A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing (Heart of the Wolf #9)

A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing (Heart of the Wolf #9) Page 29

Finn’s fist shot out so quickly that Bjornolf didn’t expect it this time, either. As soon as Finn’s fist connected with the man’s eye, Bjornolf dropped his coffee mug on the tile floor, breaking it and splattering the remaining coffee at his feet before he hit the counter with his backside. And grinned.

“Hell, no one told me you were a professional boxer.”

“You didn’t uncover that when you were checking up on us?” Finn asked, sipping his coffee. He wasn’t a professional boxer, but he’d had the training, which came in handy for situations just like this.

Meara finished dressing in a pair of khaki pants and an emerald-green tank top, leaving her feet bare. She slumped in a chair in the bedroom after hearing the sound of a mug breaking on the kitchen floor. She suspected Finn had socked Bjornolf again after telling him that next time he’d need to get permission before he kissed her. She should have objected to Finn’s treatment of Bjornolf. After all, Bjornolf hadn’t really done anything to warrant getting another fist in his face, or at least she figured that’s where Finn had aimed. Bjornolf did say he’d ask next time.

And she’d say no. He was handsome and sexy as all get out but way too smooth a talker for her. From past experience, she didn’t trust the type. On the other hand, Bjornolf had taken the punch good-humoredly the first time. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad sort after all.

She took another sip of her hot tea. Either Finn thought he was taking her brother’s place in making sure someone who wasn’t right for her didn’t take advantage of her, or he was more than jealous of Bjornolf’s attentions toward her. Taking great satisfaction in the notion that he was jealous, she smiled.

She ought to let them deal with this on their own, but it was all about her, and she didn’t want them fighting each other over nothing. Especially since she knew neither was interested in settling down with a mate. And she was afraid that this time Bjornolf would be quite angry if Finn hit him again.

She sighed and set her teacup on the dresser, then headed back down the hall. She intended to get them both ice packs to help reduce the bruising and swelling that she sure would have resulted. Finn’s hand had to hurt, and Bjornolf’s face, too.

But what she found surprised her. Both men were sitting in lounge chairs on the back deck, watching the ocean and drinking mugs of coffee, neither talking, just enjoying the view. Well, she guessed they didn’t need her to help them sort out their differences.

Good. It was best she stay out of it.

She was about to return to the bedroom to get her teacup and fix some more tea when she heard someone in the garage. Before she could warn Finn or Bjornolf to check it out, the door flung open, and she let out a squawk.

Finn was the first one barging into the kitchen from the deck with gun drawn to protect her. Bjornolf raced in on Finn’s heels, armed in the same manner.

“Paul, hell,” Finn exclaimed. “You should have warned me you were on your way over here from Anna’s hotel.”

“Sorry, Paul,” Meara said, studying the blond-bearded man, whose brown eyes were focused on her. He was as tall as Bjornolf and Finn, but he was thinner, wirier, less muscled. “I didn’t recognize you wearing a beard, and you scared me when you, barged in so suddenly.”

Paul shook his head. “Sorry, Meara. I hadn’t meant to frighten you.”

Heart still palpitating, Meara sat on a kitchen bar stool and hid her shaking hands in her lap. She had been sure the man was another assassin out to get her and Finn. “No problem.”

Paul turned to scowl at Finn. “Hunter said hands off, damn it, Finn. You can watch Anna’s back in the future. I’ll stay with Meara and watch hers from now on.”

Meara’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d thought Paul had word that an assassin’s attack was imminent. But she’d never have thought he’d be worried about Finn’s intentions toward her.

“You don’t have to worry about Finn,” she said soberly. “Hunter’s got him shaking in his combat boots. He won’t take advantage of me.” At least not if she didn’t approve first. But as far as wanting a mating, no chance at that. She cast a glance in Bjornolf’s direction.

He held his hands up in surrender, his eye and jaw discoloring. “I’m keeping out of this one. Finn’s all yours, Paul.”

Finn was looking amused about Meara’s comment, though. She was sure no one had ever described him as shaking in his combat boots.

Finn shook his head at Paul. “What did Anna say to get you all riled up?”

“Enough.” Paul’s eyes turned stormy, and his lips thinned with anger as he regarded Finn with hostility. He was wearing blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt with eye-hurting pink palm trees and green flamingoes, which didn’t make him look as lethal as she knew he could be.

