Tamed by the She-Wolf Read online

  “Damien Marquez died over two months ago,” Lincoln answered as his “screwed-up” brain tried to reconcile the familiar voice he heard to the belief that his team had perished in the explosion.

  “I’m not dead, Linc,” the man on the other end of the line continued. “In case you’re wondering, neither are the others. Well, except for Lila. There wasn’t even enough of her—”

  “Shut the hell up, Marquez.” The guy really had no tact.

  “Now you sound like the guy I remember.” Damien snorted.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  “You never did.” A stark pause hung between them.

  “How did you make it out of the building before it collapsed?” Lincoln asked, not wanting to give in to a mounting sense of relief.

  “The blast knocked me off the stairs and I landed on the ground floor. Brax and Nico pulled me out.” The dark emotion in Damien’s voice as he spoke suggested he clearly remembered every horrifying moment. “Sam—she took care of you until the medics arrived.”

  All but one member of his team had survived. One of the worry knots in Lincoln’s chest loosened.

  “Honestly, I didn’t know you’d made it until Colonel Llewellyn mentioned that you were dogging him to find that orphan kid.”

  “Dayax,” Lincoln said beneath his breath. “The boy’s name is Dayax.”

  “I guess you haven’t heard from the rest of the team since you thought we were dead.”

  Was the relief in Damien’s sigh real or imagined?

  “If they weren’t injured, protocol would be to reassign them after a debriefing.” But why didn’t his CO or someone at HQ simply tell him that his team was alive?

  Lincoln strolled into the living room and stretched out on the couch. “I take it you’re not on active duty, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Are you all right?”

  “I had a dislocated shoulder, a torn meniscus in my knee, some shrapnel lacerations. Smacked my noggin pretty good but it didn’t crack.”

  “Good thing you’re hardheaded.”

  Damien laughed.

  “Where are you, man?”

  “Miami. Using up the last of my medical leave. I’ve been reassigned to a new team and we’re scheduled to deploy to the Amazon. Does HQ not understand how much I hate the fucking humidity?”

  “Command knows. They just don’t give a shit.”

  In the eight months Damien had been on Lincoln’s team, he’d never quite jelled with them. Of course, Lincoln and the others had been together for considerably longer and he had fully expected that Damien would eventually find his groove.

  Now he would have to start the process over with a new team.

  “How about you, Linc? Were the HQ doctors able to fix your leg?”

  “I got a new one.”

  “Damn.” Damien’s sigh crackled in Lincoln’s phone. “How’s that gonna work for you?”

  “I’m still on medical leave. No new orders yet.” A strange awareness prowled Lincoln’s senses. “For now, I’m in Maico, Georgia, doing some security consulting for the Walker’s Run pack.”

  Glancing at the clock—half past midnight—Lincoln stood, ambled to the door and looked through the peephole into the dimly lit, empty corridor.

  “I may have some business in Atlanta,” Damien said. “If you’re close by, we should meet up.”

  “Tell me when and where, I’ll be there.”

  A shadow moved up the wall. The click of boots echoed from the stairwell.

  “I’ll text you details as soon as my plans firm up,” Damien said.

  “Roger that.” The line went silent.

  Lincoln watched Angeline move lithely down the corridor. Then, she stopped and looked over her shoulder, casting a troubled gaze at his door.

  Lincoln’s heart thumped an unusual beat. His instinct said he’d be a fool to let her go to bed without clearing the air between them. Then again, the last time he’d trusted his instinct a dear friend had died.

  * * *

  Behind the condensation on the bathroom mirror, the reflection of a pissy she-wolf stared back at Angeline. A hot shower had not improved her disposition.

  She knew what it felt like for a man to watch her every move. And she’d felt Lincoln’s gaze on her the moment she’d stepped onto the third-floor landing.

  Had he waited up for her? Why hadn’t he opened the door when he’d seen her staring back, instead of letting her stand in the cold like a freaking idiot?

