

Sunny glanced at the delicate gold Rolex on her wrist and shook her head. They were five minutes late; patience had never been Arthur's gift. She picked up the book she'd brought down-a mystery set in Barbados, her favorite place to be-and started to read.

The knock on the door was quiet, but not so quiet Arthur wouldn't hear it. When he didn't come down the stairs, Sunny set her book down and got to her feet. He'd come out of his snit soon enough. She knew her man: he couldn't stand to ignore an audience for long. Until then it was up to her to make her guests feel welcome.

Nervously, she smoothed out her shirt. She'd heard stories of Charles Cornick, the Marrok's hatchet man, but she'd never met him. She hoped his mate was friendly.

When the knock came a second time, she opened the door-and swallowed her smile.

The man who stood in front of the door was big. Not just tall, but wide. Obviously Native American, with his dark skin and black eyes. His face was still, she couldn't read him at all, but he brought with him an air of grimness, like a dark cloak around him.

Nothing that she hadn't expected from Arthur's descriptions-and his nervousness-nothing unexpected, except that Charles Cornick was beautiful. Not by Western standards maybe, not with his broad and flat features and the amber earrings he wore-and how did a werewolf manage pierced ears?

A man might not even notice the attraction of all that muscle and warm brown skin, but she would bet that he never walked through a room without attracting the gaze of every female there.

Flustered, she jerked her eyes off him and met the eyes of the woman who stood beside him.

Anna Cornick was an inch or so taller than Sunny, which still made her a little shorter than average. She was thin, underweight even, though what flesh was there was hard muscle. Her hair was whisky brown and hung in gentle curls to her shoulders. Freckles dusted her cheekbones, and her eyes were a clear golden brown. She wore a white shirt with a silk skirt that hit her just above the ankles. She wasn't traditionally pretty, but not unattractive, either.

Anna looked tired and outclassed by her more exotic mate, but then she grinned ruefully, an expression that took in Sunny's uncomfortably strong, reluctant admiration of Charles and expressed sympathy for another woman caught in his spell.

It was a warm expression-and Sunny felt all the nerves Charles Cornick had called into being settle back down so she could pick up the familiar role of hostess.

"Hello," she said with a big smile that wasn't as difficult to summon as it had been a moment before. "Welcome." She stood back and invited them in. "I'm Eleanor, Arthur's mate-you can call me Sunny, everyone does. You must be Charles and Anna."

"It's good to meet you, Sunny," said Anna, taking her hand in a strong grip. When her mate didn't say anything right away, Anna bumped him with her shoulder.

He looked at her and she raised her eyebrows-and Sunny recognized the look from her own repertoire built to deal with a dominant male who didn't always follow the rules of civilization.

"That's a good expression," she told Anna. "Though I've found elevating just one eyebrow is more effective. If that one doesn't work, I've found it's just best to ignore them until they decide to settle down. Why don't you both come in, and I'll get you something to drink. Arthur will be down in a minute. Can I get you some scotch or brandy? Or we have a really nice white wine."

Anna gave her a grin and followed her in while her mate closed the door, gently, behind them. "Ignoring works for you? I just prod until he snaps. Do you have water? No alcohol for me tonight-I'm driving. It might not affect me anymore, but if I get pulled over, I don't want to smell like alcohol."

"He lets you drive?" Sunny asked, taken aback and more than a little jealous. "The last time I drove when Arthur was in the car was the day I met him. I was driving my father's car to Devon, and his car was off beside the road with two flat tires."

"I don't like driving," said Charles. "Brandy would be good, thank you."

His voice was as delicious as the rest of him. Deep and slow with a hint of Welsh and something else altering the usual American accent.