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Synopsis
There's nothing like a good-ol'-boy wolf. And ace security expert Ricky Lee Reed serves, protects, and seduces with all the right moves . . .
Sure, Toni Jean-Louis Parker has to be the responsible oldest sister to a crazy-brilliant clan of jackal siblings. But now she's cutting loose for some hot, sweaty, no-commitments fun—and the sexy, slow-talking, swift-moving predator assigned to keep her family safe is just the right thing to shapeshift her love life into overdrive. Trouble is, he's starting to get all obsessive wolf on her every time he looks in her direction.
Getting serious about anyone isn't in Ricky Lee Reed's plans. Hell, even now he doesn't really have a plan—outside of catching whomever is threatening this dangerously brilliant family. But the more he sees of Toni, the more he's howling for her. And whatever it takes to convince her that what they have is everything, well, this wily wolf is down for the sizzling chase.
Release date: August 6, 2014
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 400
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Wolf With Benefits
Shelly Laurenston
“Are you my daddy?”
Ricky Lee Reed, originally of Smithtown, Tennessee, and only replanted to New York City a few years back, gawked at the child who’d asked him the question for a mere moment before he turned his attention to the adult female who held the child.
He’d admit it wasn’t a question he expected to get, you know, ever. For a bunch of reasons, too, but mostly because he didn’t know this woman. He wasn’t one of those guys who nailed so many females he forgot their faces or names. So then . . . why was this child asking him this question? And even stranger, why was the female raising her brows and suddenly asking, “Well . . . are you?”
Wait. Wouldn’t she know? Shouldn’t she? Good Lord, this city. Maybe he’d never get used to living here. Ever. It was surprisingly safer than life in Smithtown, Tennessee, but it was weirder. Maybe because there were way more full-humans in Manhattan—he’d found full-humans were much stranger than shifters—and Smithtown was filled with shifters. Wolves, mostly. A few bears on the outskirts too old and big for the Pack to bother trying to make move. But all those wolves in one place with enough ’shine to take down the Russian army meant there was a lot more danger around those hills of his hometown than there ever could be on the mean streets of this city. No matter what the movies said. And yet life in Manhattan could be so strange in comparison to what he’d left behind.
He’d only come over to this bench inside the giant Sports Center, home to all of New York’s shifter-run sports teams, so he could chat with the pretty female sitting there. Perhaps get her number. She was real cute, probably because of all that curly hair. Most of the females in his Pack had straight hair, but this one had blondish-brown hair with lots of black streaks that was just kind of a curly mess. Just these wild, soft curls that nearly covered her eyes and reached to her shoulders. Yeah. He liked her hair. And the fact that she was a jackal didn’t mean much to him. She was still canine, like him, and he wasn’t looking for his mate. Just a few dates, maybe a little fun . . .
Fun. Not fatherhood.
“No,” he finally told them both. “I’m not your daddy.”
The female hugged the boy on her lap and kissed his forehead. “Sorry, Denny. Maybe we’ll find your daddy someday.”
Now Southern politeness would dictate that Ricky Lee should just leave this whole thing alone. Not ask questions, not suggest that maybe she should keep better track of her past lovers. But he just couldn’t bring himself to walk away. He was too curious.
She glanced at him. “Oh . . . are you still here?”
Before he could ask why he couldn’t keep sitting on this bench, without being glared at, several more children walked up to the female. A teenager with her big brown eyes glued to her cell phone, a young boy, and a toddler female holding the boy’s hand. They surrounded the She-jackal, the toddler trying to push the boy Denny aside so she could take his place on their mother’s lap.
That sure was a lot of pups for such a young female.
“Who are you talking to?” the jackal demanded of the teenager. Wait. Was she old enough to have a teenager?
“No one.”
“That’s a lot of typing for no one.”
Sighing dramatically as only teenagers managed to do, the girl asked, “Do we have to hang around here much longer?”
“I’m not leaving until I get what I want,” the eldest boy said with a lot of confidence for what looked to be only a nine- or ten-year-old. “So suck it up already.”
“I’ve got shit to do, you little brat.”
“More toe shoes to buy? More positions to contort your body into until you hit thirty or so and have to resign yourself to the fact your career is over? If you want to call it a career.”
The teenager almost had her hands around her brother’s throat—and he knew they were all siblings, no one else could annoy a body like a sibling—when the She-jackal snapped, “Leave him alone!”
“You always protect him.”
“Perhaps that’s because I actually have talent bestowed upon me by the gods, which is better than mere genetics that allowed my legs to grow impossibly long.”
“I hate you,” the teenager hissed at her brother.
“I live for hatred,” the boy replied. “It rejuvenates my creative fire.” It was a really strange thing for a young boy to say. Really strange. But even stranger was when he glanced over at Ricky and abruptly asked, “Are you our daddy?”
And before Ricky could say in no uncertain terms, “Absolutely not,” the doors that led to the main training rink burst open and Ricky’s hockey-playing brother, Reece Lee, flew through them.
Ricky instinctively grabbed the child in the most danger—the toddler—and moved. The She-jackal still had the boy on her lap, so she quickly stood, her arms tight around him. But she also jumped to the side, using her body to shove the older boy and his teenage sister away.
As an impromptu team, they seemed to have perfect timing as Ricky’s younger brother rammed into the wooden bench they’d been sitting on, completely destroying it in the process. Ricky didn’t bother to rush to Reece Lee’s help, though. He knew better. A few seconds later, a seven-one, nearly four-hundred-pound hybrid barreled through those rink doors and stalked over to Reece.
The hybrid grabbed Reece by his training jersey and lifted him up, only to slam him back down again. Reece bared his fangs and started to fight back, claws out. It wasn’t a pretty fight, like one of those choreographed ones you’d see in an action movie. Instead it was more like watching a couple of pit bulls go at it in someone’s yard.
“Are you just going to stand there?” the She-jackal demanded, her glare on Ricky.
“That was my plan.”
“But I saw you with the smaller one earlier,” she said over the snarling, growling, and roaring. “You know him.”
“Barely.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re brothers, aren’t you?”
“According to my momma, but I still want DNA tests to prove it.”
The older boy tried to shoot past the She-jackal toward the fight, but the teenager grabbed the back of his T-shirt and held on.
“Are you insane?” the teenager demanded of her brother.
“Toni promised me I’d get to meet him!”
“I promised I’d try,” the She-jackal shot back. Huh. The kid called her “Toni.” Not “Mom” or “Mommy.” Then it hit Ricky . . . these weren’t her kids. At least not all of them. They were her brothers and sisters.