  She finished towel-drying, dressed in her comfy clothes and wished her jumbled thoughts about the Dogman were as easily flushed away as the tissue she tossed in the toilet.

  In the bedroom, she picked up her guitar and sat cross-legged on the unmade bed. After strumming a few chords, she tuned the strings and began again. Unfortunately, with her mind and fingers out of sync, everything she played sounded crummy.

  The doorbell rang.

  Pick between her fingers, her hand stilled over the strings. When Tristan lived down the hall, he would occasionally stop by for a chat when he got off work, knowing she would be up.

  Maybe Lincoln wanted company, too.

  Well, she had a mind to tell him a few things.

  She laid the guitar on the bed and scrambled out of the bedroom, then nonchalantly walked through the living room. The doorbell rang again.

  “I’m coming!” Agitation caused her to twist the dead bolt harder than normal and Angeline swung open the door with her chin tilted upward so she could glare into Lincoln’s eyes.

  Only, nothing but air looked back at her.

  She dropped her gaze to the pizza delivery boy who barely looked old enough to shave.

  “Fourteen ninety-nine.” His gaze slid up and down her body and back up to her chest, which, in her braless state with cold air passing through the thin material of her long-sleeved T-shirt, clearly outlined her hardened nipples.

  “Grow up!” She stepped back to shut the door.

  “Hey!” He shoved the pizza box into the doorway, preventing the door from closing. “Pay up or I’m calling my supervisor.”

  “Call away. I didn’t order anything. You have the wrong apartment.”

  “The ticket says Chatuge View Apartments, number twenty-one.” He looked at her door proudly displaying the golden numerals two and one.

  “Let me see.” She snatched the ticket off the top of the box. Sure enough, the caller had given her address but the wrong name.

  “This goes to Lincoln Adams,” she said, waving the paper in front of the young man’s face and pointing down the hallway. “He’s in the corner apartment, number twenty-five.”

  “The delivery is for apartment twenty-one. Are you gonna pay up or what?”

  Angeline matched the kid’s exasperated huff. “Wait here.”

  Despite his protest, she shut the door. He retaliated by keeping his finger pressed against the doorbell until she returned with the cash and sent him on his way.

  Glaring down the corridor, she thought about keeping the pizza. But wolfans took food seriously. Better to deal with Lincoln now rather than later, when he came looking for his food.

  After closing the door behind her, Angeline beelined for apartment twenty-five. Taking a cue from the delivery boy, she pounded the door until Lincoln answered wearing only his boxers. With his dark hair in disarray and sleepy eyes narrowed at her, he loomed in the doorway.

  “Here.” She jabbed the pizza box into his chiseled abdomen. “Next time, give them the right apartment number.”

  He made no effort to claim the box. “It’s not mine.”

  “Your name is on the ticket.” Her teeth chattered as a cold wind blew through her.

  “They delivered it to you.”

  “Because you gave them the wrong apartment number.” Her nipples, definitely poin
ty after the last breeze, did not escape Lincoln’s notice.

  His entire body tensed and his Adam’s apple prominently traveled down his throat. But when his gaze flickered back to her face, his eyes were clear. “It’s not mine,” he said again, then turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway.

  Since he hadn’t shut her out, Angeline stepped inside to get out of the cold and closed the door.

  “Sheesh! It’s freezing in here.”

  Lincoln glanced at her from the kitchen. “Didn’t notice.” Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out two beers. “Grab a glass from the cabinet if you don’t want to drink from the bottle,” he said, strolling past her and into the living room.

  First setting the beer on the coffee table, he eased onto the couch, grabbed the remote and muted the television. When she made no effort to join him, Lincoln’s head slowly rotated in her direction. “I can resist a lot of things,” he said as his gaze lifted from the box in Angeline’s hands to her face. “Food isn’t one of them. If you don’t want to stay, leave the pizza on the counter. Otherwise...” He patted the seat cushion beside him.

