Holiday Wolf Pack Page 8

  So, no, I don't tell Diane that Jewel is a werewolf. Instead, I hug her tightly, wrapping the red scarf I knitted around my neck about seven times (it was my first knitting endeavor, and I wanted it to be extra-long and went a wee bit overboard). “I'm really sorry I have to raincheck our coffee,” I tell her, gesturing at the table and my half-drunk cup of joe. “Same time next week, though, right?” I say, as I start to back up for the door. “And wish me luck, Diane? God, I need a roommate!” I cross my fingers in front of me, and she does the same, grimacing a little.

  “I'm wishing you every bit of luck in the world! But you're going to be seeing me sooner than next week, right?” she says, with a wry smile. “Right?” she asks again, drawing out the word and waggling her eyebrows, like we both share a secret.

  “Um,” I say, pausing in midstep, my brow wrinkled.

  Uh-oh. Busted.

  “Oh, my God, Kat, I knew you'd forget if I didn't—I don't know—send you a message by hot air balloon or something to make it memorable,” she sighs, sitting back down in her chair with a flop. “The party, Kat,” she tells me then, flatly. “Did you really forget my Christmas party? Again?” she asks, drawing out the word and shaking her head as she pins me to the spot with a fiery gaze.

  “Oh, my God, Diane, I'm so sorry!” I manage with a groan (and internally hitting my head repeatedly on the nearest wall). “I've just been really swamped with, you know, life, in general. I promise, I didn't forget—I just thought it was next week,” I tell her brightly.

  “It's tomorrow,” she says, with a death glare. “And you'll be there, right?” she asks pointedly.

  “With bells on!” I promise, with a salute of my jingly hat, and then I'm turning on my heel and sprinting out of the coffee shop, aiming for the nearest bus stop. The party—man, I made the exact same mistake last year, thinking it was a week away, and the day of the party arrived with me still thinking that...so I missed it. Diane was, understandably, pretty upset by my absence. Anyway, I was reminded this time, so I won't forget again!

  But, right now, time isn't exactly on my side, and I've got to get through this meeting with Jewel and convince her that my apartment is the best option for her to put down roots.

  But things don't bode well from the start. Since my bus is as slow as a tortoise on tranquilizers, I arrive at the bus stop around the corner from my apartment building with exactly ten seconds to spare.

  “Crap,” I mutter, glancing down at the time on my phone and then tossing the phone back into my purse as the bus slows down. My bus stop is two blocks from my actual building, so I'm never going to get there in time, and there's definitely no time to change clothes. But, hey, I'm sticking by the notion that maybe it's best to get (some of) my weirdness right out into the open immediately.

  Because the minute I open that apartment door to her, and we walk inside together—well...

  There's a reason that every potential roommate candidate has walked out of my apartment saying, “Nope,” never to be heard from again.

  In my defense?

  I really like Christmas.

  I grimace as the bus pulls up slowly to the stop. Even though there's only ten seconds on the clock, I'm still going to try to make it to my apartment building before Jewel. For all I know, she isn't familiar with this area of the city, and maybe I can still beat her to it.

  Once I exit my bus, I can see clearly down the sidewalk two blocks ahead of me, and there's no one standing out in front of my apartment building, which is a good sign—maybe she really is late. So I hold tightly to my purse's strap, and I sprint, avoiding any icy patches I see and any clumps of snow, leaping over a guy's snow shovel that he left in the middle of the sidewalk. Thankfully, they do keep the sidewalk pretty clear around here, which is the only way I'm able to run without pulling a Home Alone-style slip-and-slide maneuver.

  But when I reach my building—this glorious, monolithic art deco brick affair—I realize that I'm too late, after all. There's no time to do anything but pull up panting right in front of my building, hands on my thighs (I really have to start working out more).

  Because someone is waiting for me in the little courtyard.

  It's getting dark out, the setting sun spilling a paintbox of oranges and pinks over the sky, the type of sunset that you only get in winter, with the snow in the city reflecting the light back up to the sky in gorgeous, heart-stopping technicolor.