The teenager caught hold of her younger brother by the back of his neck, the extra flesh every canine predator child had there giving her a better collar than some strip of leather. “Toni’s not about to let you get in the middle of a predator fight.”
“But—”
“I keep telling you, Kyle,” the She-jackal reminded him, “we’re scavengers. Wait until the vultures arrive. Then you can go over and maybe get a little lunch.”
When Ricky raised a brow, the She-jackal only smirked and gave a small shrug.
Deciding not to ask too many questions, Ricky focused on his brother and the hybrid—who was a damn talented hockey player—that had Reece on his back, big bear-lion hand around the wolf’s throat.
Reece was putting up a good fight, though. Desperately trying to get the crazed hybrid off him. Too bad it wasn’t working.
After landing a few blows to the hybrid’s face, Reece glared at Ricky. “You going to do somethin’?” he squeaked out.
“Didn’t you tell me yesterday to stay out of your business?” Ricky asked, grinning.
“Son of a—”
“Hey,” Ricky cut in. “There are pups here. Gotta watch your mouth.”
The She-jackal sighed. “Seriously?” she demanded. “I mean . . . seriously?”
“What?”
“He’s getting the holy hell beaten out of him by a man whose hair just suddenly grew.”
“That’s his mighty mane. Only comes out when he’s really mad.”
“And you’re comfortable with him basically pummeling your brother?”
Ricky thought on that, but he must have taken too long to answer because the She-jackal handed off the boy in her arms to the teenager.
“It’s like I have to take care of everything,” she snapped at Ricky before walking around to the two fighting males and yelled over the roaring, “Excuse me, Mister . . . uh . . .” She glanced back at the oldest boy, Kyle.
“Novikov,” Kyle prompted.
“Right. Mr. Novikov? Mr. Novikov!”
The hybrid stopped, his hand still gripping Reece’s throat, his massive body still pinning the wolf to the ground. Slowly, he looked up at the jackal, mane nearly covering glowering blue eyes.
“Hi.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m Antonella Jean-Louis Parker. Toni for short. That’s Toni with an ‘i,’ not a ‘y.’ Anyway, Ulrich Van Holtz may have mentioned that I was going to stop by today. And this is Kyle.” She snapped her fingers and the boy quickly moved to her side. “Kyle really wants your autograph and although I’m sorry to interrupt your . . . wolf-pummeling, I am on a bit of a schedule.” She tapped the sturdy-looking diving watch on her wrist. “So is there any way we could speed this up? Maybe you could assault the wolf later? Kyle would really appreciate it.”
The boy grinned. “I would!”
The hybrid studied the jackal for several long seconds before he nodded. “Schedules, I understand.” Then he looked down at Reece and roared in his face, “Schedules! Learn the concept!”
He released his grip on Reece and got to his mighty big feet. By the time Novikov stood, his mane had lessened considerably, something the She-jackal noticed, her eyes narrowing a bit. The hybrid faced her, his back now to Reece. That’s when he mule-kicked him, sending Ricky’s brother flying until he slammed into one of the many pillars around the building.
Ricky cringed. He sure bet that hurt.
“What do you want me to sign?”
“Get the shirt, Kyle.” The boy took off his backpack and quickly dug out a hockey jersey and a permanent marker. Based on the jersey’s colors it looked like it was from the Washington shifter hockey team. A team that the hybrid had once belonged to. That guy had belonged to a lot of teams, and to this day many of his past teammates still hated him.
The boy handed over the shirt and marker to the hybrid. As Novikov signed, he asked the boy, “So do you play hockey?”
“No, sir.”
“Really? How come?”
“Because I plan to use my brilliance for something real and important, not something petty like sports.”
The She-jackal cringed, her head dropping while Novikov’s head snapped up.
“Sorry?”
“See, what I like about what you do,” the boy explained, his hands accenting each word, his voice intense, “is the raw rage and violence. I can use that in my work. And while you’ll probably be forgotten soon after you retire, which is the way of you athletic types whose happiest years are usually when you’re in high school”—he glanced back at his teenage sister and she rewarded him with the one-finger salute—“my legacy will live on for centuries. People will study my work, copy it. My work will start a new art movement, a new wave of creativity born out of blood and violence and rage. And you . . . you, Mr. Novikov, will be my David.”
“David?”
“Like Michelangelo’s David? But instead my piece will be called Jean-Louis Parker’s Novikov, and it will be the greatest art anyone has ever seen. And you . . . you, Mr. Novikov, will be my muse.”
The hybrid blinked and then finally asked exactly what Ricky was thinking. “How old are you?”
“Eleven. But I don’t allow my age to hold me back from my future. Only those weak of mind do that.”
Novikov sighed and handed the signed shirt back to the boy. “I wish I could say you disgust me, but I understand you more than you’ll ever realize, kid. So go forth and kick ass.”
“I will. Thank you!”
He nodded at the boy, then the jackal. “Ma’am,” he said before he started back toward the rink.
But that’s when the kid threw out, “And is there a chance I can sketch you naked?”
Novikov stopped walking, his entire body jerking a bit. The She-jackal’s eyes popped open wide at the child’s question, her hand slapping across his mouth and yanking him against her body as Novikov faced them.
“He’s just kidding,” she quickly said before Novikov could ask. “He’s just kidding.”
The boy struggled against the jackal, his muffled words sounding like, “No, I’m not!” But the jackal didn’t release her grip, merely smiled. “And thanks for the autograph.”
Novikov nodded, grunted, and walked back to the rink, the big doors slamming behind him.
That’s when she released the boy, and using the hand not still holding the youngest brother, spun Kyle around so he faced her.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“It was just a question. He should feel privileged. The greatest artist ever known found his physique worthy of my precious attention. He should be bowing at my feet for such an honor.”
The She-jackal stared at him for several seconds before announcing, “You’re an idiot. And if you ever do that again, or I find out from someone else that you did it again, I’m going to kick your ass from here all the way back to Washington.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Do you understand me?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t—”
She grabbed the boy by the back of his neck and yanked him up with one hand. He dangled a good four feet off the ground, his gaze locked with the She-jackal’s. “Do you understand, Kyle?” she asked again.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.”
She released him and shoved the signed shirt back into his hands once he landed on firm ground.
The teenager sighed. “Can we just go already?”
“We have to see Ric first. Here. Take Dennis.”
The jackal handed off the youngest boy before turning to stare at Ricky. He gazed back. Smiled.
