Growl (4 page)

Peeking upward into his chiseled countenance, she uttered a polite and dismissive. “Thank you for everything.”

“No thanks needed. I'm doing what I must.”

Despite her insistence on nothing personal between them, she couldn't help a miffed squirt of irritation that he'd relegated her to the status of a chore. “Must? I didn't realize you felt forced.”

“You misunderstand. I am representing you because I can't stand by and watch a gross miscarriage of justice. Nor can I allow the woman I intend to pursue, ardently I might add, to suffer against obviously false charges.”

When put like that …

Before she could reply, firm lips pressed against hers, stealing words and breath. No time to react. No time to reciprocate. The electric touch was there one moment, gone the next.

“What was that?”

“Since I didn't have a contract, I sealed our deal with a kiss.” With a naughty wink, he strode away from her and back to the elevator.

She stared at his receding back. Even in a suit, the rear of him shouted,
I'm hot!

With her lips tingling and body screaming for more, Megan could only numbly blink as he tossed her a sensual grin over his shoulder and said, “See you tomorrow, little rabbit.”

Then he was gone, in body perhaps, but not in mind.

Enclosing herself in the comfort of her apartment, Megan leaned for a moment against the door, struck dumb by the kiss and the promise she read in his parting words.

As her new lawyer, yes, he'd have to see her, but why did she suspect he meant more than that?

Probably because he's stated quite emphatically that he's interested in me as more than a client.

Forget indignation at his caveman intent to claim. The woman in her couldn't help but flush in pleasure.

He wants me.

And God help her, but despite the complication, she wanted him, too.

 

CHAPTER 5

Making an appointment and giving warning was never any fun, which was why Gavin showed up on Fabian's doorstep right after leaving Megan.

Give the cameras that recorded everything that dared encroach on his territory, Gavin wasn't surprised when the master of the house himself opened the door, a dark brow raised. Fabian presented him with a cool, “To what displeasure do I owe this visit?”

At least the older wolf—who in his early forties counted as older than Gavin's early thirties—no longer pretended a fondness for his creation. In the beginning, Fabian had tried to take Gavin under his wing, more like have him bend on a knee to his overlord paw, but Gavin would have none of it. The ruthless manner in which the crime lord had turned Gavin in the hopes of having a lawyer join his legal team had stroked Gavin the wrong way.

Changing Gavin into a Lycanthrope hadn't cured him of his stubborn nature, or his desire to be his own man—and now wolf.

How dare Fabian upset the carefully ordered life Gavin would have enjoyed, and for what? So that Fabian's own selfish needs were served. How dare the man try to assume a dictatorship over Gavin? Alpha and Lycan pack politics be damned, Gavin wasn't about to start taking orders. He enjoyed his status as lone wolf, and he made sure Fabian knew it at every turn.

“I see no one has managed to shoot your criminal ass yet. A shame.”

“Not for lack of trying,” was Fabian's dry reply. “I assume you want to come in.”

“But of course. Unless you have something to hide.” Gavin's feral smile dared Fabian to deny him. They both knew how much Gavin wanted to pin him to a crime. Any crime. Something for payback. Alas, it hadn't happened yet. But the night was young.

“Despite your conviction that I am related to the devil and constantly up to nefarious deeds, I am simply a businessman.”

“Who dabbles in things skirting the edges of the law.”

“Skirt, perhaps, but still within the letter.”

“One day you'll slip up and I'll catch you.”

“We'll see, pup. But I'm sure idle threats aren't the real reason for your visit, so why not cut the bullshit and get to the point. Perhaps over a glass of whiskey?” Fabian strode away and through an archway into an opulently appointed living room. Gavin followed.

Only an idiot would refuse the aged amber liquid offered in the tumbler. Fabian's image might show up under the definition for “asshat,” but he stocked a fine liquor cabinet.

Gavin took the proffered glass and enjoyed a sip of the velvety smooth, yet kick-packed, alcohol. “Damn, that shit is good,” he admitted.