  The woman is waiting in the courtyard, seated easily on the big stone bench right next to the front door of the building. She's leaning back, her long legs crossed in front of her, an elegant arm lying across the back of the bench, like she's perfectly relaxed. She has that kind of air about her, I realize. Of supreme confidence—while still managing to look languid at the same time.

  It's when I take a few steps closer, when she rises, sliding her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket smoothly, that I'm able to take in her features.

  She's the exact same height as me, but that's where the similarities stop. Because I don't have the type of warm, amber eyes that undo a woman just by looking at them (my eyes are a really dark blue, which is nice, and they work and all, but her eyes are so sexy, oh, my God, with fire dancing inside of them—or is that just my imagination?) or the kind of full mouth that's warm and sumptuous as she curls it up into a bewitching smile.

  I also don't have long white-blonde hair gathered into a large knot at the nape of my neck. The light from the sunset, and the light from the closest street lamp, makes her hair glimmer softly in the dying light, like it's shot through with white gold. Paired with her bronze skin, the effect is striking.

  “Hello...Kat?” she says, her head to the side as her eyes rake over my outfit, amusement turning her mouth up at the corners. Her voice is even more gorgeous in person, with all of these rich, deep cadences that my stupid, cheap cell phone lost in translation. “Or should I say...Christmas Elf Kat?” she asks me, her voice low and teasing.

  “Uh, yeah, guilty as charged,” I tell her with a small smile of my own. I can feel my cheeks warming. “Sorry I'm late,” I manage, panting a little as I wave back over my shoulder at the bus stop. “The buses are really slow on this route.”

  “It was no trouble. It's a beautiful night, don't you think?” she asks, her breath spilling out of her mouth and curling into the air like a ghost. “It was lovely to sit outside, to soak it all in.” She glances past me with her golden eyes aimed toward the sunset.

  I shiver a little inside my coat—not entirely because it's cold out but because her voice is so warm, so rich, so sensuous, and her golden eyes kind of undo me when she flicks her gaze in my direction. There's something magnetic about Jewel.

  “Yeah...it's not terribly cold,” I tell her, feeling my cheeks redden as I try very, very hard to ignore how she's filling out that leather jacket. Or those skin-tight jeans hugging every curve like a glove...

  I'm trying (desperately) to take my mind off skin-tight jeans and sexy leather jackets by keeping my eye on the prize. The prize in question being a roommate that will make my life so much easier (and, you know, making my meals a little more varied than ramen for breakfast, lunch and dinner).

  “Anyway, this is the place,” I tell her, gesturing upward at the old building. I lean forward and pat the brick affectionately. “I've lived here for almost ten years now,” I say. “I moved in right out of college, and there's just something about this building. I've never been able to leave her,” I say, glancing up at the brick with a smile on my face. “She's got a lot of personality, this old girl.”

  “I'm hoping this is the apartment for me,” Jewel tells me companionably, leaning forward a little. “It looks like a gorgeous place.” But her eyes are on my eyes as she says that, her mouth curling up at the corners. “So...” she tilts her head, wolf-like.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry,” I tell her, digging the keys out of the depths of my too-big purse. I'm flustered, and I drop the keys in the snow, crouching to pick them up. The bells on my hat and
shoes jingle, and people usually chuckle at that (I mean, I'm a grown woman wearing jingle bells; it's kind of funny), but Jewel doesn't laugh. When I glance up from my position, crouched, dusting snow off my keys, she's gazing down at me with flashing amber eyes that are hooded. Her mouth is open, parted, and I'm drawn to look at her lips. For a hot, pulsing heartbeat, I wonder what those lips would feel like against my own.

  There's something about the weight of her gaze on me, how strong it is.

  I...really like it. It's making me have Feelings with a capital “F.”

  Keep it together, Kat!

  I stand up, dusting off my right knee that touched the snow. I know I'm blushing fiercely, so I clear my throat, gesture forward with a slightly shaking hand.

  “Right this way,” I manage.