  A test, perhaps? To gauge her willingness to move past the kerfuffle at Taylor’s.

  “It’s a little too frosty in here for me. I can almost see my breath.” Angeline placed the pizza box on the kitchen counter.

  Hand gripped on the couch arm, Lincoln hoisted himself up and went over to the thermostat.

  “How about the fireplace?” Angeline opened the pantry and snagged a handful of napkins. “The controller should be on the mantel.”

  For the first time, she noticed the quiet thump of Lincoln’s artificial foot as he walked.

  Lincoln picked up the small device and the gas fireplace came to life. “You know a lot about this place.”

  Napkins and pizza box in hand, Angeline strolled into the living room and placed the items on the coffee table. “Tristan and I have been close since we were kids. We’ve always looked after each other.”

  “Sounds like me and Lila,” Lincoln said, joining Angeline on the couch. “For the last five years, she was my best friend.”

  “What happened?”

  “She died on our last mission.”

  Angeline’s stomach dropped. “Is she the soldier you bought the beer and steak for?”

  “Yes.” Lincoln’s head bowed slightly and his eyes squinted shut before his hand swiped down his face. “One of the last things she said to me was that I owed her a nice, thick, juicy steak.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Angeline said quietly. “I understand what it feels like to lose someone close to you.”

  Wordlessly, he turned his head, glancing sidelong at her.

  “I should not have been rude to you at Taylor’s. It’s not your fault that someone I loved chose to be a Dogman rather than have a mateship with me.”

  “No apology necessary, Angel.” Lincoln flipped open the pizza box. Inside was a large heart-shaped pizza loaded with meats and cheese. Slowly, he turned to Angeline. One dark eyebrow rose in a question while an irritating smile spread across his masculine mouth.

  “It’s probably a special promotion. Valentine’s Day is next week.”

  Still grinning, he placed a slice on a napkin and handed it to Angeline.

  “I didn’t order this pizza.”

  “And yet you paid for it and brought it to me,” he teased. “How sweet.”

  “It would’ve been sweeter if you had paid for the pizza before the guy delivered it to me.”

  “But then you wouldn’t have had a reason to come over.” After grabbing a slice for himself, Lincoln leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes and took a giant bite. A sexy growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat as he chewed. “I haven’t had pizza since college.”

  “Really? Why?” Angeline wiped away the cheese that dribbled on her chin.

  “No one delivers to the jungle, or the desert or the swamp. Or Antarctica.”

  “You went to the South Pole?”

  “If I confirm or deny that question, I’ll have to terminate you.” He made the statement with lethal seriousness but his mouth quirked into a smile before he took the next bite of pizza.

  She playfully bumped his shoulder and was rewarded with a soft, playful growl that flooded her senses with an awareness of his undeniable masculinity. Common sense dictated that she should leave immediately. But his apartment was warm and toasty now. Neither her body nor her stomach wanted to brave the crisp, cold night to scurry down to her home and an empty refrigerator.

  Chapter 8

  Stone-cold determination.

  Lincoln faced each and every mission with stone-cold determination. This one would be no different.

  Get in, get the objective, get out. That was the plan.

  He’d followed the same plan when trying to locate Dayax. That mission hadn’t turned out so well.

  Midmorning on Tuesday, only a few cars were in the parking lot behind Anne’s Market. Just as Angeline had predicted.

  Lincoln shut off the truck engine and opened the door. Slinging his good leg out, he pivoted in the seat and grabbed the door handle for support. He climbed out and adjusted his balance until he felt steady on the artificial limb.

  Slowly, Lincoln followed the sidewalk to the front of the long building, housing several businesses facing the one-way street framing Maico’s quaint town square. Keeping focused on his agenda, he stared straight forward until he reached Anne’s Market.

  Inside, he glanced around to get his bearings. It was a small store with a decent produce section to the left, a small deli and refrigerated section to the right, canned and dry goods in the center and, according to the sign hanging from the ceiling, a meat section in the back.