“Only a dozen bottles of it left in the world.”

Which meant a price tag Gavin didn't even want to fathom. Before things got too relaxed, Gavin went for the jugular. “So I hear you hired some little secretary to knock off your rival Pierre Jonquin?”

His creator didn't quite spew his mouthful of whiskey, but it definitely didn't go down the right tube. Fabian coughed, then gasped before laughing. “Well, that was certainly unexpected. You think I'm now resorting to hiring, what is it you said, little secretaries to rid myself of people? Where on earth did you get that ridiculous idea?”

“Well, this Pierre fellow is dead. His employee, one Megan Alexander, stands accused. According to sources, with him out of the way the one who stands to benefit most is you.”

“Your sources are misinformed. The man was hardly a rival. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even a blip on my radar. Pierre, at one time, might have been a man of power, but these last few years he's allowed certain vices to deplete his finances and common sense. It was only a matter of time before his business interests flopped. Why would I kill him when, in but a few short months, I could have swooped up his assets for a song?”

“What do you mean, ‘could have'?”

“His death was most inconvenient. Because of the legal matters surrounding his demise, his assets will now be tied up in endless rounds of litigation and legal tape. I'm rather annoyed that his paramour took matters into her own hands and killed him. He was more useful to me alive.”

Jealousy tightened Gavin's grip around the glass. “Why do you say she was his paramour?”

“Isn't that the most likely scenario? Married man has affair with his secretary, and when he refuses to leave his wife, in a crime of passion, she murders him.”

“Except they weren't lovers.” Gavin couldn't help his stark response.

His vehemence was noted by a certain observant wolf. Fabian's eyes narrowed. “What exactly is your interest in all this? It's not like you to brashly appear on my doorstep spouting feeble accusations without merit.”

No point in hiding the truth. Gavin just didn't divulge the entire truth. “I've taken on Ms. Alexander's case. It is my belief she is innocent and being framed.”

“And you automatically assumed I was the one doing the framing? How unsurprising and shortsighted. Pierre had many enemies, and while I guess one could count me among those who didn't care for him, I assure you, if I wanted him dead, I'd handle it much more
personally
.” The toothy grin easily conveyed Fabian's method. In the Lycan world, justice was mostly dealt hands-, or should he say paws-, on.

As much as Gavin wanted to continue to believe Fabian had orchestrated the murder and frame job, he couldn't ignore his gut, which said the powerful wolf spoke the truth. But if Gavin's damned creator hadn't killed Pierre, then who had?

As if reading Gavin's mind, Fabian answered him. “Might I suggest that if you're looking for culprits, you take a closer look at those he owed money to? I wasn't kidding when I said Pierre teetered on the brink of ruin. Those wanting their payout may have very well acted.”

“But why frame the secretary? And then bail her out?” Because a half-million dollars wasn't exactly chump change. Whoever put up the cash surety for her release did so for a reason.

Fabian shrugged. “I think the better question is why they felt a need to so publicly kill him instead of having him discreetly disappear.”

Tossing back the rest of the whiskey, because he couldn't bring himself to waste the delicious liquid, Gavin didn't bother thanking the other wolf for his forced hospitality. He just marched out of the house to the mocking shout of, “Nice to see you. We should do this again sometime!”

Jerk.
Even more irritating was the fact that if Fabian hadn't forcibly changed Gavin he might have liked the man—even if he was a criminal lord.

The drive home was done at high speed, mostly because Gavin found himself perturbed. However, outracing his thoughts, and most especially his tumultuous emotions, didn't work.

With his visit to Fabian out of the way, and without a lead to pursue on his new case, he couldn't help but think of the client herself.

His woman.

My mate.

Not quite mate. Yet.

Despite his having met Megan only hours ago, every nuance of her features was etched into his brain. Mahogany-colored hair, upswept in a messy chignon with curling wisps escaping to frame her face. Bright, and at times bold, brown eyes framed in silky dark lashes. A curvy figure, perhaps a touch on the plump side, but pleasantly so. A perfectly padded frame for strenuous bedroom activities. Inches of creamy flesh for him to explore. Or so he imagined as she sat all prim and proper across from him at dinner in her buttoned-up blouse and knee-length skirt.

