Werewolf in Seattle: A Wild About You Novel (3 page)

That wasn’t the case with Janet, a buxom blonde in her late forties who had no interest in another mate.
She’d adored her late husband and couldn’t imagine anyone else measuring up. Janet entered the hallway last. She wore a bib apron over her T-shirt and jeans.

Luna recognized the cook’s shirt because it was one of Janet’s favorites. It spelled out
YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS!
in bright red letters across her ample chest. Fortunately the apron covered most of the message. Geraldine had never required uniforms of her staff, so they all dressed for comfort and as an expression of their personal style.

Sybil favored sweats and loose cotton blouses that disguised her ample figure, while Dulcie liked capris and sparkly T-shirts that highlighted her shape. Luna wondered now if Colin would be expecting uniforms. The three female Weres looked more like girlfriends who’d met for coffee than a trained staff of professionals. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

Besides, with Geraldine gone, Luna wasn’t sure how much authority she had to make changes. Probably none, and besides, she didn’t want to alienate anyone by implying that their clothing wasn’t appropriate. They’d approved of her plan for saving their jobs, but that didn’t mean she was in charge of the entire operation. At least not yet.

In fact, she was technically the junior member of the group since she was the last one hired. Nobody deferred to her. In fact, all three affectionately teased her about her Southern accent and her celibate existence, which was admittedly unusual for a female Were of twenty-seven.

Luna didn’t mind the teasing, but she wasn’t ready to explain that she was a virgin who’d never dared to have a relationship with a Were or a human. Her human mother had died without telling her that she’d been fathered by a Were. On a stormy night soon after her fourteenth birthday, she’d had her first period, which she’d expected, followed by her first shift, which she hadn’t.

She’d run away, convinced that she was a monster who would be hunted and killed. Although she eventually figured out she wasn’t the only Were in the world, she also knew that she was a half-breed. She assumed that wasn’t a good thing and could mean rejection if any Were found out.

She’d buried that secret deep and kept on the move, trusting neither humans nor Weres. She hadn’t felt safe until she’d set foot on Le Floret and had met Geraldine. For the first time, she’d remained in one place long enough to bond with Were females. Maybe someday she’d work up the courage to confide her half-breed ancestry to her new friends, if they all managed to stay here under Colin’s ownership.

She’d lived on the island less than a year, replacing a Were who’d made the mistake of patronizing Geraldine as if age had left her mentally incapable. Luna was grateful for that departed Were’s tactless behavior, because it had allowed Luna to live in a place that had felt like home from the moment she’d arrived.

Janet took off her apron and glanced around, as if searching for a place to put it. Now, every word on her shirt stood out as if written in flashing neon.

“I think wearing the apron is better,” Luna said. “That way he knows immediately that you’re the chef. He’ll be tired from all that traveling, and he’s dealing with grief just like the rest of us. He might have trouble remembering who we are and what each of us does.”

Sybil grinned. “Personally, I think he’ll remember that T-shirt, no problem.”

“My T-shirt?” Janet glanced down at her chest and groaned. “I completely forgot I was wearing this one.” She quickly donned the apron again. “I’m not used to having a male around.”

“Hector’s a male,” Dulcie pointed out.

“I mean a
male
, as in broad shoulders, narrow hips, nice tush. In other words, not Hector.”

“I hadn’t even thought about whether he’d be good-looking or not,” Sybil said. “Does anybody know?”

“Geraldine showed me a picture of him when he was seventeen,” Luna said. “He was tall and skinny, with big hands and feet.” And a beautiful smile, but she decided not to mention that. They’d accuse her of being interested, which she wasn’t.

Dulcie threw back her shoulders and tugged down the hem of her rhinestone-studded shirt. “You know what they say about big hands and big feet. And he’ll probably sound like Sean Connery. I’d love me some Scottish brogue.”

“Geraldine said he was privately tutored to minimize his accent,” Luna said.

“Even better.” Dulcie smiled. “A cultured Scottish brogue.”

Janet elbowed her. “Cool it, Dulcie. He’s thirty-two, so he’s young enough to be your kid.”

“Just barely! I may be a wolf, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a cougar, too.”

“Plus he’s probably pledged to some high-placed Were back in Scotland,” Sybil added. “Someone to fill the slot as the next lairdess.”

