Page 9 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“It makes me feel better. It’s so much kinder than saying she left us for her scent match.”

“It really isn’t.” Lincoln lifted his glass and sipped. “Do you remember the radiator that used to scream?”

“Subtle change of the subject.”

He grinned. “Every morning at six. You used to hit it with a shoe.”

“It worked.”

“For five minutes.” He shrugged. “So. The flat.”

“Do you actually want to see it?”

“Maybe.”

“Then we’ll go. Tomorrow afternoon, if we find the time.”

His eyes came up to mine and stayed there. “You hate nostalgia.”

“But you asked.”

Lincoln’s mouth moved into a smile. “You soft bastard.”

“Certainly not. I’m a feared and serious man.”

“Of course you are.”

“Several people fear me.”

“Only the barista when he gets your coffee wrong.”

“He counts.” My nose twitched.

He laughed, short and deep. Then the door opened and a young woman came in with wet dark hair clinging in waves around her face, cheeks flushed from the cold, and a navy coat pulled tight around her body. Then her scent arrived.

Sugared blackberry.

And under it, a floral thread so faint I nearly lost it. I went still.

Stop looking at her, she’s too young for you.

Across the table, Lincoln stopped smiling.

She stepped up to the bar and pushed the damp hair back off her forehead. Her fingers trembled. “Irish whiskey,” she said.

Irish accent, softer at the edges by time abroad.

The bartender gave her the flat suspicion of a man who has been lied to by undergraduates too many times. “Can I see some ID?”

She opened her bag with the annoyance of a woman who’d been asked many times before. Her wallet appeared, and she slid a card across the bar.

Lincoln’s eyes cut to mine. I shook my head and watched her. I had no choice. Whatever her scent had done to the air, whatever animal thing in me had stood up at the sound of her voice, she was still a young woman. One who was flushed and shaking, and alone in a hotel bar.

No was the only civilized answer.

The bartender handed the card back. “In town long?”

“Just one night. I’m here on business,” she said, almost convincing. “I’m in New York, usually.”