A Werewolf in Manhattan (3 page)

Aidan pulled out a business card from an inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to Jenny. “Considering my dad’s history with Roger Claymore, the service will be gratis.” He’d play this as if he needed Jenny’s cooperation to get that e-mail.

“You should charge your regular fee.” Emma finished the autograph and closed the book. “If they were going to send somebody along on the tour, they can certainly afford your expert advice.”

“It won’t take long enough to justify a bill.” Aidan was still planning to turn this into a bodyguard assignment. Although he didn’t consider Emma weak, she was ill prepared to confront a werewolf. No good could come of it, either for her or for the packs living in various North American cities.

“I appreciate the offer.” Jenny accepted the card and tucked it into her pocket. “I’ll send the e-mail first thing in the morning. Emma, take a cab home. I realize you’re a subway kind of girl, but no more of that until we figure this out.”

“I have a car and driver,” Aidan said, knowing she wouldn’t approve of his luxury town car. “I’ll see that she gets home safely.”

Emma glanced up at him. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

“Em.” Jenny sent her a pointed look. “A security expert, who also happens to be a Wallace and who loves your books, has offered to run a trace on that e-mail for free, and now he’s prepared to get you home safely. As a representative of your publisher, I insist you accept that offer.”

“Okay, but I think it’s kind of silly.”

“Humor me.”

“All right.”

Jenny nodded. “Thanks, Em. Talk to you tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Aidan.” With a wave, she walked away.

“There you go.” Emma pushed the book back across the table. “And you certainly don’t have to chauffeur me home tonight. You must have a million things to do that are more important.”

“Can’t think of any.” He put on his topcoat before picking up the book. “Are you ready to go?” He was still sorting through the possibilities of the e-mail. The sender could be a nutcase or a werewolf willing to betray his pack to impress a woman, which made him a werewolf nutcase. Either way, his behavior could be unpredictable.

She sighed, and her shoulders dropped. “Truthfully, I’d love a ride home in a luxury car instead of a taxi. I doubt your car will be emitting any more greenhouse gases than the taxi, and it’s been a long day.”

Following a long night.
He’d kept track of her through most of it, and she’d spent the wee hours finishing her manuscript instead of sleeping. “Let me call Ralph.” He pulled his BlackBerry from inside his jacket and speed-dialed his driver. “Yes, I’m ready. Down by the front door. I have a passenger to drop off in the Village.”

Then he cringed. He wasn’t supposed to know where she lived. He hoped she was too tired to notice the slip. Now he had to hope Ralph would remember to ask her for the address as if he didn’t know it. If Aidan had been in wolf form, he could have sent Ralph a telepathic message, but in human form he had to rely on his cell.

“I do appreciate this.” Standing, Emma grabbed her coat and purse from a neighboring chair before walking around the table to join him. “I love meeting readers, but my cheeks hurt from smiling.”

“I’ll bet. Let me help you with your coat.”

“Oh.” She looked a little disoriented but handed it over and set her purse on the table so he could slide the coat over her arms and onto her shoulders.

Although manners had been heavily ingrained in Aidan since a young age, he wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself. Manners hadn’t been his main reason for helping her with the coat. He’d wanted the chance to move closer, to let his fingers brush the red silk of her dress, to feel the warmth of her body swirl as the coat went on.

None of that fit into his plan to be careful. When she lifted her blond hair off the nape of her neck to settle it over the coat collar, he stared at that vulnerable spot and swallowed. He wanted her too much. He should turn this job over to one of his capable staff members. But he knew he wouldn’t.

“Thank you.” She glanced back at him. “You have an old-world charm about you, Aidan. It’s nice.”

Nice.
If she only knew the thoughts he was having, the growl of primitive need he was choking back. “I’m sure you’re tired. We should get going.”

“I
am
tired.” She picked up her purse and started toward the front of the store. “But I can hardly complain. My books are doing well, and this kind of success doesn’t come along every day.”

He followed as they wound their way through the book aisles. “I’ve often wondered if readings are stressful for writers.” And Dougie-boy hadn’t shown up to give her moral support or take her out afterward for a little celebration. The more he learned about the guy, the less he liked him.

