“I choose you. Swear unwavering loyalty to me, and we can hold the clan together without marriage. That’s what you really want, anyway.”
She arched a brow. “You underestimate your attraction as a mate.”
“Bullshit. You want the power.”
“And the hot sex.”
Carl rolled his eyes. “So get a gigolo and be my beta.”
She shook her head slowly, not in denial but in stunned amazement. “You’re trying to drag the shifter community into a modern mind-set. It’s going to backfire on you. We’re just not as logical as you.” To her credit, she didn’t sneer the word “logical” like most shifters would.
“Will you do it? I can announce it at the next clan meeting.” He needed time to tell Alan, and that was not going to be a comfortable discussion.
“Yes,” Tonya said, being typically decisive. Then she pushed the car into drive, but she didn’t move. “One more thing. You had a message. That’s why I came out here to find you.”
He frowned. Damn it, she should have told him that first thing instead of trying to trap him into mating. “What?”
“There’s trouble in Kalamazoo.”
“What?” The word exploded out of him, but Tonya didn’t hear it. She’d already hit the gas and was roaring away.
Just as well, he thought as he sprinted for his truck. Even clothed, there was no way to hide his reaction at the mention of that place where she lived. He hit the freeway with his erection lying hard and heavy against his thigh.
CHAPTER 2
Becca Weitz’s hands worked so fast they were almost a blur. Fortunately, she could be blindfolded and still make fondant turrets for Cinderella’s castle. After five espresso drinks, she could sculpt walls and lay in a moat, too, if the princess wanted extra protection on her specialty birthday cake. And if the little girl was prone to horror, Becca could add in flying monkeys without breaking a sweat.
What she couldn’t do was force one fifteen-year-old boy to call her to say he was home safe from track practice.
The jangle of the bakery’s doorbell sounded, and Becca froze in place. She was in the back, so she couldn’t see who entered, but her mind’s eye conjured her nephew as he sheepishly thudded into her place of business. He’d apologize for not calling, then show her an A+ biology test. She’d curse his forgetfulness, then they’d hug out last night’s fight, and all would be well.
Except instead of Theo’s voice, she heard the low rumble of an adult male. A customer, then, and she was glad that she had Stacy to handle the sales. Until Theo called, all she’d be good for was making cake castles. So she turned her attention back to the cake’s battlements. Maybe add some crenellation?
“You can’t go back there!” Stacy’s annoyed words were buried under a man’s deep voice.
“Miss Weitz? Do you have a moment?”
Both voices startled her enough that she jumped, knocking her elbow into the newly decorated battlements. On a normal day, she could have caught the unstable walls, but today she was jacked up on caffeine and worried about Theo. What she didn’t ruin in her fumbling fell to the floor with a dull splat.
“Fudge!” she cursed, more furious with herself than her intruder. Caffeine and delicate cake structures never mixed. But that didn’t stop her from glaring at the man who… oh shit, he was big.
She took a deep breath as she placed him in her memory. Carl Carman, or Mr. Max as the kids called him, was the head of Theo’s summer camp program. But since they’d met only outdoors, she’d never seen how the man could fill a doorway—not just with his height but with shoulders that stretched on forever. To his credit, he wasn’t trying to be intimidating. If anything, he looked horrified as he stared at the cake remains. She, on the other hand, had ample nervous energy to burn off.
“Stay back!” she ordered. He hadn’t moved, but she barked the order as if he were crashing into her battlements.
He froze, blocking the doorway as Stacy peered around his shoulder. “Oh hell,” the girl said. “Is that the Smithsons’ cake?”
“No,” Becca answered as she waved at a whole line of princess castles and assorted cupcakes. “That’s over there.”
Stacy whistled. “You’ve been busy.”
“Yeah.” When she got stressed, she made castles. And thanks to the arguments with her moody teenage ward, she now had eight princess homes. Well, seven, given that one was on the floor.
Meanwhile, Mr. Big and Apologetic gestured to a broom in the corner. “Can I help clean up?”
Becca took a breath and forced herself to be rational. It wasn’t Mr. Max’s fault that she was überjumpy, but she didn’t like big men. They tended to throw their weight around, both physically and metaphorically. And in her experience, handsome big men were the worst.
“I’ve got it,” she said as she grabbed the broom. She also glanced at Stacy, silently letting her know that everything was okay. “You can stay there and tell me why you’re in my kitchen.”