She wondered where he’d been staying before he’d arrived on the coast. She didn’t want to ask him what Anna had said about her and Finn in case Anna had seen what they had been doing on the beach before she’d joined them.

But what she really wanted to know was why Anna was watching out for Meara’s welfare. Trying to make brownie points with Hunter? Or was Anna more interested in Finn than Meara had thought and wanted to get everyone worked up? Whatever her reasoning, she’d stirred up a hornet’s nest.

It also made her wonder about Paul’s motivation. Was he truly jealous that Finn had gone beyond the call of duty when Paul himself hadn’t had a chance? Or was Paul more concerned that he hadn’t stepped in soon enough on Hunter’s behalf?

“Hunter called me and said you’d left his sister alone, and then this guy…” Paul jerked his thumb at Bjornolf, “…could have taken advantage of her. But Anna said you’ve also been overstepping your boundaries with Meara and that needs to be stopped, or she’ll tell Hunter.”

Meara frowned, not liking that Anna had threatened such a thing. That made her think Anna secretly did have a fondness for Finn that he might not even be aware of.

At that, Finn gave Paul a disgruntled look. “For everyone’s information, Meara’s a big girl and can make her own decisions.”

“Hallelujah,” Meara said. “Someone finally recognizes that.”

“Did you ask Hunter for permission?” Paul persisted as if he hadn’t heard what Finn had said.

“I don’t need permission,” Finn continued. “Only Meara’s.”

“That’s not what Hunter says.”

“He’s changed his mind.”

Ha! When the hell had that happened? Finn ought to know he’d get caught in the lie.

Paul’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re mating her?”

Meara could have laughed at the shocked expression on Finn’s face. She gave him a moment to allow him to backpedal, but when he still didn’t respond, she figured she’d put him out of his misery and take control of the situation. Like an alpha female would. “No, he’s not mating me. I wouldn’t have him. Or you, or Bjornolf, either. Allan, now he’s a different story.”

Not Allan either, but since he had been wounded, wasn’t here, and couldn’t defend himself, he sounded like the perfect scapegoat.

She didn’t give anyone the chance to respond to her statement, figuring they were all too surprised. Allan was the least likely to catch her attention because he reminded her of a gruff bear at times, rather than a wolf. But if they told him that she thought he was an acceptable mate, he might show up unexpectedly on her doorstep looking to date her. That wouldn’t do. Before anyone could say anything, she turned on her heel and stalked toward the back door leading out to the deck. Once outside, she ran down the wooden stairs and then walked across the warming sand, her toes squishing through the soft sifting grains.

A couple of boats motored past, and she had the greatest urge to swim. Well, actually, shift.

She really wanted to shift, which made her feel so attuned to nature, to the wilderness, to her wild side. She glanced at the woods surrounding the cliff and made the decision right then and there. If she ran into any assassin, she’d take care of the menace on her own.

She could hear Paul still arguing with Finn inside the house, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Bjornolf had turned to watch her out the window. The way his eyes widened and he reached for the door handle, she knew he realized she was up to something. And he planned to stop her. Tired of everyone controlling her movements, she stalked up the hillside to where the terrain and trees hid her from the bay window’s view.

Then she stripped out of her clothes—feeling free and natural and gloriously naked—and left her clothes in a pile under a tree. With heat filling every cell, a nice quick stretch, and a quick blurring of forms, she shifted.

The door opened, slamming against the wall, and then frantic footfalls raced down the steps. They were too late.

“Hell, Meara!” Finn shouted, ahead of the pack as he raced down the stairs.

“She’s shifting,” Bjornolf said. “I saw the way she looked back at the house to make sure none of us was observing her. When she saw me watching her, she headed for the hill north of the house and out of sight.”

“There!” Finn pointed at her clothes next to a pine and began stripping off his clothes. When Paul began to yank off his shirt, Finn shook his head. “Just me. We can’t have a whole pack of wolves running through the area.”

“Then I’ll go after her,” Paul said brusquely.

Ignoring him, Finn shifted, welcoming the warmth of the fur covering his bare skin and the length of the four legs that would propel him through the forest and take him to her. He sniffed the air with his long snout and breathed in her scent, adrenaline racing through his blood as the urge to hunt compelled him to climb the steep hill and bolt into the woods.

“You were saying?” Bjornolf said to Paul, sarcasm in his voice.