“The extroverts don’t mind them, I suppose, but for introverts like me, it can be a challenge sometimes. So how did you know I lived in the Village?” she asked over her shoulder.

Apparently she wasn’t
that
tired if she’d picked up on his slip. He’d have to lie. “Must have read it in an interview somewhere.”

“That’s possible. I’ve asked reporters not to mention stuff like that, but sometimes it gets in, anyway. Fortunately, I don’t have a huge problem with people pestering me.”

“I promise not to pester you.”
Another lie.
He planned to stick to her like fur to polyester. He doubted the e-mail she’d received had come from anyone in the Wallace pack. The Wallaces had some interesting family dynamics, and not everyone got along, but nobody would take the chance of sabotaging the whole operation.

He suspected the rogue, if that’s who had sent the e-mail, belonged to another pack, and if so, Aidan planned to get himself assigned as Emma’s bodyguard for the entire book tour. His father could talk Roger Claymore into it by giving the publisher a smoking rate for Aidan’s services.

There was a good chance that when Emma left for Chicago, Aidan would be on the plane with her, unless someone in the family figured out that he craved this woman. Then he’d have to take himself off the case.

He rebelled at that idea, even as he acknowledged the wisdom of it. He didn’t trust the job to anyone else, and he was determined to protect Emma from any potential threat. Including himself.

Chapter 2

Somewhere between leaving the autograph table and stepping into the frigid cold of a New York February night, Emma must have clicked over from tired to over-tired because she was suddenly wide-awake. Or maybe it was the extremely masculine presence beside her that had recharged her batteries.

She’d always realized Aidan was hot. No woman could help noticing those shoulders, which filled out his custom-made suit without the benefit of padding. Because she’d seen him only in a suit, she had to guess whether he had a nice butt, but she’d be willing to bet he did.

He had the kind of jaw that usually showed up in shaving commercials, a strong nose, and a high forehead. She suspected he was easily as intelligent as he looked. Thick hair the color of chocolate and eyes the shade of warm caramel added up to one yummy guy.

But he’d given no indication he was interested in her personally. She was probably the only one who’d been affected by their brief contact when he’d helped her on with her coat. She doubted he found anything cozy and intimate about sharing the backseat of his town car with her, either.

She’d expected him to wear some pricey cologne, but it must have been subtle, because she didn’t recognize any particular brand. She had the inappropriate urge to bury her nose in the side of his neck.

She wouldn’t, of course, because she was with Doug, even though he was currently on her shit list. Surely he could have chucked his Rotary Club meeting so he could be here tonight. It was her first signing since they’d moved their relationship from professional to personal, and his excuse—that he already had an autographed book—didn’t sit well with her. He could have bought one for his mother.

True, Emma hadn’t been much of a girlfriend the past couple of weeks, with her deadline looming. She wasn’t sure how great a girlfriend she was, period, considering how much quality time she spent writing and how little quality time she spent with Doug. Maybe a writer wasn’t meant to have a boyfriend. Maybe he was justified in missing the signing.

But she hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the creepy e-mail from the guy who thought he was a werewolf. Then again, Doug might not take it seriously. She kind of liked that Aidan Wallace—who had to be worth a gazillion dollars—did.

She definitely liked the mode of transportation Aidan provided. On principle she was opposed to a megaexpensive car dedicated to ferrying one person all over Christendom, but sinking down onto the butter-soft leather, she’d almost moaned in delight. Tomorrow Aidan would trace the e-mail and she’d be back on the subway, as always. Tonight Jenny had practically forced her to ride like royalty, so she’d ditch the guilt.

The older man in the front seat wore a sweatshirt and jeans instead of a chauffer’s uniform, but chauffeuring was clearly his function. He pulled the car smoothly into traffic. “What address in the Village, Aidan?”

The guy spoke like a friend instead of an employee, and Emma’s little democratic heart warmed. Money shouldn’t give anyone the right to act superior, in her opinion. She leaned forward to give him the address. “It’s—”

“Wait.” Aidan laid a hand on her arm. “I just realized something.”

