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   She was half way across the room, her bare feet making no noise on the timber, before she realised she was stark naked. And she hadn't even noticed.

   Whatever had happened to her?

   Only a few days ago she'd been horribly selfconscious to be standing in front of Nate wearing a damp blouse. Now here she was, prancing naked about a house filled with strange men—werewolves, she corrected herself with an uncontrollable shiver— and she was barely even aware of the fact.

   A promising-looking door opened onto an ensuite bathroom, and she stared somewhat moodily into the mirror. Could she really have changed so much in only a couple of days?

   The face staring back at her looked more-or-less the same so long as she discounted the faint bruising on one cheek. She touched the discolored skin gently, surprised to find it wasn't particularly sore. It was probably thanks to the men in her back yard. For a second she paused, wondering about them. Later on, she'd have to find out what Nate and the others knew…

   Gina focused on the mirror again. Her eyes were still boring hazel, her hair ordinary light brown. Yet Nate obviously saw something in her that he approved of.

   She wasn't going to kid herself about him—he wasn't the sort of guy who hung around for the long term. But for the time being… Heck, he made her feel good about herself. He gave her the confidence to like herself, to be comfortable in her own skin. She couldn't actually remember anyone else who liked her exactly as she was. There was always Megan, of course, but that was different.

   Megan had never made any secret of the fact she swung with the wind. Male or female, it didn't matter to her so long as they were cute and a good fuck. But Megan wasn't the sort of person who could grab at her senses the way Nate did. She
liked
Megan, but not sexually. And Megan understood that—they were friends, nothing more.

   Nate, however…

   Grrr. She grimaced at the starry-eyed dope in the mirror. How could she have fallen so hard for someone like him? And the damn man had the hide not only to like her, but he seemed to be a genuinely nice person.

   Werewolf.

   She scowled at herself. Weren't werewolves

supposed to be the bad guys? Yet Nate and his family had—without hesitation—rescued her and taken care of her. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself there was something wrong with
that
particular picture, her heart very firmly overrode her mind. Womanizer, salesman, and werewolf aside, she couldn't imagine him as anything but the hero of her very own personal fairy tale.

   Gina spun around to the shower cubicle, twirling the taps until the spray was pummeling onto her back as hard as possible. She had a multitude of tiny scratches and scrapes and the tingling pain served to do as she'd hoped, taking her mind off him, even if it was only for a few minutes.

   It worked, for a little while at least. Problem was, as soon as she picked up the soap and started to rub it over herself, her thoughts drifted.

   She soaped her breasts; he'd suckled on her nipple until she'd moaned in pleasure, even then not relenting until she thought it wouldn't be possible to survive the sensation.

   She ran the soap over her hips and around her waist; his fingers had trailed tiny circles of fire over her tummy, running tantalizingly lower as she'd squirmed in anticipation.

   She dipped the soap between her legs; his tongue had been just…there. And he'd nipped and sucked and licked until she'd…

   
No!

   She slumped against the shower wall, welcoming the shock of the cold tiles on her nerve endings. This shower was supposed to be taking her mind away from sex, not reminding her of everything he'd done to her. Yes, he was damn fine between the sheets—
and above them, and on the sofa, and on the floor
—but there had to be more to a relationship than just sex.

   The soap was lavender-scented—
not
what she'd expect to find in a household of men…

   Werewolves.

   Dammit! She had to remember that and stop thinking about him in this cutesy-girly, disgustingly lovey-dovey way!

   He couldn't be a nice person. It wasn't possible.

   He was a realtor. Therefore, he was a slimy salesman.

   He was a werewolf. Therefore, he ate people.

   
And you enjoy it when he eats you.

   The sneaky little voice in her head was back. She could just imagine a gangly red imp giggling slyly as he—she?—rearranged all her thoughts in the most sensual way possible.
Everything
reminded her of sex.

   Aaaarrggggghhhh!

   Gina slammed her way out of the bathroom, hardly pausing to check her room was still empty before flouncing over the threshold. She needed some normality in her life. She needed some clothes.

   Miraculously, there was a pile of clothes sitting on the end of her recently tidied bed. While she'd been in the bathroom, someone had been in here. The bed was made, the curtains were closed, and there was a lingering scent of… pine forests.

   Nate.

   Her skin prickled, and she realized that nothing she'd told herself in the bathroom had sunk in. Nothing. She still wanted him, desperately, and her body was making its own arrangements. Not only was she starting to tingle all over—anticipating just how alive he made her feel with little more than a light brush of his fingertips—but her nipples had hardened, and she could already feel the moisture gathering between her legs.

   Traitorous body.

   She sighed and picked up the clothes that had been left for her, half surprised she wasn't expected to just wander around the house in the nude. After all, they hadn't thought anything of putting her to bed naked and had seemed totally unembarrassed to be hanging around in her room while she was in that state. A few drops of liquid trickled down the inside of her thigh.

   Traitorous body.

Surprisingly enough, she'd found a pair of jeans and a man's T-shirt. It was way too big but, cinched around her waist and tied in a snug knot, it was at least respectable. The jeans actually fit—she figured she really didn't want to know which past girlfriend had left them behind—and she buttoned them up, smiling at the lack of underwear.

   It wasn't like she'd expected them to keep spare panties on hand or anything, but it actually felt a lot naughtier venturing downstairs, relatively modestly clothed on the outside, but going commando underneath. Who the hell had come up with that expression, anyway? She had some pretty serious doubts about actual commandos going out without their jocks…

   Still, at least she was clothed.

   Gina stopped, one foot already on the stairs. Would they be wearing clothes? It wasn't like they'd bothered last night…

   She shook her head impatiently. It didn't matter. It was their house. They could do what they liked.