“
Lairdess
?” Janet frowned. “I don’t know beans about Scottish titles, but that can’t be right.”

Sybil started to giggle. “Yeah, that has to be wrong. Can you imagine being called
Your Lairdess
?”

“Especially if she has some junk in the trunk.” Dulcie got the giggles, too.

Janet began prancing around with her fanny sticking out. “Make way for Her Royal Lairdess! Her Royal Lairdess is coming through!” She was in midprance, with everyone laughing, including Luna, when the front door opened.

She swung around to face the door. So much for the dignified greeting she’d planned. Then she looked into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and forgot every blessed preparation she’d made for this moment.

Colin MacDowell was, hands down, the most beautiful creature in the universe.

Apparently Luna had expected someone who looked like the seventeen-year-old in the picture she’d seen. But that gangly teenager had been replaced by an adult Were who took her breath away.

His features had matured into crisp, classic lines—strong nose, deep-set eyes, chiseled jaw. If pressed to name the color of his collar-length hair, she’d call it brown. But that wouldn’t begin to explain the strands of gold, bronze, and caramel highlighted by the sunlight pouring through the front door.

He wore slacks, a dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and a sport coat. On anyone else, the clothes would be ordinary, but Colin, backlit as he was, looked like a god, or perhaps an angel. And not one of those gauzy, delicate angels, either. Colin radiated power.

She drew in a breath and the sweet scent of him filled her with a kind of hunger she’d never felt before. His scent was familiar, as if she knew him from somewhere, and yet that was impossible.

Tucking his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his jacket, he released the handle of his rolling bag and
stepped toward her. His smile was a ghost of the one she’d seen in his teenaged picture. Carefree innocence had been replaced with a polite gesture tinged by weariness. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and give whatever comfort she could.

“Hello.” He held out a large hand to her. “I’m Colin MacDowell, Geraldine’s nephew.” A slight accent that sounded almost British flavored his speech.

“I know.” Her words were more an expression of awe than a comment. That rich baritone of his would charm a female regardless of the accent. She took his very warm hand and held on as she gazed at him with rapture.

His eyebrows lifted in a subtle but unspoken question.

That silent signal brought her back to reality and her plan. She let go of his hand and cleared her throat. “We are so pleased to welcome y’all to Whittier House.”

“
Y’all
?” He looked puzzled. “You’re not from the Trevelyan pack, are you?”

“I’m not from Seattle, Your… ” Grace? Highness? Lairdness? She should have researched his title and figured out what to call him. She’d been so busy scrubbing and polishing that she hadn’t thought of it. “Your, um, Sirness.” She winced. That wasn’t right, either. Behind her she heard a snort from someone, probably Janet.

Colin ducked his head, obviously hiding a smile. Great. Now he was laughing at her.

When he looked up again, his face was composed but some of the weariness had left his expression. “Colin’s fine. Where are you from?”

“New Orleans, Louisiana, sir.”

“Colin,” he prompted again.

“Colin.” Saying his name felt like a privilege. She’d have to get over this hero-worship, though, if she expected to convince him that he could leave Whittier House in her capable hands.

“I didn’t know any Weres lived that far south.”

She gave him the story she’d used with everyone. “My parents were loners, and after they died, I came up here to be with other Weres.” It was a partial truth. She’d come in search of her father, not knowing he’d died before she was born.

“And your name is… ?”

“Oh!” Her face grew hot. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t introduced herself. “I’m Luna Reynaud. I was your aunt’s personal assistant for about ten months, and I managed the household for her.”

“I’ll bet she also taught you to mix a very dry martini, shaken, not stirred.”

“As a matter of fact, she did.” She paused, thinking that might be a subtle hint that he could use a drink. “I can fix one in about two minutes if you’d like a—”

“I don’t need it yet. But her instructions for scattering her, uh… ashes… ” He looked down and swallowed. “Hers and Henry’s, that is. She wants me to toast the… the
occasion
with her favorite beverage.”

His barely disguised grief tugged at her heart. “On Happy Hour Beach.”

He raised his head and sorrow clouded his blue eyes. “Yes.”