So had she. She didn’t want to go home yet. His lingering touch, even through her wool coat and silk dress, was wildly exciting. Awareness sizzled in all her pleasure centers, and now she was
really
awake. She hadn’t had this kind of instant reaction to a man in ages. In fact, she’d told herself that she’d outgrown such craziness, even though she wrote about it all the time.

He glanced at her, his eyes in shadow. “You might not want me to know where you live.”

She almost laughed. If it weren’t for Doug, she’d show him exactly where she lived and invite him in for coffee. Maybe all he admired was her writing talent, but given time, that might change.

“I could call a limo service instead of taking you home personally,” he said. “That might be better.” The dim light of the car’s interior emphasized the rugged line of his jaw and brought out the chiseled beauty of his cheekbones. He looked mysterious, sexy, and damned near irresistible.

Oh, baby.
“I don’t care if you know where I live. I j ust—” She hesitated as she debated the wisdom of saying what was on her mind. She’d have loved to go somewhere for a drink to celebrate the twin victories of meeting her deadline and launching a new book. When Doug had crapped out and her mother had begged off, she’d thought of suggesting drinks to Jenny, but Jenny had a sick kid at home.

That left her in the company of Aidan Wallace, a certified hunk who had voluntarily shown up at her signing, and for the third time, too. It wasn’t even ten yet, but she doubted he had other plans for tonight or he wouldn’t have been so willing to offer her a ride home.

“Just
what
?” he prompted.

If she suggested having a drink with him, she’d have to tell Doug about it. He might not love the idea. But Aidan was a fan, who certainly wasn’t hitting on her in any way, so this was business, sort of, wasn’t it?

No, it wasn’t. She was momentarily crushing on a gorgeous man who loved her books. Even if Aidan wasn’t attracted to her, her interest in him was no longer casual. Acting on that interest wasn’t fair to Doug, even if he had skipped the signing.

She sighed. “Never mind.”

“Emma, are you afraid to go home? Is it that e-mail?”

“No, it’s not the e-mail.” She didn’t want to turn this into a silly game of twenty questions, so she settled on a partial truth, omitting her ill-advised attraction to him. “Finishing a manuscript always makes me feel like celebrating, but what I need is a good night’s sleep.”

He smiled. “Who says you can’t have both?”

My conscience.
But her conscience was no match for the magnetic pull of Aidan Wallace. “Good question.”

Aidan leaned toward the front seat. “Drop us off at Jessie’s, Ralph.”

Ralph hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Sure thing.”

Emma wondered briefly about that hesitation, but the decision had been made, and she wasn’t planning to reverse it. Aidan thought she should celebrate, and celebrate she would.
Within the bounds of propriety, of course.

She found Aidan’s take-charge attitude familiar and finally realized why. He behaved like one of her heroes. Of course, to really qualify he’d have to be a shifter who could become a wolf whenever he wanted to.

She smiled to herself, thinking of how he’d laugh himself silly over that. But telling him was out of the question. It would be a blatant attempt to flirt, and she wasn’t doing that.

She’d never heard of a nightspot named Jessie’s, but that meant nothing. She didn’t get out much. Now there was a huge understatement. Her life had settled into a boring rut, and that was bad for a writer. She needed grist for the mill.

All righty, then.
Her guilt could take a long jump off a short pier. She wasn’t simply having a social drink with a very attractive man who could serve as inspiration for her next book. She was also collecting grist for the mill while enjoying the life of a bestselling author, whatever that was supposed to be.

She’d always imagined herself moving to Key West and living like a real writer should—drinking booze in smoky bars and hanging out with all the clever people. Maybe having a glass of wine with a member of an influential New York family was a start.

Ralph swung the car over to the curb, and Aidan opened the door. “Thanks, Ralph. I’ll call when we’re ready to leave.”

“We won’t be long,” Emma added as a sop to her still-niggling conscience.

“Take your time. It’s a beautiful night.” Ralph’s manner was relaxed and easy, as if he didn’t mind waiting around.