After a few moments of that, she asked, “Are you going to give her back to me?”
That’s when Ricky realized he still held the little pup he’d pulled out of the way of Novikov’s rage.
“Oh. Sorry about that.” Ricky handed the pup over. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, her fist shoved in her mouth. She whined a little as the transfer was made, but settled back to sleep once the jackal had her.
“Thank you,” the She-jackal said, and gave him a small smile.
It was the smile that did it, more than the politeness.
“You know,” Ricky began, “if you’re not busy tonight—”
Pointing at Ricky with her cell phone, the teen asked, “Are you our daddy?”
Disgusted, Ricky stated to the jackal, “Woman, there has to be an easier way for you to get rid of a man.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve found that there’s nothing quicker. “She winked at him, then gestured behind him with her chin. “And you may want to check on your brother—he’s still bleeding.”
“Yeah. I think Novikov nicked an artery . . . again.”
She stopped, glanced back at him. But with a little snort-laugh, she walked off without another word.
Antonella “Toni” Jean-Louis Parker shoved her eleven-year-old brother inside the office by using her foot. It wasn’t really a kick, though. It was more a shove.
Holding her three-year-old sister, Zia, on her hip, she followed Kyle inside while her fifteen-year-old sister Oriana pulled their five-year-old brother, Dennis, in and laughed hysterically at the same time.
“Stop condoning Kyle’s inappropriate behavior,” Toni ordered her sister. The pair stared at each other, then began laughing together.
“You are such a freak!” Oriana told Kyle. “I can’t believe we’re related.”
“I don’t see what the big deal was,” Kyle complained, dropping into one of the office chairs. “It was just a request to sketch him naked.”
“A request that should never come from an eleven-year-old anything. And it better not come from you again.”
Kyle sighed dramatically, as he liked to do, and reminded Toni, yet again, that, “I’m an artist, Antonella.” And what always annoyed Toni about these conversations with Kyle was his tone. Since he’d been four, he always sounded like a fifty-year-old snob explaining the difference between the rich and the poor to a struggling street vendor. A lot of people wondered how such a young boy could sound so mature and intelligently rude. They often assumed he was just mimicking his parents. But the truth was . . . he’d developed that tone all on his own. Like his skills as a sculptor, his rude, condescending attitude seemed to be God-given. “I don’t have time for these ridiculous rules that average people like you have about what you can and cannot ask.”
“So much rudeness in only a couple of sentences,” Toni observed.
“It’s not my fault you don’t understand my world.”
“I don’t understand?”
Was Kyle kidding? Antonella Jean-Louis Parker didn’t understand the artistic mind? The brilliant mind? Toni’s entire life was about understanding the brilliant mind. And not for some PhD paper she was writing or for an important article in Scientific American. Toni had to understand the brilliant mind because that was her life. That had been her life for more years than she was willing to count.
Because this was her family. Not just these four kids. Toni had six other siblings, ten all together. Her parents just kept breeding. Like rabbits. Or, actually, like the jackals they were. Because jackals paired for life and weren’t distracted by pack issues, they bred whenever they wanted to. And Toni’s parents had done just that, their latest offspring being Zia and her twin sister, both born when their mother was nearly fifty.
And although their father, Paul Parker, was, as Kyle so eloquently put it, “average,” their mother, Jackie, was not. In fact, Jacqueline Jean-Louis was a world-renowned violinist. She’d performed on some of the largest stages in the world to sold-out audiences, performed in front of royalty, and had several best-selling CDs and DVDs that showed the world her skill. Yet Jackie was not only a great violinist, she’d been a prodigy. A child so talented at such a young age that she was considered brilliant.
Now to have one prodigy in a family is amazing. Most families would never, no matter how long their bloodline stretched, have a prodigy. And yet . . . somehow Toni’s parents had managed to have ten prodigies out of their eleven children. Ten. In one family. True, a family of jackal shifters; but shifters were no different from full-humans when it came to how many prodigies would normally occur in one family line.
The thing about prodigies, though, was that they weren’t simply brilliant. There were lots of smart, super smart, even geniuses in the world. What set prodigies apart from everyone else was their commitment. Her mother’s skill with a violin would have meant nothing if she didn’t spend several hours every day, since the age of three, practicing her instrument. Her sister Oriana’s genetics would have meant nothing if she didn’t routinely go to her ballet classes every morning and evening, six days a week, while practicing on her own, seven days a week. All real prodigies had the drive.
Lord, the drive. Toni could imagine how some people would get sick of all the family support needed to get one prodigy wherever they wanted to go. But Toni? Well, Toni had to deal with ten. Now, true, the twins Zia and Zoe didn’t really have that drive yet. At this stage they were just naturally gifted. But little Denny, who was trying to work his way onto her lap with Zia, although only five, had already found his drive. He worked for hours before kindergarten and hours after on his paintings. Paintings that resembled actual photographs they were so painstakingly accurate. Kyle, of course, didn’t call that “art.” Instead he said, “Denny is still in the discovery stage where he copies everything. Although I’m confident if he gets out of that stage in the next year or two . . . he has quite the potential.” For Kyle that was like calling his brother Leonardo da Vinci. Of course asking a five-year-old to quickly move through his “discovery stage” didn’t seem odd to the Jean-Louis Parker kids. If you wanted to hang with them, you had to have the drive and the talent.
Tragically, Toni, the eldest, didn’t have either. More than once, she’d told her mother, “I’m not really your child, am I? Just admit it.” To which her mother would always respond, “You have my eyes.”
“But maybe Dad isn’t—”
“You have his nose, his feet, and his mother’s curly hair. Just suck it up already, baby. You’re a Jean-Louis Parker whether you want to be or not.”
So Toni had finally resigned herself to being the “average one” among a family of prodigies. But they were also jackals, and older siblings often helped their parents raise the younger ones. It was also true, though, that most siblings Toni’s age would have moved on to their own families by now. Had their own pups. But with her mother still breeding up until the twins—when finally the wonder that is flippin’ menopause kicked in—and the rest of the kids being focused on their own careers—Toni just didn’t feel right about going off on her own. Her family needed her. As the only one without any real skill, she was the only one who could manage all of them at one time. She had no other goal but to ensure that the rest of them reached their potential—and the age of eighteen—without going to prison.
