Her Lycan Lover by Susan Arden

bloody headache. I’ve never had one this bad.”
    Sherry’s brows knitted together. She narrowed her eyes, meeting his stare. Their faces so close all he had to do was lean an inch or two and they’d kiss.
    “Are you being honest?” she asked, biting her lip and then seeming to ease up.
    “Cross my heart,” he murmured, admiring the near wine color of her irises along with tiny flecks of gold and silver in a sunburst pattern. He’d never seen such unusual eyes—except one place—in his dream. “You’re her. Aren’t you?” he whispered without thinking.
    “Who? What are you saying? Are you still drunk for heaven’s sake? Quinn I’m not one of your little friends from the underground clubs around here if that’s what you’re asking.” She pushed up and away from him.
    Shit. There was no mistake. How had he not noticed before? Well. No shit, Sherlock. With deep crimson hair and a demeanor that would freeze vodka, Sherry wasn’t exactly the damsel in distress that came to him each night. She more resembled a she-dragon, spewing flames and laying aside burly men without a sword.
    “I’m not drunk. Just a hell of a migraine. My lot in life, I guess.”
    She stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Santo, my cousin gets them. Ibuprofen and a big sip of warm Coke. He says it does the trick.”
    “I’ll stick to black coffee. Give me a couple more minutes before we meet. I need to get cleaned up.”
    “Fine. I’ll go make coffee if you think that might get you down there sooner. This isn’t just about chewing your posterior. Speaking of cleanups, I heard that you arranged for the tidying of upstairs. I get it wasn’t totally your affair.”
    “Are you going to apologize for busting in without an invitation?”
    She notched her chin upward, nostrils flaring. “I don’t need one as the manager. I have right of entry. Each and every room. It’s in the contract. Same as you. I just don’t stick around and take my clothes off when the party gets going.”
    “Pity,” he muttered, pressing his fingers along his forehead.
    “For Pete’s sake. You make it hard to sympathize with your moment of weakness if you run right back to wanker land.”
    Her scowl was ammunition enough to get him going and over whatever he’d suffered. Quinn stood up from the chair, unfurling into his full height over Sherry. “Stalwart as usual.” He mock saluted her. “A regular crying shame if you ask me.”
    He purposely positioned himself much too close to Sherry, noting the minute details of her beautiful features and battling with the desire to ask her if she was really a black-haired beauty which might explain his wacko instinct to protect her. Hell, maybe this sharp urge to safeguard Sher was nothing more than an over active imagination coupled with Mick Carrigan’s threat that had him imagining he was her knight in shining armor. As usual the dream faded into the recesses of his mind. Gone until nighttime came again. But Sherry still stood in front of him. And his wolf senses pricked.
    “Stop gawking as though I’m the one with the issue.” Sherry stared up into his eyes, her voice trembling. “This isn’t the time to work against each other. Not with Shawn out of the picture. Why do you always push me?”
    “I don’t rightly know, truth to tell. You’re the only woman in the world who lets me push back without caving. My personal Mount Kilimanjaro, ” he said softly, then went mute. To himself, he also included the fact that her body did not just quit, but provoked him up one wall and down the other. More so this morning.
    “So it’s just a challenge… to you?” Her chin quivered slightly.
    “Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Shit, he’d never witnessed this soft side her and hell it had him scrambling. He focused his hearing and detected her rapid heartbeat. A vein pulsed in her neck. The wolf underneath his human exterior longed to lap at her skin and taste her essence. He’d be