Dreaming of the Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #8)(3)

But the waitress’s words still gave him pause. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” The waitress flipped around and hurried off, swaying her hips in an exaggerated fashion.

He sliced into his juicy steak, the aroma of the T-bone making his stomach rumble again, but the food still didn’t interest him as much as the woman. Taking a bite of the tender meat, which was seasoned to perfection and melted in his mouth, he sat back and observed her further. She looked to be all work, no play, just like he was normally.

For some inconceivable reason, he wanted to gain her attention. Maybe because she’d hooked his to such a degree. On the other hand, he enjoyed watching her, studying her, and taking pleasure in her without her knowledge, without the anxiety-ridden pretension that often existed between two people meeting for the first time.

He looked again at her jacket. She could be an undercover cop. Maybe. A slight bulge under her jacket on one side could indicate she was packing a gun.

He raised his brows. She could be armed and deadly. Even more intriguing. Although the waitress’s words still lingered in his thoughts: she could be dating a mobster like her mother was. She could be armed because she was one of the criminal element. Yet he couldn’t help but feel she was working as an undercover cop. But if she was, he thought she was in way over her head on this case.

He glanced around the room. None of the other diners seemed to be watching the men or her. Why didn’t she have backup if she was a cop?

Getting involved in human affairs that didn’t pertain to the good citizens of Silver Town was not a good idea. Yet if she encountered any trouble, he’d be in the thick of it, rescuing her without thought of reward. Well, maybe a little reward. A heartfelt hug from that sweet body of hers would do for starters. A kiss from those lips would be welcome.

He sat back and finished his steak and eggs, while she sipped more of her tea. She’d taken a bite of a cinnamon roll, but nothing more. Was she as frugal as he? Or just not a big breakfast eater? Or was ordering the breakfast just as a ruse while she conducted her surveillance?

He wondered what it would be like to pull the pins from her hair, release it over her shoulders, and comb his fingers through the lush, silky strands. To disarm her—to see her wearing something softer, something that would reveal her womanly curves even more, or wearing nothing at all. And to taste her lips, sweetened by sugary cinnamon.

Turning his attention to the two men she was observing, he listened, trying to hear their exchange. The men spoke in low tones, but with the murmur of conversations in the busy restaurant and the distance Jake was from the men’s table, he couldn’t make out their words, even with his enhanced wolf’s hearing. The men didn’t seem to take any notice of the woman, either feigning ignorance or showing her that her effort to rattle them was in vain.

Jake glanced at one of the plate-glass windows and the pin-striped awning stretched over the top to shade customers when the sun rose in the sky. Two men sat out front in a darkened Mercedes—the one bearing the license plate that his mystery woman had photographed earlier. Bodyguard, driver, he assumed. And parked in front of that vehicle was another: similar make and model, same setup—two men.

Inside the restaurant, the two men under surveillance shook hands. One smiled, the look pure evil. The other nodded.

Jake glanced back at the woman to see her take on the matter, and his blood instantly heated with ire. A bruiser of a man wearing a dark gray suit towered over her as he motioned for her to leave. When the hell had he entered the restaurant and approached her?

She remained seated, not budging, looking up at the man with loathing as he loomed over her. Jake could see that the man was wearing the hardware to back up his threatening posture, hidden under his jacket and pressed slightly into the fabric as a show of force. He had one hand inserted underneath the jacket, holding the gun.

Like a wolf ready to take down its prey, Jake rose from his booth with a cautious, predatory stalking motion. The man waved the gun underneath his suit jacket again in a sweeping motion toward the door. Defiantly, the woman continued to balk, glaring at him, not moving an inch, not saying a word. Jake admired her stalwart nerve. But he didn’t believe she’d win this argument. Not without a little wolfish backup.

Wishing he had at least asked the waitress the woman’s name before playing his cards, since the waitress seemed to know a good deal about her, Jake stalked across the floor to join her before the beast forced the issue. The woman’s gaze shifted to Jake, eyes widening like pools of melted dark chocolate and drawing him in.

The bulky beast of a man turned to face Jake and narrowed his already beady eyes in confrontation. Jake conveyed a real threat of his own in his posture, just like a wolf would, from his steely gaze to his taut muscles and rigid back. Even the hair on his arms was standing erect, just as his fur would be if he were wearing his wolf coat—another form of intimidation that made him appear bigger, more of a threat.

If anyone could deal with a tyrant like the armed guy in the suit, Jake was the man for the job, with or without a weapon. But fighting the man wasn’t what he had in mind, unless there was no other way around it.

Jake shifted his attention to the lady, offered a friendly smile, spread his hands a little as if in greeting, and said to her, “Julia Roberts!”

His smile broadened as he leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek—the part of the plan he liked best—and her eyes were as round as twin full moons as she stared back at him. His hand moved to her back, gently caressing as if he’d known her forever and encouraging her to play along with him. His mouth lingered longer than was necessary on her cool, soft cheek, his free hand taking hers in much too possessive a manner for never having made her acquaintance before. If nothing else, he knew he needed to play his role well if he was going to convince the thug to back off.