So Toni put up with Kyle’s snobbishness, Oriana’s brattiness, Cherise’s borderline agoraphobia, Freddy’s debilitating panic attacks and issues with setting things on fire and his thievery . . . on and on it went. Her siblings all had issues, and Toni took it upon herself to keep them as reasonably human as possible. It wasn’t easy. Although her siblings would never lower themselves by bumping off their competition—since they didn’t consider anyone better than they were or a real threat—Toni did worry that some of them would bump someone off who got in their way. Who held them back. Once, some kid thought it would be funny to give nine-year-old Troy, the mathematician, the wrong time for an important math competition. He thought it was even funnier when a hysterically crying Troy tracked him down the next day to confront him. Sure. The crying . . . real funny. Except Troy hadn’t been crying out of sadness or because he’d been hurt by the kid’s actions. He’d been crying out of frustration. The emotion few in Toni’s family knew how to deal with in a normal, rational way. So, those tears were no longer funny when Troy battered that kid into the ground with his backpack filled to nearly overflowing with all his hardcover math books.
Even worse for Toni, because Troy was an important prodigy, he was barely given a slap on the wrist. Not even a recommendation to go into therapy, probably because at the time, he’d been working on some important equation that his school wanted him to solve so they could brag about it in the media, and they didn’t want therapy appointments getting in the way of his busy schedule. So making sure he understood beating someone out of frustration was not a good option was down to Toni. And that responsibility was something she took very seriously when it came to her siblings. Someone had to. God knew, if she didn’t take it seriously, Kyle would wander around the streets asking random strangers for naked sketch time.
“I just don’t see the problem, Toni. So what if I asked Novikov—”
“Shut up, Kyle.”
“Yes, but—”
“Shut. It.”
“This is about my art!” Kyle raged. “Don’t you understand—”
Toni, not wanting to hear this particular speech again—Kyle had lots of speeches for such a young boy—reached for the back of Kyle’s neck, but he scrambled over Oriana and into the seat on the other side of her.
“I’ll let it go,” he quickly promised. “I’ll let it go.”
Releasing a breath, Toni focused on the bobcat receptionist. “Could you let Mr. Van Holtz know the Jean-Louis Parkers are here?”
“Do you have an appointment?” the cat asked, not even looking away from his computer to give her eye contact.
“Yes. Remember? I was just here twenty minutes ago? Having the same conversation with you?”
The bobcat looked at her, shrugged. “And?”
Biting back an annoyed yip, Toni snapped, “As I said, we have an appointment.”
“And your name?”
This was why she hated the smaller cats. Lions and tigers could be annoying but nothing like the little ones. “Antonella Jean-Louis Parker.”
“Don’t you have anything shorter?”
“Just my fist,” she shot back. That’s when Oriana lowered her cell phone and said, “Dude, just get Ulrich before my sister rips your face off.”
The bobcat sighed and picked up the phone to call the wolf they’d come to see.
Oriana re-focused on her cell phone but said to Toni, “That wolf was cute.”
Toni blinked, confused. “What wolf? Ulrich?”
Rolling her eyes, Oriana replied, “No. The one you were talking to outside the skating rink. With the baseball cap.”
“Oh. Him. Yeah. He was cute.” But just a wolf. It wasn’t like wolves were something special or unusual. Their mother was best friends with fellow former-prodigy Irene Conridge Van Holtz. A brilliant scientist and full-human, Aunt Irene was mated to Niles Van Holtz. Alpha Male of the Van Holtz Pack. And because the Jean-Louis Parkers were as close to family as Irene had, that meant that they spent a lot of time around the wolves. A lot of time. Not that Toni minded. Uncle Van and his Pack were fun and most of the direct bloodline Van Holtzes were amazing chefs, which meant the Jean-Louis Parkers always ate well. But bringing more wolves into her existence was not something Toni felt was necessary at this stage in her life.
“Tall,” Oriana continued. “Nice shoulders.”
He’d been unnaturally wide in Toni’s estimation. Shoulders that wide with hips that narrow just didn’t seem right.
“Nice smile.”
All those teeth. Bright white teeth that he kept showing when he constantly smiled at her. Personally, she found his smile oddly threatening. As if every person he met was a potential meal.
Still, although Toni might not be susceptible to most males, she wasn’t blind, either. He was a handsome wolf, but not like the Van Holtz wolves, who always reminded her of European cover models. He was too big. Too wide. Too . . . American. All those muscles and dark brown hair that just reached his massive shoulders. Amber eyes and a flat, wide nose that only barely helped to make the constant smirk on his face a little less annoying.
“Plus,” Oriana went on, “he seemed to not mind your average looks and that uncontrollable mane of yours.”
Slowly Toni looked at her sister. “Thanks, Oriana.”
Her sister smiled without looking up from her phone. “You’re welcome.”
Toni seriously considered ripping that phone out of Oriana’s hand since she had yet to learn the meaning of sarcasm, but Ric Van Holtz walked into the lobby before she could bother.
“Hey, guys. Sorry I couldn’t really meet with you earlier. Last-minute meeting with investors.”
“No problem,” Toni assured him, handing Zia over to him as soon as he stretched out his arms. Ric was great with kids, no matter the breed or species, and he adored the Jean-Louis Parker pups.
“How did it go at the rink?” Ric asked, gently brushing his free hand over Zia’s hair as her head rested on his shoulder.
“Fine.”
“Except for that fight,” Oriana muttered.
Ric’s nose flared. It was a rather narrow nose, but it could flare quite dramatically when he was angry enough. “Did Novikov hurt you? Should I have him killed?”
“That seems extreme.” Toni cut a warning glare at her sister, but with the brat’s attention focused on her phone, there was no guarantee that she’d seen anything. “Mr. Novikov was just fine.”
“He wasn’t fighting with us,” Kyle clarified.
“Oh.” Ric quickly calmed down. “That was probably Reece Reed he was fighting then, since it’s the middle of the day and Reece seems to be the only one who continues to fight that idiot.”
“Novikov signed my shirt, just like you said he would.” Kyle held up the shirt for Ric to see.
“Good. I’m glad he did as I told him to.”
“Yeah,” Oriana said, “it went great until Kyle here asked to see him naked.”
Ric briefly closed his eyes. “Again, Kyle? Again?”
Horrified, Toni demanded, “Oh, my God, Kyle! Did you ask Ric to—”
“I will not be held back by society’s mores!”
“It’s not society’s mores we’re concerned with, Kyle,” Ric kindly explained. “It’s society’s creeps.”
“So you’re saying that Bo Novikov is—”
“No,” Ric said quickly and firmly. “That’s not what I mean. And although you might be safe with Novikov or with me, that doesn’t mean the rest of the world is a safe bet. You have to be careful.”