  First, he needed a cart. Unfortunately, the one he grabbed was jammed into another and wouldn’t shake loose. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then gripped the handle, lifted the wheels off the floor and slammed it down. It made a terrible noise but the force knocked the buggy loose and, heart pounding, he went on his less than merry way.

  Though small, especially in comparison to the mega-size chain stores, the market seemed to have more than anyone could ever need. Aisles of canned goods lined the center of the store with so many selections that Lincoln simply did not know what to choose.

  He headed to the outer sections filled with produce. How hard could it be to buy a tomato? Apparently a degree in agricultural science would’ve been beneficial. There were heirlooms, grape-size, Romas, organic, home-grown and imported. All he wanted was one to slice, salt and eat with a platter of scrambled eggs.

  Closing his eyes, he picked one tomato then headed to the refrigerated section. Eggs were eggs, right? Apparently they came in half dozen, dozen, a dozen and a half, two dozen, three dozen and four dozen containers. He reached for the closest carton, noticing the slight tremor in his hand.

  Seriously, he’d faced down terrorists and mercenaries. How could grocery shopping alone rattle his nerves?

  He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, which did nothing to ease the sound of his heart thumping in his ears or the crackle of electricity that raised the hair on his arms.

  “Better check those eggs.” Unexpectedly, Angeline’s Southern twang drifted over his shoulder. “You don’t want to get home and find one cracked.”

  At the rate he was going, Lincoln would be lucky to get home with them at all.

  She slid the carton from his death grip and opened it. “See?”

  Two eggshells were broken, more than likely from the frustrated way he’d latched onto the carton.

  Angeline set them aside.

  “These are my favorites.” Selecting a green foam container, she inspected the eighteen eggs inside, then set them in his cart.

  Her handbasket crooked in her arm, Angeline continued on her way. Inst
inctively, Lincoln followed.

  “I could use some good recommendations.” He strolled beside her, the tightness in his chest easing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had so many things to choose from.” He wasn’t sure why anyone needed so many choices, especially when others in some parts of the world had none.

  “You’re going to need the basics, so let’s start with the nonperishables.”

  “Lead the way.” He waved his hand in an after-you gesture.

  Wearing jeans tucked into her black, pointy-heeled boots and a long cardigan sweater, Angeline took the lead. If Lincoln wasn’t careful, the mesmerizing sway of her hips might lead him to the edge of a cliff.

  They stopped in the paper goods section.

  “Do you like washing dishes?”

  Lincoln shook his head.

  “Neither do I.” Angeline dropped a stack of paper plates into his cart. Followed by a roll of paper towels and a box of garbage bags.

  The next stop, the personal hygiene aisle, displayed at least a dozen brands of soap—and that was just the bars that came in boxes. The body gels and foams took up nearly as much room on the shelves as did the shampoos.

  He simply stared at all of them. The flutter in his heart started again and his stomach tightened.

  Just pick one!

  He reached for a small, rectangular box and envisioned the slippery bar sliding from his hand and dropping to the shower floor. Since he didn’t want to spend half of his shower time hopping on one leg, trying to retrieve the soap, Lincoln grabbed the first bottle of body wash within reach.

  “You should smell it,” Angeline said.

  Lincoln carefully unscrewed the cap and sniffed. It smelled like soap and flowers.

  He lifted it toward Angeline for her to get a whiff. Instantly, her nose wrinkled.

  Okay, not this one.

  It really shouldn’t matter which ones she liked, but he couldn’t stop himself from seeking her opinion on every damn one of them. When her eyes closed and she took a second sniff of the woodsy-scented body wash with a hint of citrus and amber, a soft, sexy smile curved her mouth. Lincoln nabbed two bottles. The full moon was only a few days away and if she was looking for a partner for the evening, or any other evening, he definitely wanted her to have that same response if she scented him. And he hoped she did.