The Mate Mistake(The Woolven Secret 3)
Chapter 1
Parker Woolven was dead.
He had to be.
Some hunter had cut off his head, turned it into a bongo, and had given it to their asshole offspring who were currently banging the shit out of it with a wooden spoon. That was the only reasonable explanation for the pounding that reverberated through his skull.
Gods, but his mouth was dry. Too dry to wet his parched lips.
His tongue was wearing a cashmere sweater. He pressed it against the roof of his mouth and reached for something liquid. Fucking hell, he’d need a brillo pad to scrub it clean. What the hell had he put in his mouth?
The decanter on the floor next to him was empty—that bastard. It was all the Full Moon Whiskey’s fault.
What had he been thinking?
Yeah, let’s drink some Full Moon Whiskey. Wolfsbane alcohol. That was a stupid thing to do. He’d never been that drunk. Ever.
No wonder his brothers treated him like an infant, he could’ve—well, actually he couldn’t have. Changed, that is. A grin cracked his face and he groaned, because it did, indeed, feel like someone had taken a hammer and actually smashed it into his mug, forcing his face to crack into a smile.
He’d gotten shit-faced responsibly. With the Wolfsbane, he could be completely out of control without being a danger.
To anyone but himself, that was.
He congratulated himself and had to say he felt pretty good about the whole thing. Even though he was paying for it now.
Paying through the fucking nose.
Literally.
His stomach rebelled and—Oh Goddess!
Parker scrambled to get himself upright and found himself flat on his back again with cool, but strong hands on his face.
There was a tiny woman on top of him, holding him down.
She was strong for such a little thing. Normally, he’d be all about that life, but with last night’s mistake threatening to erupt like a volcano out of his face, he wasn’t in the mood.
Except her cold hands made everything right in the world. It was as if her touch shut everything out, and the planet stopped spinning. There was only silence, and the calm depths in her dark eyes that swallowed him up.
Only it was nothing like drowning. It was more like flying.
Parker never wanted it to end.
At least, until he became aware of more earthly concerns.
She was naked. Her skin was like carob, not chocolate. Not coffee—a smooth, glorious shade of brown that made him think of a time when the world was new. Her hair was black and thick, wavy. He couldn’t figure out her heritage. Wherever she’d come from, he imagined the women there were all man-killers. She was so incredibly beautiful, it almost hurt to look at her. She was in possession of the most gorgeous, perfect breasts he’d ever seen. For Parker, that was saying something. While his older brother had the reputation for being the billionaire playboy always with a new lady on his arm, or more accurately bent over his desk, it was actually Parker who had all the sex.
Parker had so much sex, he was surprised there was sex left for anyone else.
His cavalier attitude made panties drop wherever he went. That and he was a connoisseur of feminine flesh. Some people were passionate about art. Some were passionate about wine. Some jewels.
Parker’s number one passion, his joy in life was women.
He loved the way they looked, the way they felt, the way they smelled—he loved the way their brains worked. Especially the really smart ones.
A woman who could flay him alive with a witty riposte? Perhaps it made him a bit perverse, but that gave him teak for days.
He loved all women. Big ones, small ones, lithe ones, round ones, curvy ones, large breasts, small breasts, he could find something beautiful in every woman and could enjoy her for exactly what she brought to the table. And this one? He’d like to have her on the table.
“None of that,” she instructed. Her voice was soft, lilting, but left no room for argument. Not from his lips, or his rebelling stomach.
The predator in him wanted to fight it, but the male of refined and experienced tastes wanted to see what else she could do with that voice.
His cock was hard as stone.
She smiled. “Oh, you’re a bad one, Parker Woolven. Still full of all that poison you put in yourself last night, about to be sick in the most undignified manner, yet you’re still thinking about getting in my pants.”
“You’re not wearing any.” He smirked.
Her cheeks flushed. He decided he liked that look on her. He liked it very much. He wanted to make her do it again.
“I’m sure you’ve deducted I have you to thank for that, I doubt you remember it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That is indeed a sad state of affairs. I think you need to help me figure it out.” Parker put his hands on her rounded hips. Yeah, it had definitely been a good night.