The Werewolf Bodyguard (Moonbound Book 2) Read Free

nothin’ yet, chèr .”
    His sous chef yelled out, “Chef!” Marco walked over to the burner where they were working on her steak and chopped off a knob of butter, throwing it into the pan and basting the crusty steak.
    “Get the sorbet from the blast chiller,” he said, not taking his eyes off the steak. He needed it to be perfect.
    When he slipped it onto the steaming pile of port-braised red cabbage and topped it with the dollop of butter-like flavor punch, he finally looked back to the chef’s table. He wanted to see the look on her face when she took the first bite.
    She gave his body a long, slow up-and-down while he carried the plate to her and set it down. He tipped the uncorked bottle of Barca Velha into the globe of her wineglass and met her eyes as he poured an inch of red.
    Then, with a glance at her cleavage, another inch.
    Then, another inch.
    The whisper of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she held out her hand for the glass. She nosed the bouquet and the smile spread.
    “Portugal,” she said, taking a tiny sip. “Interesting.”
    Marco couldn’t help biting his lip just a bit in anticipation. A woman who loved food and knew wine and had no inhibition. He could feel the desire swimming in his blood.
    She cut into the steak and her grin widened. “Perfect.” The first bite, and finally, Marco saw the wave of pleasure wash over her face. He knew she had been hungry for meat, but teasing her had been more fun, even…building the anticipation to this moment. The electricity that buzzed inside him was better than any drug or any orgasm, and he couldn’t quite understand why her pleasure pleased him quite this much. He could practically taste the heady wine himself, almost like her scent amplified all his senses.
    He found his breath coming quickly as he watched her devour the steak. When she swallowed the last bite, he could feel himself hardening, lengthening. But he needed to hold off his own pleasure. There was something buzzing under the surface of this woman, and he needed to know what it was. He needed to know why everything felt more alive when she was in his kitchen.
    Marco turned back to his sous chef to call for the dessert course, and his shifter was out of her seat, standing only inches away from him, her eyes almost black with lust. She grabbed his coat and dragged him through the line, between his working staff, and out the back door into the hallway.
    “Take over,” he yelled to the expediter. He didn’t know when he would be back, but the perks of being a celebrity chef were…numerous.
    Before he could even secure the swinging door, she had made quick work of unzipping his pants and she had her cold hand on his dick, her nose in his neck, and him up against the wall the room service workers used to get to the freight elevators.
    Marco’s head swam with the scent of her, the feel of her hands on him. She kissed up his neck and latched on to his lips and moaned. For just a moment, he let her tongue explore his mouth, rich with the taste of red wine and beef and the spice of horseradish. It was like tasting himself on her tongue.
    But he could feel the urgency of her hot, dark lust, and he pushed at her shoulders. Her eyes were hazy and she dipped toward him.
    “Not here,” he said.
    She glanced around the hallway. “Why not?”
    “I have dessert all planned…” He held her firmly at arm’s length. “Besides, I don’t even know your name.”
    “No names, just fucking.” She lunged for him, and her strength had him on his heels for a moment.
    “But dessert is the pinnacle of the meal. If you don’t finish with the sweet…” He couldn’t talk with her tongue down his throat.
    Marco growled and flipped her around so her breasts were pressed against the cold wall. He slipped against her and put his hands on either side of her body. “I know you want to be fucked.”
    “That’s right,” she purred, rubbing against him. “Right there.”
    “But not