The Werewolf Prince and I (5 page)

Got to reach the door, got to---

Something heavy lands on my back, and I find myself crashing to the ground. I immediately twist around, getting ready to hit him because CEO or not, this has gone far enough. I’m going to kill him then I’m going to sue his ass for this.

A big black wolf growls into my face.

Shick!

He has a wolf in his office? Seriously, a
wolf
?

The wolf growls again, baring its razor sharp fangs this time, and I forget all about getting back at Domenico Moretti. Now, all I care about is getting out of this place alive, preferably without missing any body part or having to be treated for rabies.

“Mr. Moretti?” I say shakily without taking my eyes away from the wolf staring at me with such intense green
---

Green?

No fracking way.

I blink. I mentally slap myself. I pray for the angels to take away the deceitful ploys of the Devil. But when I open my eyes, it’s still just me and the wolf with green eyes like Domenico Moretti’s.

“No,” I whisper to myself, as if denying it out loud will make all of this a dream.

Incredibly, the wolf nods and slowly inches away from me. I carefully back away, too, wanting to put more distance between us, holding my breath as I do.

Resting on its haunches, the wolf locks its gaze with me again.

“Mr. Moretti?” I say for the second time, praying that somewhere in this room I would hear a human voice answering me.

The wolf---

Sighs.

It
sighed
.

It actually
sighed
!

“It can’t be.”

The wolf’s eyes gleam, and I have a nasty feeling it’s smirking at me.

“You think this is funny?” I snap without thinking.

The wolf nods.

I close my eyes. My head starts to ache at the impossibility of it. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. When I open my eyes, I’m going to find out that Domenico Moretti’s somehow drugged me, that he actually runs a secret human trafficking joint and he’s holding an auction for me.

I open my eyes.

The wolf looks at me in pity.

I stick out my tongue without thinking.

A sound comes out of the wolf’s throat and I immediately cringe back, fearing that I’ve angered it somehow. It takes me a few moments to realize that the ferocious growls still rumbling out from the wolf sounds suspiciously like
laughter.

Well, shick.

It was actually laughing at me.

Somehow, that eases my tension. I start to laugh, and a part of me knows I’m becoming hysterical. The wolf howls, a distressed sound that shuts me up, saving me from a possible mental breakdown.

I wet my lips. “If you’re really Mr. Moretti…” I pause, unable to believe I’m actually saying the words. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I say, “If you’re really Mr. Moretti –
raise your left forepaw.”

The wolf snarls.

“I have to make sure!”

It stalks toward me in a steady, purposeful pace. I hold my breath as it reaches me.

Shick, shick, shick!

I squeak out, “Don’t come any---”

Closer,
I end up silently because the wolf is already kissing close. It growls and I tense even more. I just know I’m going to get eaten any second now.

The wolf growls again – before raising its left forepaw to touch my cheek.

 “
MR. MORETTI
?”

The wolf –
Mr. Moretti
– walks away but looks back to nod at my question. I can’t help crawling after it this time, giddy at the discovery that Domenico Moretti is a werewolf, and he’s trusted me with his secret for some reason.

A
werewolf!

A real, honest-to-goodness, werewolf who’s a drop dead gorgeous Italian billionaire in its human form!

I know the
sensible
thing to do here would be to run out of the room screaming and have him nabbed by the dog pound or animal control. But mostly, I just feel excited, so much my head’s in a daze. The wolf – Mr. Moretti - suddenly stops moving. It turns around to face me, startling me into falling back on my butt with wide eyes. A nervous laugh only slips past my lips when I see the discarded shirt between its teeth.

“I get it. You’re going to change---
yeargh!
” Mr. Moretti is suddenly in front of me again, dazzling as ever.

He also happens to be completely naked.

I shriek, instinctively covering my face so that I don’t embarrass myself by eye-raping him. But even with all the lust-colored thoughts going through my mind, one fact stands out from the rest.
Domenico Moretti is a werewolf.

My body starts to shake. I expected it, of course I did. I knew Mr. Moretti was the wolf – in
theory.
But when I saw him change back to his human form just like that, it threw me off. To say the least. Blood rushes into my head as shock cuts off my oxygen supply. The last thing I remember is Mr. Moretti swearing as he reaches for me.

When I come around, familiar green eyes gaze down at me in concern. The memories return at lightning speed, and I sit up immediately.

“Easy there.” Mr. Moretti gently pushes me back down.

His form doubles, triples, and just keeps on multiplying in front of me. I give up and close my eyes, letting my body fall back on the bed---

Bed?

My eyes fly open. I want to fly out of the bed, too, and I would have if Mr. Moretti and his countless duplicates aren’t still swarming around me.