Kyle motioned to Toni. “But that’s what I have her for. To protect me from society’s creeps.”
“Really? Is that what I’ve been reduced to?” Toni asked. “Your bodyguard? Is that my life? Is that going to be my life?”
“I wouldn’t worry about you having that job for long,” Oriana told her.
“Why?”
“How good could you be at protecting him with those stick legs of yours?”
Toni looked down at her legs, then quickly r
Ricky Lee Reed, originally of Smithtown, Tennessee, and only replanted to New York City a few years back, gawked at the child who’d asked him the question for a mere moment before he turned his attention to the adult female who held the child.
He’d admit it wasn’t a question he expected to get, you know, ever. For a bunch of reasons, too, but mostly because he didn’t know this woman. He wasn’t one of those guys who nailed so many females he forgot their faces or names. So then . . . why was this child asking him this question? And even stranger, why was the female raising her brows and suddenly asking, “Well . . . are you?”
Wait. Wouldn’t she know? Shouldn’t she? Good Lord, this city. Maybe he’d never get used to living here. Ever. It was surprisingly safer than life in Smithtown, Tennessee, but it was weirder. Maybe because there were way more full-humans in Manhattan—he’d found full-humans were much stranger than shifters—and Smithtown was filled with shifters. Wolves, mostly. A few bears on the outskirts too old and big for the Pack to bother trying to make move. But all those wolves in one place with enough ’shine to take down the Russian army meant there was a lot more danger around those hills of his hometown than there ever could be on the mean streets of this city. No matter what the movies said. And yet life in Manhattan could be so strange in comparison to what he’d left behind.
He’d only come over to this bench inside the giant Sports Center, home to all of New York’s shifter-run sports teams, so he could chat with the pretty female sitting there. Perhaps get her number. She was real cute, probably because of all that curly hair. Most of the females in his Pack had straight hair, but this one had blondish-brown hair with lots of black streaks that was just kind of a curly mess. Just these wild, soft curls that nearly covered her eyes and reached to her shoulders. Yeah. He liked her hair. And the fact that she was a jackal didn’t mean much to him. She was still canine, like him, and he wasn’t looking for his mate. Just a few dates, maybe a little fun . . .
Fun. Not fatherhood.
“No,” he finally told them both. “I’m not your daddy.”
The female hugged the boy on her lap and kissed his forehead. “Sorry, Denny. Maybe we’ll find your daddy someday.”
Now Southern politeness would dictate that Ricky Lee should just leave this whole thing alone. Not ask questions, not suggest that maybe she should keep better track of her past lovers. But he just couldn’t bring himself to walk away. He was too curious.
She glanced at him. “Oh . . . are you still here?”
Before he could ask why he couldn’t keep sitting on this bench, without being glared at, several more children walked up to the female. A teenager with her big brown eyes glued to her cell phone, a young boy, and a toddler female holding the boy’s hand. They surrounded the She-jackal, the toddler trying to push the boy Denny aside so she could take his place on their mother’s lap.
That sure was a lot of pups for such a young female.
“Who are you talking to?” the jackal demanded of the teenager. Wait. Was she old enough to have a teenager?
“No one.”
“That’s a lot of typing for no one.”
Sighing dramatically as only teenagers managed to do, the girl asked, “Do we have to hang around here much longer?”
“I’m not leaving until I get what I want,” the eldest boy said with a lot of confidence for what looked to be only a nine- or ten-year-old. “So suck it up already.”
“I’ve got shit to do, you little brat.”
“More toe shoes to buy? More positions to contort your body into until you hit thirty or so and have to resign yourself to the fact your career is over? If you want to call it a career.”
The teenager almost had her hands around her brother’s throat—and he knew they were all siblings, no one else could annoy a body like a sibling—when the She-jackal snapped, “Leave him alone!”
“You always protect him.”
“Perhaps that’s because I actually have talent bestowed upon me by the gods, which is better than mere genetics that allowed my legs to grow impossibly long.”
“I hate you,” the teenager hissed at her brother.
“I live for hatred,” the boy replied. “It rejuvenates my creative fire.” It was a really strange thing for a young boy to say. Really strange. But even stranger was when he glanced over at Ricky and abruptly asked, “Are you our daddy?”
And before Ricky could say in no uncertain terms, “Absolutely not,” the doors that led to the main training rink burst open and Ricky’s hockey-playing brother, Reece Lee, flew through them.
Ricky instinctively grabbed the child in the most danger—the toddler—and moved. The She-jackal still had the boy on her lap, so she quickly stood, her arms tight around him. But she also jumped to the side, using her body to shove the older boy and his teenage sister away.
As an impromptu team, they seemed to have perfect timing as Ricky’s younger brother rammed into the wooden bench they’d been sitting on, completely destroying it in the process. Ricky didn’t bother to rush to Reece Lee’s help, though. He knew better. A few seconds later, a seven-one, nearly four-hundred-pound hybrid barreled through those rink doors and stalked over to Reece.
The hybrid grabbed Reece by his training jersey and lifted him up, only to slam him back down again. Reece bared his fangs and started to fight back, claws out. It wasn’t a pretty fight, like one of those choreographed ones you’d see in an action movie. Instead it was more like watching a couple of pit bulls go at it in someone’s yard.
“Are you just going to stand there?” the She-jackal demanded, her glare on Ricky.
“That was my plan.”
“But I saw you with the smaller one earlier,” she said over the snarling, growling, and roaring. “You know him.”
“Barely.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re brothers, aren’t you?”
“According to my momma, but I still want DNA tests to prove it.”
The older boy tried to shoot past the She-jackal toward the fight, but the teenager grabbed the back of his T-shirt and held on.
“Are you insane?” the teenager demanded of her brother.
“Toni promised me I’d get to meet him!”
“I promised I’d try,” the She-jackal shot back. Huh. The kid called her “Toni.” Not “Mom” or “Mommy.” Then it hit Ricky . . . these weren’t her kids. At least not all of them. They were her brothers and sisters.
The teenager caught hold of her younger brother by the back of his neck, the extra flesh every canine predator child had there giving her a better collar than some strip of leather. “Toni’s not about to let you get in the middle of a predator fight.”
“But—”
“I keep telling you, Kyle,” the She-jackal reminded him, “we’re scavengers. Wait until the vultures arrive. Then you can go over and maybe get a little lunch.”
When Ricky raised a brow, the She-jackal only smirked and gave a small shrug.
