Tempting, but I had a house full of shifters — and a vampire — to tend to. And Clement was a police officer, while my guests were definitely on the sketchy side.
My stomach clenched when he eyed the bags rammed into the hatchback.
“Expecting company?”
I gulped and tried to wave it off. “Just a small group renting a few rooms. You know, to offset costs.”
He nodded unenthusiastically. That was the thing with wolf shifters. They were very loyal and very territorial. Inconveniently so, especially sinceterritorialcovered placesandpeople.
The way he looked at me made heat pool in my core. That was another thing about shifters — they drew you in, especially when they wanted you.
And, wow. Clement Dulaire, chief of police and studly homegrown son of Auberre, wanted me. There was no mistaking it.
Did I want him? Yes? No? I wasn’t sure.
Either way, my godfather had made it clear he wanted his group to fly under the radar. I couldn’t afford to get involved with the local police chief — a shifter, no less — at a time like this.
“I guess I should go. Unless you’re going to book me,” I joked, jingling my keys nervously.
He grinned. “Not this time.”
But next time…His eyes danced, telling me he wouldn’t give up easily.
Yikes. I sensed trouble, not just over the horizon but galloping right up to the front steps of the château.
“À bientôt.” See you soon,I said, opening the car door.
Clement stepped aside, keeping his eyes locked on mine. “See you soon.”
* * *
I barely had time to unpack the car before dinner — another feast, thanks to Madame Picard. It started withpotage Crécy— carrot soup with fresh herbs — followed by a maincourse ofsteak au poivreserved extra rare, paired with our vineyard’s very own Pinot Noir, and chased down withmousse au chocolat.
Even Roux smacked his lips when it was over. “Delicious.”
“Is there more?” Bene asked after two helpings.
There was, but I was saving some for myself, dammit.
“No.” I shook my head sadly.
Bene consoled himself with half a dozen macarons.
“Sublime,” he announced, stacking his plate with another four and following the others to the drawing room. I cringed, picturing crumbs all over the furniture.
Too tired to protest, but too wary to leave them unsupervised, I followed. But the guys must have been equally tired, because they were surprisingly quiet, each quickly settling down to his own pastime.
Roux and Henrik played chess. Bene looked on, munching away. Marius stood gazing out the window, pointedly ignoring me.
Clearly, he hated me. Which shouldn’t have felt like such a blow, but it did.
I sat for a while, flipping through a faded art picture book while surreptitiously keeping an eye on him — er, them.
The book was one of my father’s — a picture book on masterpieces of post-Impressionist art — and marked by scraps of paper with notes in his tight, slanted script. I ran my finger over one note, drifting away on memories. Then I sighed and stood to go. I couldn’t keep an eye on my guests twenty-four seven, and I had to rise early to set up breakfast.
“Good night. See you tomorrow,” I called from the doorway.
“See you,” Roux murmured, barely looking up from the chessboard.
