She lifted her shoulder in a shrug.
He nodded, a look of admiration shining in his eyes. Alpha men were attracted to strong women, regardless if those women were alphas or not. Kat had forgotten what it was like to have a man look at her that way—with affection and admiration. She hadn’t felt that kind of acceptance since her father’s disappearance.
She was a little put off by his cocky attitude, behaving as if she was an easy catch. Maybe she needed to make the chase a little harder so she didn’t look like the fish that jumped into the fisherman’s boat. Then again, this wasn’t the time to be selfishly planning her future; Nadia needed her.
“Why don’t you have tattoos like the other Packmasters?” she asked.
Most had identifying tattoos of some kind. In a busy town full of Shifters, you might not know all the Packmasters personally, but you’d recognize their markings from hearing about them.
He waved his hand. “These young pups don’t understand the significance of inking their bodies. I don’t require a mark to establish my power. And aside from that, those who do not know me will have heard about my strange eye color.”
“Your taste in furniture is stranger than your eye color.” She tugged the collar of her shirt, revealing her bare shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tribal marking on my arm. What do you think?”
His lips thinned. “I think you say things to get a rise out of me.”
“I didn’t say much when I got a rise out of you last night.”
He turned away, and she admired the shape of his back and how it angled down from his broad shoulders. She remembered what it felt like to run her fingers over those lines, the feel of his muscles rippling as he claimed her.
“I’m going to enjoy pursuing you immensely,” he said almost to himself.
The chair squeaked when Kat stood up. She circled her right arm about his waist as they strolled toward the open balcony doors. “You’re old enough to be my father.”
He caught her left wrist and, in a quick motion, swung her in front of him. “I age remarkably well.”
“Tell me about the view from the pyramids,” she teased, smiling up at him.
“Someday you will be as old as I am, brave wolf.”
She backed up a step, a cool breeze at her back. “Yes, but I’ll have less interesting things to discuss in comparison to all your stories. You can entertain guests with the invention of electricity or the discovery of America. I’ll get to enlighten them on fast food, television, and bacon ice cream.”
His nose wrinkled.
Kat tapped it with her finger. “Never had bacon in your ice cream? Bucket list!” She moved away in search of her shoes.
“I’m not familiar with that phrase.”
“It’s a list of things you want to do before you die.”
“Hmm,” he said, eyes brimming with curiosity. “Then why call it a bucket?”
“As in kicking the bucket. Boy, you really need to get out more. People say TV kills your brain cells, but it also dials you in to the twenty-first century.” Kat peered underneath the bed and found her shoes, quickly shoving her feet into them without socks. “I need to get my boots out of my car. I’d rather get blisters than trip all over these laces. By the way, thanks for doing my laundry, but you didn’t have to give me all that,” she said, motioning toward a pile of clothes on a table between the bed and long mirror in the corner.
It wasn’t uncommon for her to wear the same clothes for days in a row because of her job. The sniff test worked fine, and most people she associated with in bars couldn’t smell anything except the stench of cigarettes or their own cologne, so having someone wash her clothes and buy her new ones seemed excessive.
But thoughtful.
An urgent knock sounded at the door. Prince rushed to answer, his hair still loose and unkempt.
Russell lowered a pear from his mouth and chewed twice before speaking. “Perhaps you should get dressed,” he suggested with a flash of humor in his eyes. “You have a visitor downstairs, and I don’t think you’ll impress him with your fancy trousers.”
CHAPTER12
Prince led Reno Cole, Austin’s second-in-command, into a private room and closed the door. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“How ’bout a cold one?” Reno rubbed his jaw, his cheeks and nose red from riding his motorcycle in the sun without a helmet.
Prince eyed his liquor cabinet full of expensive alcohol. He didn’t stock beer because most guests would find it insulting for a Packmaster of his caliber to serve them cheap alcohol.