   She continued downstairs, padding quietly along the timber-floored corridors. There was the hum of a TV coming from somewhere on the ground floor, and light spilled out from a door that had been left ajar.

   It was a football match, the volume turned fairly low but still unmistakable. Cool. Normal men doing normal things, just watching a bit of sport to fill in a lazy Sunday afternoon.

   She took a deep breath, suddenly aware she'd been holding it for several seconds. More confidently she reached out and pushed the door open. She was already two steps into the room before she realised it wasn't quite so ordinary as she'd expected.

   The living room was large—maybe three times the size of the bedroom—with a row of windows along one wall and an open fireplace at the far end. Despite the central heating, a fire was blazing away merrily, throwing out yet more heat. She could see now why whoever had left the clothes out for her hadn't bothered with a sweater.

   There was a mismatched collection of timber and leather furniture scattered through the room, with a sofa and two winged armchairs grouped so they faced both the fireplace and the widescreen TV and curled up on the sofa and chairs were three timber wolves.

   Gina came to an abrupt halt. It wasn't like they'd eaten her when they had the chance last night, and Nate had said they didn't eat people.
Normal
timber wolves certainly didn't eat humans—but werewolves?

   The closest wolf glanced towards her, unwound himself, and stretched, fangs showing as he yawned widely. Then he re-settled himself, curling up and tucking his nose under his tail. His eyes closed.

   Okaaay. So apparently that one wasn't thinking of

her in terms of dinner. The wolf nearest the fire didn't even seem to have noticed her entrance, and the one on the sofa simply lifted his head, sniffed once, and looked at her. If it wasn't a wolf, she'd have said he was challenging her. But it was a wolf… Or was it?

She realised she had absolutely no idea of exactly

what a werewolf was and hesitated as she wondered what she should do next. That one wolf was still staring at her and, suddenly defiant, she decided she was just as entitled to a seat near the fire as they were.

She threaded her way across the room and settled

gingerly on the sofa, as far away as possible from the wolf whose eyes had tracked her progress but otherwise hadn't moved. It was the same singular stare as when something caught Nate's attention and she shivered, suddenly cursing herself for her stupid bravado.

   Her heart leapt as a log settled abruptly in the fireplace, flames leaping briefly before settling back to an even burn. Then she jumped even higher as she felt a cold nose trace a damp line over her partly exposed midriff. While her attention had been on the fireplace, the wolf had shifted closer, leaning his body against her tightly closed legs and placing his head in her lap.

   He looked peaceful, she decided, as his head settled more heavily into her lap. He'd closed his eyes and was just laying there quietly. Her heart rate gradually started to return to something more normal. Not that she could ever imagine herself considering having a sleeping wolf across her lap quite… normal.

   The other wolves didn't appear to have noticed her discomfort, and if he knew she was nervous, the wolf beside her was acting oblivious. She didn't think he was asleep but he did look—and feel—pretty darn relaxed. It was amazing just how heavy his head was after only a little while.

   If she hadn't thought it would disturb the wolf, she'd have hit herself in the head in frustration. She was an idiot! Of course he knew she was scared! He was a wolf for goodness sake, and if that made him anything like a dog, he could probably tell from her scent almost exactly what she was thinking.

   His fur was thick and looked silky smooth. Although the fur was mostly grey, sitting this close, she could pick out a variety of colors. Some darker, some lighter, and all blending together into a beautiful whole. Very, very carefully she reached out, the tips of her fingers slipping lightly over the fur between his ears.

   She jerked her hand back as the wolf moved, certain she'd mortally offended him, but he just settled his head more comfortably on her lap, his nose pressing close to the juncture of her thighs, and sighed. She started to relax again but held her hands safely away from that very tempting fur. She badly wanted to run her fingers through it, but obviously

that was out of bounds.

   The wolf lifted his head, looked directly at her, then lowered it again, eyes closed. Was that a warning, or a request? If it was a warning, it was a mild one. She had to do it. She
had
to pat him.

   A little more confidently she stroked his head. His fur was almost as wonderful as Nate's hair. No. It was better. Smoother, if not quite so soft.

   Almost without noticing, her strokes became firmer and longer. Soon each one was reaching from between his ears, down the length of his neck, and right into the thicker fur around his shoulders. Her fingers were kneading tiny circles whenever they returned between his ears, and the little sighs of content told her just how much the wolf approved.

   She glanced around the room, hardly believing she was really here. Or, more to the point, it was hard to believe she was sitting in a living room surrounded by wolves, and that one had had the gall to make itself comfortable in her lap. Her attention turned to the fireplace, to the flickering flames, then to the soft chatter of the commentators coming from the TV.

   Strangely enough, for the first time in a long time, she felt totally safe.

The match was over, the commentators droning on about statistics and final scores, when the door swung inwards and another wolf entered the room. He paused after a few steps, his attention instantly fixed on Gina and the wolf that was now stretched even more familiarly across her legs.

   Gina watched, fascinated, as he turned and prowled towards them. Her recent confidence was swiftly failing, replaced with the same vague uneasiness she'd been feeling almost continually since Nate had confirmed that the Moores really were all werewolves.

   Gradually, she became aware that she was being stalked. Those intense eyes were staring right at her. She tensed. She felt very hemmed in, and there were too many wolves between herself and the safety of the hallway.

   The new wolf's eyes never wavered, and his teeth were bared, unapologetically threatening. Was she about to become someone's dinner after all? She fidgeted, hearing the leather underneath her squeak in protest at the awkward movement. Where the hell was Nate when she needed him?

   She'd never realized just how graceful a wolf could be and couldn't drag her eyes away from the elegant movement of the creature that was quickly closing in on them. Her eyes had widened, and her mouth was dry. She could hear her heart, could
feel
it beating out a rapid tattoo. Even her fingertips were vibrating, and she couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to.