Harry stiffened against Mara just before backing away from her and acknowledging Nina with a nod. “Right. Kiss. Googly eyes. Kiss. Piss on the tree,” he repeated, backing up only to trip over the third pair of shoes she’d tried on this morning and stumble on the edge of her couch before righting himself. “I got this,” he murmured when Nina moved to right him.
Mara’s cheeks burned. Actually kiss Harry? Like, his lips, touching hers? And she was supposed to keep herself neutral during all of this, knowing full well it was only to keep their cover, how? She was going to end up wearing one of his used T-shirts and sucking down gallons of Ben & Jerry’s while she cried herself to sleep about a boyfriend she never had.
Instead of speaking her fears out loud, Mara made another weak protest. “We can’t hang all over each other at work, Nina. It’s unprofessional.” It’s also torture.
Nina planted her hands on her flannel pajama–clad hips. “Hmmm, let’s fucking see. Unprofessional? Soap on a rope?”
Mara threw her hands up in the air with an exasperated huff. “Okay, okay! Unprofessional it is.” She snuck one last peek of herself in the oval mirror at her entryway, smoothing her hair over her shoulders and down over her breasts. Her blue eyes had that luminous, wide-eyed look of fear she was fighting to keep in check.
Harry appeared behind her, his large presence filling her senses. He placed his hands on her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. Warmth spread in her belly when he leaned down to her ear, watching her watch him. “You ready to do this?”
“Ready,” she whispered, held captive by this sensual side of Harry, who made her insides feel like molten lava and left her body throbbing an excited rhythm.
“Then let’s do this.” He backed away, popping open her front door, a cool blast of early morning air ruffling his perfect hair.
Carl thumped Harry on the back, lifting his entire arm high in the air to wave them off with a jerky hand.
Mara sucked the cold into her lungs, squinting at the glare of sun on the freshly fallen snow.
Harry made his way along the path, which Nina had dug in a matter of seconds, only to slip on a patch of ice. His feet went out from under him like someone had shot his knees out with a long-range rifle. “I’m okay!” he yelled from somewhere below the line of the wall of snow.
As she made her way to her Smart Car, rushing to help Harry up, she said a small prayer that some dormant thespian skill locked deep inside her would step up to the plate.
Because she didn’t know what soap on a rope was, but if Nina did, it had to be ugly.
* * *
HARRY caught sight of Mara just as she rounded the corner to the cafeteria. He jumped up, pulling out a chair for her. He’d selected a table in the middle of the room, so everyone would see them together as planned.
And he liked it. He liked it so much he forgot he didn’t want to be paranormal and she sucked for turning him into a werewolf, and instead, smiled at her.
As she strode toward him, her almost waist-length hair, cut in layers framing her heart-shaped face, shone a deep, near blue, black, reminding him of her scent. Rosemary and citrus—or something he could now define merely by calling up the memory.
It was driving him out of his mind. He’d thought about it all morning as he’d tried to focus on numbers that swam in front of his eyes; when he’d Skyped with Mimi and Fletcher while Wanda’s manservant Archibald oversaw things. He’d thought about it when he’d closed his eyes, breathing deeply to fight that strange tingling sensation in his limbs Mara had told him to expect in times of stress.
He’d fought it while he remembered the curve of her hip pressed to his, her skin emanating heat even from beneath her jeans. The swell of breasts he wanted to cup in his hands and knead until she screamed his name. Uncomfortable things were occurring under the cafeteria table, forcing him to shift positions.
Jesus, she was beautiful. Even in broad daylight, with the sun from the windows blaring down on her gorgeous head, he couldn’t find a single flaw. Her skin was creamy and tinted with a peachy glow, her eyes the shape of almonds and so deeply blue they were almost sapphire, making the fringe of her dark lashes striking.
She plopped down next to him, her eyes giving him that deer in the headlights look. He watched her throat work up and down in a nervous gulp, smelled the sweat on her palms when she wiped them on her thighs.
Usually, when he was attracted to a woman, he was the one secretly sweating, forming words carefully in order to keep himself from sounding like a complete ass. But today he was Mr. Carefree?
She’d said someone needed to take charge, and if she was going to handle the adjustment phase of this, he was going to handle the boyfriend aspect—like a boss.