A Werewolf's Valentine: BBW Wolf Shifter Paranormal Romance Read Online Free Page A

curved. “My sister painted that.”
    He liked it so much it almost made him dizzy, though maybe that was the effect of her powerful proximity.
    The clink of glass startled him, and he found her moving about in a tiny kitchen. “Here, this’ll warm you up—I notice you’re wet.”
    She pressed a glass into his hand, with an inch of brown liquid in it and heady fumes rising off it. She clinked hers to his, and he drank whatever it was—and discovered the burn of really good scotch. Fiery heat slid smooth as silk all the way down.
    He turned to her, to find her pretty mouth curving, her pupils huge. “So, the deck of cards,” she said. “Wanna play?”

 
     
     
     
    Three
     
    McKenzi
     
    When McKenzi’s sister had painted the double-wall mural as a birthday surprise, it had never occurred to her that it would end up being a kind of test.
    Guys who sneered at Kesley’s art had proved to be pretty much 100% douches, so she’d gotten into the habit of offering them something to drink, then getting rid of them before things got any farther. If they thought she was blowing hot and cold, too bad. There were few buzzkills worse than guys with superiority issues.
    But West stood there as if transfixed, which gave her a chance to really check him out, from the silvery glinting raindrops in his pale hair to the badass leather coat to his worn old jeans that molded long, strong legs. She would have thought he’d wear kickass combat boots, but his feet were encased in the lightest of deck shoes that looked as if he’d walked a couple thousand miles in them.
    As the scotch warmed her, heightening the powerful beat of fire that seemed to simmer around him, she relished the prickle of anticipation along her nerves as she opened the little drawer in her lamp table, and pulled out an old pack of cards.
    She set the scotch bottle on the low table, and sat cross-legged on the floor. She felt his gaze scorching slowly down her length as he sank down on the opposite side of the table. She poured out another finger of scotch for them both, then brought out the deck of cards, enjoying the way his gray eyes watched her hands.
    “What style of poker?” she asked as she shuffled and snapped.
    “Your house, your call,” he said, and that sexy Spike mouth curved up. “I’m sure to like whatever you choose.”
    “Five card draw, high, winner picks the item of clothing?”
    “Good by me.”
    Wow, that voice . “If I win, will you sing for me? I happen to have a banjo in the closet—my uncle used to be part of a band.”
    His smile sent heat right down to her core. “I’d like to sing for you.”
    Okay, this was going to be fun. “I’ll deal, so you can pick the first ante.”
    “Make it easy,” he said with a rueful curve to those entrancing lips. “Shoes. Mine got a mite wet. Wouldn’t mind losing ‘em right off.”
    She grinned back, dealt two hands, and they each looked at them. “Stand pat?” she asked.
    He dipped his head in a short nod that drew her eye to the beautiful line of his chin beneath glinting stubble. “In or out?” he said, as she was wondering how that stubble would feel along her thighs.
    “In,” she croaked.
    He laid out his cards—his two nines beat her dead hand. She kicked off her shoes, lifted her glass and toasted him, wondering if he could see the heat pouring off her. They both drank, and he took up the cards to shuffle.
    “You go ahead,” he said. “Since I picked the first ante.”
    “Coats,” she said, and licked her lips.
    He stiffened a little, as if his breath caught. Then he dipped his head again, the blond a little darker where the raindrops had melted into dampness in his hair. She held out a hand. “Wait.”
    He stilled like a startled prey animal. She was already on her feet. She dashed into the kitchen and returned with a couple of thick candles, and watched him relax and smile.
    She lit the candles and set them at either end of the table, then turned out the