Deciding not to ask too many questions, Ricky focused on his brother and the hybrid—who was a damn talented hockey player—that had Reece on his back, big bear-lion hand around the wolf’s throat.
Reece was putting up a good fight, though. Desperately trying to get the crazed hybrid off him. Too bad it wasn’t working.
After landing a few blows to the hybrid’s face, Reece glared at Ricky. “You going to do somethin’?” he squeaked out.
“Didn’t you tell me yesterday to stay out of your business?” Ricky asked, grinning.
“Son of a—”
“Hey,” Ricky cut in. “There are pups here. Gotta watch your mouth.”
The She-jackal sighed. “Seriously?” she demanded. “I mean . . . seriously?”
“What?”
“He’s getting the holy hell beaten out of him by a man whose hair just suddenly grew.”
“That’s his mighty mane. Only comes out when he’s really mad.”
“And you’re comfortable with him basically pummeling your brother?”
Ricky thought on that, but he must have taken too long to answer because the She-jackal handed off the boy in her arms to the teenager.
“It’s like I have to take care of everything,” she snapped at Ricky before walking around to the two fighting males and yelled over the roaring, “Excuse me, Mister . . . uh . . .” She glanced back at the oldest boy, Kyle.
“Novikov,” Kyle prompted.
“Right. Mr. Novikov? Mr. Novikov!”
The hybrid stopped, his hand still gripping Reece’s throat, his massive body still pinning the wolf to the ground. Slowly, he looked up at the jackal, mane nearly covering glowering blue eyes.
“Hi.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m Antonella Jean-Louis Parker. Toni for short. That’s Toni with an ‘i,’ not a ‘y.’ Anyway, Ulrich Van Holtz may have mentioned that I was going to stop by today. And this is Kyle.” She snapped her fingers and the boy quickly moved to her side. “Kyle really wants your autograph and although I’m sorry to interrupt your . . . wolf-pummeling, I am on a bit of a schedule.” She tapped the sturdy-looking diving watch on her wrist. “So is there any way we could speed this up? Maybe you could assault the wolf later? Kyle would really appreciate it.”
The boy grinned. “I would!”
The hybrid studied the jackal for several long seconds before he nodded. “Schedules, I understand.” Then he looked down at Reece and roared in his face, “Schedules! Learn the concept!”
He released his grip on Reece and got to his mighty big feet. By the time Novikov stood, his mane had lessened considerably, something the She-jackal noticed, her eyes narrowing a bit. The hybrid faced her, his back now to Reece. That’s when he mule-kicked him, sending Ricky’s brother flying until he slammed into one of the many pillars around the building.
Ricky cringed. He sure bet that hurt.
“What do you want me to sign?”
“Get the shirt, Kyle.” The boy took off his backpack and quickly dug out a hockey jersey and a permanent marker. Based on the jersey’s colors it looked like it was from the Washington shifter hockey team. A team that the hybrid had once belonged to. That guy had belonged to a lot of teams, and to this day many of his past teammates still hated him.
The boy handed over the shirt and marker to the hybrid. As Novikov signed, he asked the boy, “So do you play hockey?”
“No, sir.”
“Really? How come?”
“Because I plan to use my brilliance for something real and important, not something petty like sports.”
The She-jackal cringed, her head dropping while Novikov’s head snapped up.
“Sorry?”
“See, what I like about what you do,” the boy explained, his hands accenting each word, his voice intense, “is the raw rage and violence. I can use that in my work. And while you’ll probably be forgotten soon after you retire, which is the way of you athletic types whose happiest years are usually when you’re in high school”—he glanced back at his teenage sister and she rewarded him with the one-finger salute—“my legacy will live on for centuries. People will study my work, copy it. My work will start a new art movement, a new wave of creativity born out of blood and violence and rage. And you . . . you, Mr. Novikov, will be my David.”
“David?”
“Like Michelangelo’s David? But instead my piece will be called Jean-Louis Parker’s Novikov, and it will be the greatest art anyone has ever seen. And you . . . you, Mr. Novikov, will be my muse.”
The hybrid blinked and then finally asked exactly what Ricky was thinking. “How old are you?”
“Eleven. But I don’t allow my age to hold me back from my future. Only those weak of mind do that.”
Novikov sighed and handed the signed shirt back to the boy. “I wish I could say you disgust me, but I understand you more than you’ll ever realize, kid. So go forth and kick ass.”
“I will. Thank you!”
He nodded at the boy, then the jackal. “Ma’am,” he said before he started back toward the rink.
But that’s when the kid threw out, “And is there a chance I can sketch you naked?”
Novikov stopped walking, his entire body jerking a bit. The She-jackal’s eyes popped open wide at the child’s question, her hand slapping across his mouth and yanking him against her body as Novikov faced them.
“He’s just kidding,” she quickly said before Novikov could ask. “He’s just kidding.”
The boy struggled against the jackal, his muffled words sounding like, “No, I’m not!” But the jackal didn’t release her grip, merely smiled. “And thanks for the autograph.”
Novikov nodded, grunted, and walked back to the rink, the big doors slamming behind him.
That’s when she released the boy, and using the hand not still holding the youngest brother, spun Kyle around so he faced her.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“It was just a question. He should feel privileged. The greatest artist ever known found his physique worthy of my precious attention. He should be bowing at my feet for such an honor.”
The She-jackal stared at him for several seconds before announcing, “You’re an idiot. And if you ever do that again, or I find out from someone else that you did it again, I’m going to kick your ass from here all the way back to Washington.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Do you understand me?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t—”
She grabbed the boy by the back of his neck and yanked him up with one hand. He dangled a good four feet off the ground, his gaze locked with the She-jackal’s. “Do you understand, Kyle?” she asked again.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.”
She released him and shoved the signed shirt back into his hands once he landed on firm ground.
The teenager sighed. “Can we just go already?”
“We have to see Ric first. Here. Take Dennis.”
The jackal handed off the youngest boy before turning to stare at Ricky. He gazed back. Smiled.
After a few moments of that, she asked, “Are you going to give her back to me?”
That’s when Ricky realized he still held the little pup he’d pulled out of the way of Novikov’s rage.
“Oh. Sorry about that.” Ricky handed the pup over. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, her fist shoved in her mouth. She whined a little as the transfer was made, but settled back to sleep once the jackal had her.
“Thank you,” the She-jackal said, and gave him a small smile.
It was the smile that did it, more than the politeness.
“You know,” Ricky began, “if you’re not busy tonight—”
Pointing at Ricky with her cell phone, the teen asked, “Are you our daddy?”