  I lead her into the entryway, and I aim for the wide staircase in front of us. I'm suddenly self-conscious of the fact that I'm wearing bright green tights, and that the skirt of my tunic is dangerously short. But why am I self-conscious of that fact? It doesn't matter if she sees a bit of leg.

  But, yes, yes, it totally matters, because when I glance behind me, she's holding my gaze with those strong amber eyes, and I can feel myself melting.

  Usually, I'm not this much of a pushover for a pretty face. And her face isn't technically pretty, not by society's standards. She has a masculine profile, with high cheekbones and a long nose that reminds me a little of a wolf's face (which does make sense). She's not wearing any makeup, and her gaze, pointed, unwavering, intense, would probably be completely unnerving to some people.

  But to me...I don't think I've ever seen anyone more gorgeous, or anyone who pressed all my buttons as much as she does.

  So, yeah, I'm self-conscious of the fact that I'll be walking ahead of her up these steep steps in my short tunic and leggings. So I clear my throat, feel my blush intensify, and realizing there's no help for it, I tug my tunic down a little and angle my body to the side so that I can talk over my shoulder to her as I begin to ascend the steps.

  “We can get the interview process started right away, if you want,” I tell her with false brightness, swallowing a little.

  “Yes,” she says, but the word is soft, and when I glance over my shoulder, down the stairs behind me...she flicks her gaze from my backside, where she was absolutely looking, back up to my eyes, her mouth turning up at the corners, giving me a wolfish grin.

  “Um...” I say, raising a brow. She just checked me out. She just checked me out.

  Well, it's not like I haven't been checking her out, too, but it is not good for me to be contemplating these kinds of things! I need a roommate so I can pay the bills, plain and simple.

  Stay on target, Kat!

  I take a deep breath. In any other situation, with a woman I felt so much attraction toward, a woman who I'd just caught checking out my own assets...I'd be all over her. But I just can't do that. Not right now. I need a roommate, and if I start getting frisky, what happens if it all falls apart?

  Have I mentioned that eating ramen for breakfast, lunch and dinner really sucks?

  “So...here it is,” I say again, opening the door on the next landing for her. Jewel pauses for a moment, gazing at my face, but since I don't make eye contact, she shrugs elegantly and then moves her body sideways to enter through the doorway. But her shoulder still brushes against my arm, the warm leather scent of her filling my nose and sending shockwaves of desire radiating through me.

  Wow. That escalated quickly.

  Dial it back, Kat, I think to myself; then I take a deep breath. I'm bracing myself for her reaction to the apartment.

  Because this is it. This is going to make it or break it.

  “Wow,” she says slowly, carefully. There's a very long pause. I can just see her from my vantage point, in the doorway, as she surveys the place, and I bite my lip, anxious.

  “It's...pretty unique,” she says then, her head to the side, flicking a quick smile to me before she continues to enter what I like to call my Christmas Dreamland.

  But what any sane person would probably call a Christmas nightmare.

  Okay. So, I really like Christmas. I just always have. I was the girl who had a Christmas-themed bedroom when everyone else had posters of Madonna and Gerardo on their walls. Every year for Halloween, I was either Santa Claus or a Christmas elf (so when the department store asked me if I'd like to help their Santa out every year, this was kind of par for the course for me).

  So, when you walk into my apartment, you've got to know:

  It's intensely Christmas-themed.

  It gets even more intensely Christmas-themed, of course, around Christmas.

  For example, here in my living room, there are not one, not two, but three full-sized Christmas trees, each one decorated with a different motif. There is a life-size wooden Santa, a life-size reindeer on the other side of the fireplace (this guy's made of Styrofoam, but beggars can't be choosers), and there are about a hundred snow globes on the mantle.

  And that's just for starters.

  There are blinking Christmas lights everywhere, my fish tank is a miniature version of the North Pole (much to my goldfish's dismay), my couch is covered with fabric sporting tiny candy canes, an enormous peppermint candy rug is in the center of the floor, there's tinsel tacked up around the edges of the ceiling, and there's a big painting of Santa Claus front and center over my couch.

  “I...like Christmas,” I tell Jewel a little defensively, and she digs her hands into her leather jacket pockets again, casting me an appraising, amused glance, one of her brows raised.