“Stay,” he says firmly, his hands pinning my shoulder blades down to the bed.

Stay? I’m not the fracking dog here.
That’s what I want to say – or would have if the years gone past haven’t turned me into such a huge wimp. When you’re dirt poor, you kind of realize early on that pride’s not going to send you to bed with a full stomach.

“Where am I?” I try to keep my voice as calm as possible. I need to take a logical approach to this, and arguing with a werewolf close enough to take a bite at you is definitely the
illogical
and worst possible approach to make.

“I didn’t take you away to some secret hideaway if that’s what’s worrying you. We’re still in my office, and you’re in my private quarters.” He gives me a glass of water, and I take it gratefully, lifting my head just enough so I can get rid of the dry and uncomfortably scratchy sensation in my throat.

“Take your time,” he murmurs as I almost gulp the glass’ entire content down.

When he turns away to put the glass back on the bedside table, I use the time to quickly look around. Somehow, I expected something a
lot
kinkier than this cozily furnished room. It even has its own
faux
fireplace and a rocking chair. If this was an orgy house, it would seem like Mr. Moretti has a taste for cougars. Really old ones.

Past the mini-living room in front of the fireplace is a breakfast counter and a small but fully-equipped kitchen. There’s even a basket of fruits on the worktable, plus a blender half-filled with some thick-looking yellow liquid.

Organic Viagra, perhaps?

When I glance back at Domenico Moretti, he’s visibly exasperated. “It’s just fresh mango shake, my dirty-minded little darling.”

Forget about the dirty mind part. I’m totally blown away he’s called me his darling.

“Don’t believe the stuff people have been saying about me. Most of it is garbage.” He frowns, staring hard at my face as if he’s seen something that doesn’t make sense.

Shick!

I try to school my expression into something less obvious, but it’s too late.

He makes a choking sound. “Are you actually
disappointed?”

“I’m not!” My cheeks heat up at his accusation. And I’m not – really!

Mr. Moretti laughs, a full-bodied one that shouldn’t have sounded so sexy but does. He leans back against his chair, still laughing. Seated as he is, head thrown back and lean muscular legs fully stretched out before him, Domenico Moretti looks like a picture-perfect ad for Playgirl.

He’s also unapologetically aroused.

I can’t help noticing, and it turns me into a tongue-tied lump of melting jelly in the bed. The shape of his erection is more than visible against his pants, which stretch tautly on his thighs. My heart speeds up, working double-time as he finally stops laughing and leans forward.

“I’m sorry I made you faint,” he murmurs.

I swallow. My hyperawareness of Domenico Moretti makes me do my best to sink further into the soft mattress. I need to put more distance between us so I don’t start hyperventilating again. Or worse – pull him to bed and have my wicked way with him.

“You’re too quiet.”

My wimpy side begs me not to speak, but my old self says I should seize the moment and impress him with my wit. “I’m always quiet,” I croak out, my wimpy side winning half the battle.

“No, you’re not.”

He sounds so sure I look at him suspiciously. “Did you have someone spy on me?”

He doesn’t even deny it. “I have to be careful with my choice of wife.”

The casual way he tosses the words out makes me wince. “Stop it with that---”

“Misty---”

Toes, do NOT---

I grit my teeth when my toes disobey me, curling at the sound of Domenico’s voice saying my name.

“I’m not going to be your wife!”

Domenico Moretti smiles.

Oh, shick. Why hasn’t he been acting like the guy I’ve heard he is? Everyone says he’s a super cold anti-smiling bastard who’s out to take over Wall Street and, after that, the world. But here he is, smiling at me and just being too darn attractive for his own good. He makes me want to push his shirt off so I can rake my nails on his chest and watch him groan---

Oh. My. God.

I am
not
having a sexual fantasy about Domenico Moretti when he is just inches away from me.

I close my eyes in utter mortification. Something is seriously wrong with me. Maybe there’s some weird gas in the air that’s turned me into a mega-slut all of a sudden.

“Misty,” he says again.

I squeeze my eyes closed more tightly. He’s using his voice as a weapon, and it’s working. Fracking smart man.

“I need you to marry me, Misty.”

“I’m not going to marry you.”

“You will,” he says. “You just have to tell me what I should do to make you say yes.”

“Do you know how
crazy
you sound?” I have to ask.

“You don’t really think that.” He sounds so confident he makes me doubt myself.

I shriek when he suddenly takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips. I’m mesmerized when I see his eyelids fall close, which emphasizes the absurd length of his lashes. He inhales my scent. I shriek again when he suddenly bites my forefinger.