“Bless your heart.” Luna’s throat tightened. She might have guessed that Geraldine would want her ashes scattered there along with her husband’s. The two urns sat waiting on the mantel of Geraldine’s sitting room fireplace, but as Luna wasn’t next of kin, the lawyer hadn’t revealed Geraldine’s instructions for those ashes.

Behind her someone sniffed. Luna suspected it was Sybil, the most tenderhearted of the staff. Another couple of seconds spent on the topic, and everyone would be crying, which wouldn’t help Colin get through this.

Luna injected brisk efficiency into her voice. “I’ll help with that, then.”

“The martini or the scattering?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Then I’d like help with both.”

“Absolutely.” The urge to wrap her arms around him swamped her again and she tamped it down. “Now, let me introduce the rest of the staff.” She turned to discover that Janet, Dulcie, and Sybil had lined up as they’d originally practiced. Each of them seemed to be working hard to hold it together, which she appreciated.

A warm rush of loyalty and sense of family made her more determined than ever to save everyone’s job. She gestured to each one in turn. “Janet is our chef, and she’s amazing. She can make most anything in the world.”

He stepped forward and shook Janet’s hand. “Can you make haggis, then?”

To Janet’s credit, she didn’t blink. “Maybe not on short notice, but given a little time to research, I can.”

“Not necessary. I think haggis is dreadful stuff. If you can make salmon the way I remember, then I’ll be overjoyed. I think there was a plank involved.”

“I know exactly what you mean, and I can do that.”

“Thank you. I’ll look forward to it.”

The soft burr in his voice nearly put Luna into a trance again. She forced herself to concentrate as she introduced Dulcie and Sybil. “These two are the housemaids, and you’ll never find more dedicated and professional workers. If you need anything, buzz them on the intercom.”

“I’ll come running,” Dulcie said as she shook his hand.

“And I’ll come walking,” Sybil said. “I don’t do that running thing, but I know all the hallway shortcuts, so I’m almost as speedy as Dulcie.”

Colin smiled at her. “Don’t rush on my account. All I need right now is a hot shower.”

Luna thought of him standing in that hot shower and was gripped by a yearning she’d worked to subdue ever since puberty. Whenever she’d felt desire for a male in the past, she’d been able to block it. Giving in to her sexuality would have been reckless when she had no idea how lovemaking affected Weres, or in her case, half-breeds. And she certainly wasn’t going to ask anyone and reveal her ignorance or her half-breed status.

But Colin’s potent appeal broke through every defense she’d constructed. Her body grew moist, and she ached in places she’d managed to ignore for years. She hadn’t counted on this complication, but she couldn’t allow it to distract her from her goal.

Hector’s voice boomed out from the doorway. “Are you going to keep the poor boy standing in the hall forever, or can I take him up to his room?”

Luna glanced at the lanky Were holding Colin’s leather carry-on bag. Impatience flattened his mouth into a thin line and his shock of white hair stood on end where he’d run his fingers through it. Logically he’d feel Geraldine’s loss more than anyone here because of his long association with her, so Luna cut him some slack. Perhaps grief made him more cantankerous than usual.

She hadn’t discussed her plan with him because she was afraid he’d be against it. He’d often told her he liked the peace and quiet of this isolated island. If her plan succeeded, it would bring a constant flood of guests.

“I thought Colin would like to meet everyone,” she said. “But perhaps that wasn’t—”

“I did want that.” Colin leveled his blue gaze on her again. “Thank you all for coming out to greet me. I would have hated walking into an empty hallway.”

A hallway without Geraldine in it, Luna realized.
“That wouldn’t have been right,” she said. Although she’d had more than a week to adjust to Geraldine being gone, Colin had never stayed in this house without his aunt being here, too. “But we’re done with the introductions, so Hector can take you upstairs.”

“If it’s the same room, I know the way.”

“It’s the same room,” Hector said. “I made sure of that. But I’ll go with you and see that everything’s the way you like it.”

Dulcie and Sybil both stiffened as if ready to take offense at the suggestion that they hadn’t prepared Colin’s room well enough.

Luna sent them a warning glance, and they kept quiet. In Luna’s opinion, Hector had a right to be a little protective of Colin. They would have shared memories of Geraldine that the rest of them did not. “Thanks, Hector. Colin, let me know when to mix up that martini.”