Disgusted, Ricky stated to the jackal, “Woman, there has to be an easier way for you to get rid of a man.”
“Perhaps, but I’ve found that there’s nothing quicker. “She winked at him, then gestured behind him with her chin. “And you may want to check on your brother—he’s still bleeding.”
“Yeah. I think Novikov nicked an artery . . . again.”
She stopped, glanced back at him. But with a little snort-laugh, she walked off without another word.
Antonella “Toni” Jean-Louis Parker shoved her eleven-year-old brother inside the office by using her foot. It wasn’t really a kick, though. It was more a shove.
Holding her three-year-old sister, Zia, on her hip, she followed Kyle inside while her fifteen-year-old sister Oriana pulled their five-year-old brother, Dennis, in and laughed hysterically at the same time.
“Stop condoning Kyle’s inappropriate behavior,” Toni ordered her sister. The pair stared at each other, then began laughing together.
“You are such a freak!” Oriana told Kyle. “I can’t believe we’re related.”
“I don’t see what the big deal was,” Kyle complained, dropping into one of the office chairs. “It was just a request to sketch him naked.”
“A request that should never come from an eleven-year-old anything. And it better not come from you again.”
Kyle sighed dramatically, as he liked to do, and reminded Toni, yet again, that, “I’m an artist, Antonella.” And what always annoyed Toni about these conversations with Kyle was his tone. Since he’d been four, he always sounded like a fifty-year-old snob explaining the difference between the rich and the poor to a struggling street vendor. A lot of people wondered how such a young boy could sound so mature and intelligently rude. They often assumed he was just mimicking his parents. But the truth was . . . he’d developed that tone all on his own. Like his skills as a sculptor, his rude, condescending attitude seemed to be God-given. “I don’t have time for these ridiculous rules that average people like you have about what you can and cannot ask.”
“So much rudeness in only a couple of sentences,” Toni observed.
“It’s not my fault you don’t understand my world.”
“I don’t understand?”
Was Kyle kidding? Antonella Jean-Louis Parker didn’t understand the artistic mind? The brilliant mind? Toni’s entire life was about understanding the brilliant mind. And not for some PhD paper she was writing or for an important article in Scientific American. Toni had to understand the brilliant mind because that was her life. That had been her life for more years than she was willing to count.
Because this was her family. Not just these four kids. Toni had six other siblings, ten all together. Her parents just kept breeding. Like rabbits. Or, actually, like the jackals they were. Because jackals paired for life and weren’t distracted by pack issues, they bred whenever they wanted to. And Toni’s parents had done just that, their latest offspring being Zia and her twin sister, both born when their mother was nearly fifty.
And although their father, Paul Parker, was, as Kyle so eloquently put it, “average,” their mother, Jackie, was not. In fact, Jacqueline Jean-Louis was a world-renowned violinist. She’d performed on some of the largest stages in the world to sold-out audiences, performed in front of royalty, and had several best-selling CDs and DVDs that showed the world her skill. Yet Jackie was not only a great violinist, she’d been a prodigy. A child so talented at such a young age that she was considered brilliant.
Now to have one prodigy in a family is amazing. Most families would never, no matter how long their bloodline stretched, have a prodigy. And yet . . . somehow Toni’s parents had managed to have ten prodigies out of their eleven children. Ten. In one family. True, a family of jackal shifters; but shifters were no different from full-humans when it came to how many prodigies would normally occur in one family line.
The thing about prodigies, though, was that they weren’t simply brilliant. There were lots of smart, super smart, even geniuses in the world. What set prodigies apart from everyone else was their commitment. Her mother’s skill with a violin would have meant nothing if she didn’t spend several hours every day, since the age of three, practicing her instrument. Her sister Oriana’s genetics would have meant nothing if she didn’t routinely go to her ballet classes every morning and evening, six days a week, while practicing on her own, seven days a week. All real prodigies had the drive.
Lord, the drive. Toni could imagine how some people would get sick of all the family support needed to get one prodigy wherever they wanted to go. But Toni? Well, Toni had to deal with ten. Now, true, the twins Zia and Zoe didn’t really have that drive yet. At this stage they were just naturally gifted. But little Denny, who was trying to work his way onto her lap with Zia, although only five, had already found his drive. He worked for hours before kindergarten and hours after on his paintings. Paintings that resembled actual photographs they were so painstakingly accurate. Kyle, of course, didn’t call that “art.” Instead he said, “Denny is still in the discovery stage where he copies everything. Although I’m confident if he gets out of that stage in the next year or two . . . he has quite the potential.” For Kyle that was like calling his brother Leonardo da Vinci. Of course asking a five-year-old to quickly move through his “discovery stage” didn’t seem odd to the Jean-Louis Parker kids. If you wanted to hang with them, you had to have the drive and the talent.
Tragically, Toni, the eldest, didn’t have either. More than once, she’d told her mother, “I’m not really your child, am I? Just admit it.” To which her mother would always respond, “You have my eyes.”
“But maybe Dad isn’t—”
“You have his nose, his feet, and his mother’s curly hair. Just suck it up already, baby. You’re a Jean-Louis Parker whether you want to be or not.”
So Toni had finally resigned herself to being the “average one” among a family of prodigies. But they were also jackals, and older siblings often helped their parents raise the younger ones. It was also true, though, that most siblings Toni’s age would have moved on to their own families by now. Had their own pups. But with her mother still breeding up until the twins—when finally the wonder that is flippin’ menopause kicked in—and the rest of the kids being focused on their own careers—Toni just didn’t feel right about going off on her own. Her family needed her. As the only one without any real skill, she was the only one who could manage all of them at one time. She had no other goal but to ensure that the rest of them reached their potential—and the age of eighteen—without going to prison.
So Toni put up with Kyle’s snobbishness, Oriana’s brattiness, Cherise’s borderline agoraphobia, Freddy’s debilitating panic attacks and issues with setting things on fire and his thievery . . . on and on it went. Her siblings all had issues, and Toni took it upon herself to keep them as reasonably human as possible. It wasn’t easy. Although her siblings would never lower themselves by bumping off their competition—since they didn’t consider anyone better than they were or a real threat—Toni did worry that some of them would bump someone off who got in their way. Who held them back. Once, some kid thought it would be funny to give nine-year-old Troy, the mathematician, the wrong time for an important math competition. He thought it was even funnier when a hysterically crying Troy tracked him down the next day to confront him. Sure. The crying . . . real funny. Except Troy hadn’t been crying out of sadness or because he’d been hurt by the kid’s actions. He’d been crying out of frustration. The emotion few in Toni’s family knew how to deal with in a normal, rational way. So, those tears were no longer funny when Troy battered that kid into the ground with his backpack filled to nearly overflowing with all his hardcover math books.
