How to Tame a Werewolf: Seven Brides for Seven Shifters, Book 3 by Thalia Eames

of a height advantage would make his lean more intimidating. His movements were feral and his eyes had gone solid amber again.
    “No offense, sweetheart, but you’re lying. That’s a bad way to get me to do you a favor.”
    Well, damn. She didn’t know whether to head butt him and run or nip that bottom lip and kiss the life out of him.
    “I’m not lying but I’m not sure if you can do what I need yet.” She grabbed his shirt and tugged him into a coffee and donut shop. Good thing the power had come back on. Rue needed coffee and donuts bad. “The salon will answer that question for me.” She grabbed a pair of tongs and started shoving donuts into a waxed bag.
    “You want Boston crème?” she asked.
    He shook his head.
    “Churros?”
    He held up five fingers and wiggled them.
    She handed him the first bag of donuts, grabbed an empty bag and filled it with the long cinnamon-and-sugar-covered pastries. That done she took the donuts back and pressed the Churros into his arms. He finished the first one before she’d ordered their coffee.
    “Whether what I have in mind works out or not…” Rue said. She arranged their coffee onto a carryout tray, while he took the donut bag from her, “…you’ll come out of the salon looking amazing. Therefore it’s thanks from me to you no matter how you look at it.”
    Spock pondered that for a moment. “You do know I look amazing no matter what? The barista gave us everything at half price and wrote her number on my coffee cup.”
    Rue glared back at the cute woman behind the register, who immediately pretended to wipe the counter down. “Dis-re-spect-ful,” Rue mouthed at the barista before opening the shop door and pushing Spock through it.
    “What if you were mine?” she said, pointing him across the street.
    “I don’t think she cared.” He glanced at the crosswalk, a half a block away. He clearly couldn’t be bothered because he cupped the small of her back and guided her directly across the street. Traffic? Fuck traffic.
    Several honks and one screeching stop later, Spock leaned against a streetlight post (thankfully on the sidewalk). Rue kept walking until she realized he wasn’t on her heels like he had been all morning. She turned and went back to where he waited.
    “You’ve not coming with me, are you?” she asked.
    “Not until you tell me what you want.” He studied her from his height advantage. She got up on her tiptoes. He laughed and his eyes turned blue.
    Good, maybe the man would be easier to deal with than the wolf.
    “Lay the full story out like a documentary,” he said.
    Or maybe the man and the wolf were the same guy. “Remember that vineyard I mentioned?”
    “It’s always on my mind,” he said.
    “You could’ve said yes and skipped the sarcasm.” She blinked at him and sighed. “There’s a job opening there. They need a new sommelier for a wine bar they’re opening called The Grape Escape and—”
    Spock dropped his usual calm. “They need a what for a what?”
    “A sommelier , it’s a wine expert,” she said. He opened his mouth to say more but she wanted to get it all out. “And I need that job. For all the reasons we talked about during the blackout.” She paused not wanting to say the words she typically avoided. “I need that job because Somerfield is the last place my family was happy and because,” she balanced the cardboard coffee tray in one hand and grabbed his arm with the other, “my brother died twelve days later.”
    The wild intensity Spock so often gave off softened. He cupped her cheek. “Then you’ve got to go after that job. What’s stopping you?”
    She allowed him to comfort her because no one else did. And she needed that simple touch; as much as she needed to know someone cared about her. “I don’t have the credentials for the job. I can do it and do it well. That’s why I’ve been working at a Wine Cellar, well, more like a closet for the last few years. I’ve picked a lot up. But my