How easily he could picture the perfect Cupid's bow of her mouth, a mouth he briefly tasted. Torture, because now he couldn't help but crave more.

More of her. Now. Tonight.

Not happening.

Fuck.

Need thrummed through him. A primal urge to hunt his female down and claim her. Gavin understood some of the intensity of his emotions had to do with his base side, his wolf side. It wasn't as if he were two beings in one body—man and wolf—and yet, at times, certain aspects of his wild side pushed for dominance. Such as now, when a part of him thought he should return to Megan, knock on her door—
kick it down if she doesn't answer—
sweep her into his arms, and seduce her until she clawed his back and cried his name.

The more civilized part of him still wanted to seduce her but had a hard time assimilating the whole claim-her thing.

He barely knew the woman.

But I want her.

She was a client who should have been hands-off.

Yet I want to put my hands all over her.

She was nothing like the usual high-maintenance model types he went after with their superslim bodies, peroxide hair, and teensy bites of salad.

She's a curvy handful with an appetite to rival my own.
And he didn't just mean when it came to food.

He predicted when it came to bedroom play she'd show an enthusiasm and passion to bring any man to his knees. And that thought did not help his situation. Partially erect, and with him alone with only his hands for company. His five-finger massage did little to ease his tension.

Which was why he was terse and irritable when he showed up at her door the following day, only to find her gone.

An old codger stuck his head out his door as Gavin insistently pounded, wondering at her lack of answer. Where could she be at eight thirty in the morning?
Where is she?
Had she fled town, trying to escape the charges? Had she slept over somewhere—with a man? Claws popped from the tips of Gavin's fingers and scored her door as he pounded again.

“She's not there.”

Whirling, hands tucking into his pockets until certain things retracted, Gavin eyed the neighbor. In his house robe loosely sashed over plaid pajamas, the old guy didn't offer any danger, which eased the coiled tension in Gavin's body.

“Any idea where she is?” Getting a coffee? The newspaper? Perhaps gone for a jog or a walk? Waking up beside a dead man?
Because anyone touching my woman is asking for it.
Lawyers called it justifiable cause.

“Cops came and got her late last night. Apparently, the prosecution got her bail revoked. Managed to convince some judge she was a flight risk.”

“You seem rather well-informed.”

The old guy shrugged. “I was listening at the door. It's not often I get to witness something this exciting. Felt sorry for the poor girl, though. I mean, I know she's supposed to have killed a guy and all, but she was always real sweet. She used to drop me off cookies and stuff when she baked some. Damn shame what happened.”

A shame indeed given she should have never been picked up in the first place. Someone had posted her bail, anonymous or not. She'd not breached her conditions that Gavin knew of, so for the prosecution, in a vindictive move, to have it yanked spoke of something deeper than just a public district attorney keeping the public safe.

Someone didn't want Megan out and about and someone obviously was denying her the right to contact her counsel, because his cell phone didn't show any missed calls.

Simmering within, but not outwardly showing it, Gavin sped his way to the courts to kick some legal ass. It didn't take him long to get a wrong righted. It seemed someone had called in claiming Megan was seen at a train station buying a ticket. They should have done their homework, seeing as how she was at dinner with him, with more than enough witnesses to prove it.

Paperwork accomplished, his displeasure duly noted, and her release secured, Gavin made his way over to the jail.

The cops on duty there knew him and didn't waste time. In short order, he was seated across from Megan.

Dark circles ringed her haunted eyes, and her shoulders hunched. She presented the picture of someone who'd given up. It totally pissed him off, so he barked a little more tersely than she deserved given the upheaval she'd gone through.

“Why the hell didn't you call me?”

She shrugged. “I asked to call my lawyer. They didn't know you'd taken over, so I got my public defender's voice mail.”