Even worse for Toni, because Troy was an important prodigy, he was barely given a slap on the wrist. Not even a recommendation to go into therapy, probably because at the time, he’d been working on some important equation that his school wanted him to solve so they could brag about it in the media, and they didn’t want therapy appointments getting in the way of his busy schedule. So making sure he understood beating someone out of frustration was not a good option was down to Toni. And that responsibility was something she took very seriously when it came to her siblings. Someone had to. God knew, if she didn’t take it seriously, Kyle would wander around the streets asking random strangers for naked sketch time.
“I just don’t see the problem, Toni. So what if I asked Novikov—”
“Shut up, Kyle.”
“Yes, but—”
“Shut. It.”
“This is about my art!” Kyle raged. “Don’t you understand—”
Toni, not wanting to hear this particular speech again—Kyle had lots of speeches for such a young boy—reached for the back of Kyle’s neck, but he scrambled over Oriana and into the seat on the other side of her.
“I’ll let it go,” he quickly promised. “I’ll let it go.”
Releasing a breath, Toni focused on the bobcat receptionist. “Could you let Mr. Van Holtz know the Jean-Louis Parkers are here?”
“Do you have an appointment?” the cat asked, not even looking away from his computer to give her eye contact.
“Yes. Remember? I was just here twenty minutes ago? Having the same conversation with you?”
The bobcat looked at her, shrugged. “And?”
Biting back an annoyed yip, Toni snapped, “As I said, we have an appointment.”
“And your name?”
This was why she hated the smaller cats. Lions and tigers could be annoying but nothing like the little ones. “Antonella Jean-Louis Parker.”
“Don’t you have anything shorter?”
“Just my fist,” she shot back. That’s when Oriana lowered her cell phone and said, “Dude, just get Ulrich before my sister rips your face off.”
The bobcat sighed and picked up the phone to call the wolf they’d come to see.
Oriana re-focused on her cell phone but said to Toni, “That wolf was cute.”
Toni blinked, confused. “What wolf? Ulrich?”
Rolling her eyes, Oriana replied, “No. The one you were talking to outside the skating rink. With the baseball cap.”
“Oh. Him. Yeah. He was cute.” But just a wolf. It wasn’t like wolves were something special or unusual. Their mother was best friends with fellow former-prodigy Irene Conridge Van Holtz. A brilliant scientist and full-human, Aunt Irene was mated to Niles Van Holtz. Alpha Male of the Van Holtz Pack. And because the Jean-Louis Parkers were as close to family as Irene had, that meant that they spent a lot of time around the wolves. A lot of time. Not that Toni minded. Uncle Van and his Pack were fun and most of the direct bloodline Van Holtzes were amazing chefs, which meant the Jean-Louis Parkers always ate well. But bringing more wolves into her existence was not something Toni felt was necessary at this stage in her life.
“Tall,” Oriana continued. “Nice shoulders.”
He’d been unnaturally wide in Toni’s estimation. Shoulders that wide with hips that narrow just didn’t seem right.
“Nice smile.”
All those teeth. Bright white teeth that he kept showing when he constantly smiled at her. Personally, she found his smile oddly threatening. As if every person he met was a potential meal.
Still, although Toni might not be susceptible to most males, she wasn’t blind, either. He was a handsome wolf, but not like the Van Holtz wolves, who always reminded her of European cover models. He was too big. Too wide. Too . . . American. All those muscles and dark brown hair that just reached his massive shoulders. Amber eyes and a flat, wide nose that only barely helped to make the constant smirk on his face a little less annoying.
“Plus,” Oriana went on, “he seemed to not mind your average looks and that uncontrollable mane of yours.”
Slowly Toni looked at her sister. “Thanks, Oriana.”
Her sister smiled without looking up from her phone. “You’re welcome.”
Toni seriously considered ripping that phone out of Oriana’s hand since she had yet to learn the meaning of sarcasm, but Ric Van Holtz walked into the lobby before she could bother.
“Hey, guys. Sorry I couldn’t really meet with you earlier. Last-minute meeting with investors.”
“No problem,” Toni assured him, handing Zia over to him as soon as he stretched out his arms. Ric was great with kids, no matter the breed or species, and he adored the Jean-Louis Parker pups.
“How did it go at the rink?” Ric asked, gently brushing his free hand over Zia’s hair as her head rested on his shoulder.
“Fine.”
“Except for that fight,” Oriana muttered.
Ric’s nose flared. It was a rather narrow nose, but it could flare quite dramatically when he was angry enough. “Did Novikov hurt you? Should I have him killed?”
“That seems extreme.” Toni cut a warning glare at her sister, but with the brat’s attention focused on her phone, there was no guarantee that she’d seen anything. “Mr. Novikov was just fine.”
“He wasn’t fighting with us,” Kyle clarified.
“Oh.” Ric quickly calmed down. “That was probably Reece Reed he was fighting then, since it’s the middle of the day and Reece seems to be the only one who continues to fight that idiot.”
“Novikov signed my shirt, just like you said he would.” Kyle held up the shirt for Ric to see.
“Good. I’m glad he did as I told him to.”
“Yeah,” Oriana said, “it went great until Kyle here asked to see him naked.”
Ric briefly closed his eyes. “Again, Kyle? Again?”
Horrified, Toni demanded, “Oh, my God, Kyle! Did you ask Ric to—”
“I will not be held back by society’s mores!”
“It’s not society’s mores we’re concerned with, Kyle,” Ric kindly explained. “It’s society’s creeps.”
“So you’re saying that Bo Novikov is—”
“No,” Ric said quickly and firmly. “That’s not what I mean. And although you might be safe with Novikov or with me, that doesn’t mean the rest of the world is a safe bet. You have to be careful.”
Kyle motioned to Toni. “But that’s what I have her for. To protect me from society’s creeps.”
“Really? Is that what I’ve been reduced to?” Toni asked. “Your bodyguard? Is that my life? Is that going to be my life?”
“I wouldn’t worry about you having that job for long,” Oriana told her.
“Why?”
“How good could you be at protecting him with those stick legs of yours?”
Toni looked down at her legs, then quickly r
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Wolf With Benefits
Shelly Laurenston
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