  “I can see that,” she tells me, with a little chuckle. “Does this... Does this stuff stay out year round?” she asks, picking up a snow globe from the mantle and giving it a little shake. The tiny penguins skating on the inside get doused with a thick helping of plastic snow as she sets the snow globe back down.

  “Um, kind of,” I tell her, chewing on the inside of my lip. I'm utterly miserable. She's going to turn right back around and leave about now, and that means that I'm back to square one, with no prospect of a roomie. “Does that turn you off of the apartment?” I ask her then, bracing myself.

  “Well,” she says, glancing back at me as she tries to suppress a smile. “That depends.”

  “On what?” I ask her, as she takes a step closer to me. We're about three feet apart, but even with that distance between us and the fact that I'm miserable because she's about to leave (surely), I'm finding it hard to ignore my attraction to her. Is it the leather jacket? I get weak in the knees for a woman in a leather jacket...

  “It depends,” she repeats, lifting her brow, her voice low and husky as she holds me in her sights, “on how you feel about werewolves.”

  I clear my throat. That...wasn't what I thought she'd say. “Oh, the werewolf thing,” I tell her, shaking my head and waving my hand, realizing that my voice rose a little, and that I also probably look a little uncomfortable, but it has nothing to do with the fact that she's a werewolf and everything to do with the fact that her eyes are traveling my body right now. I may look uncomfortable, but I'm not.

  What I am is hot and bothered.

  “Yes?” she asks, her head tilted as she lifts her gaze, her mouth sly. “'The werewolf thing?'” she prompts me, and then she's beginning to circle me. Slowly, carefully, padding around me a little like, well, a wolf. Which she is.

  “I told you before,” I say, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible, “I've got no problem with werewolves. I mean, I'm a lesbian,” I say, clearing my throat. I'm going for broke. “I'm used to people being assholes about who I am. I would never do that to anyone.”

  She's behind me now, and everything within me wants to turn around to keep her in my sights, but I stay still, chewing on the inside of my lip as I feel a thrill running through me.

  I wasn't born yesterday. I'm pretty sure that she's flirting with me right now.

  Right?

  “I really like the apartment, Kat,�
� she tells me smoothly, circling closer toward me, close enough that the edge of her leather sleeve brushes against the small of my back. Surely she knew that she just touched me? She's incredibly graceful, and every single motion she makes is one that's calculated and sure. I swallow a little, turning to her then.

  “That's good,” I tell her, my head to the side. I'm smiling, my heart racing.

  This is turning out to be a better evening than I thought it'd be, and I'm beginning to relax. I think she's going to take the apartment. Hopefully. Maybe. If I don't screw this up.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” Jewel asks, her brow up. She's glancing down at my lips now, and I realize that my breathing is coming a little faster than normal. “You said that you didn't know any werewolves,” she says, taking a step back. I'm a little disappointed that she's moved away from me, and I'm feeling heady as I put my hand up to my temple, taking off my elf hat and running a hand through my flattened hair self-consciously.

  “No,” I tell her, shaking my head, “I mean, I'm curious about werewolves, in general,” I offer, glancing at her. “And I don't think I've ever known any. Or, at least, if I have known someone who was, they've never said they were a werewolf.”

  “You're curious?” she breathes, a little laugh in her voice. Her head is to the side again, and her flashing amber eyes are holding my gaze unflinchingly.

  “About werewolves, yes,” I tell her, and then feeling my cheeks flush, feeling the blood thundering through my head, I take a deep breath, and I tell her, “and about you, too.”

  She doesn't nod, doesn't say anything—only keeps me pinned in her sights, and I sigh, realizing how hot it is in my apartment after the cold of outside, and how I want to get out of my coat right now, because I'm melting—both from the heat in the room, and, if I'm being honest, from the heat between us.

  Because there is heat, I realize, as I glance sidelong at Jewel. There is attraction, crackling and bright like a live wire spiraling out of control in the single foot or so that separates our bodies. There's an intensity I wasn't expecting, haven't been expecting or looking for for quite some time.