Page 34 of Howl About That

This was absolutely dangerous territory. They'd been carefully maintaining professional boundaries all week, and dinner at his place would shatter those walls completely.

"Besides," he continued, his tone taking on a playfully commanding edge, "I owe you a home-cooked dinner. Fair's fair."

Her rational mind screamed warnings about the wisdom of spending an evening alone with her fated mate when the sexualtension between them had been building to unbearable levels. But her traitorous mouth had other ideas.

"That sounds good."

"Perfect. I'll text you the address of my family's estate in the Catskills. Seven o'clock work for you?"

She should make an excuse. Should claim prior commitments or urgent pride business. Should do anything except agree to spend an intimate evening with the one man who could make her forget every lesson she'd learned about self-preservation.

"Yes, that works. I'll see you at seven."

The words escaped before she could stop them, sealing her fate with casual efficiency that would have impressed her if she weren't busy panicking about what she'd just committed to.

"Looking forward to it," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice—satisfied and anticipatory in ways that made heat pool low in her body.

After ending the call, Poppy stared at her phone with growing dread and excitement warring in her chest. This would be a test of her willpower, her ability to maintain professional boundaries when every instinct demanded she claim what belonged to her.

But as she headed toward her shower, anticipation already building for the evening ahead, she suspected she was about to discover just how little willpower she actually possessed when it came to resisting Keiro Izell.

Hours later, standing before the imposing oak doors of the Izell family estate, Poppy fought the urge to smooth her yellow sundress for the third time in as many minutes. The massive stone structure rose before her like something from a dream—all soaring towers and elegant arches that spoke of centuries of accumulated wealth and power. Ancient ivy climbed the walls in carefully manicured patterns, and the grounds stretchedendlessly into the twilight, dotted with mature oaks that had probably witnessed generations of pack gatherings.

Her nerves spiked despite her best efforts to remain calm. Through their mate bond, she could feel Keiro's own carefully suppressed anxiety mixing with anticipation, creating a cocktail of emotions that made her pulse race.

He's as nervous as I am.

The thought should have been reassuring, but instead it only amplified her own jittery energy. She pressed the doorbell, the melodic chime echoing somewhere deep within the estate. Seconds later, the door swung open to reveal Keiro, and every coherent thought fled her mind.

Gone was the impeccably dressed CEO in his perfectly tailored suits and expensive watches. This version of Keiro wore dark jeans that hugged his powerful thighs and a white henley that stretched across his broad chest, the top buttons undone just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin. His dark hair looked slightly mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and the casual attire only emphasized the predatory grace that was always present but usually hidden beneath layers of corporate polish.

Her lioness surged forward with violent approval, demanding she forget dinner entirely and drag him upstairs to claim what belonged to them. The urge was so strong she had to grip her purse tighter to keep herself from reaching for him.

Calm down. You came here for dinner and conversation. Not to jump the man in his own doorway.

But when his deep brown eyes darkened as they traveled over her yellow sundress—taking in the way it hugged her curves and left her shoulders bare—heat flooded her system with embarrassing intensity. Through their bond, his desire hit her like lightning, making her skin flush and her breath catch.

"Come in," he said, his voice rougher than usual as he stepped back to give her space. "Dinner's ready and waiting in the dining room."

She moved past him, hyperaware of the way his intoxicating scent of cedar and rain wrapped around her like an embrace. The brief moment when their bodies almost brushed sent electricity racing down her spine, and she had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other rather than turning around and pressing herself against that magnificent chest.

"Did you find the place okay?" he asked as they walked deeper into the estate.

"Yes, and this territory is simply breathtaking." The words came out steadier than she felt, though she could hear the slight breathiness that betrayed her reaction to his proximity.

His smile—genuine and filled with obvious pride—transformed his entire face, making him look younger and less controlled. "My great-grandfather chose this location specifically for the views. Said a wolf needed space to run properly and be free."

They soon arrived at the dining room with its heavy oak doors already opened, and when she stepped inside, the space took her breath away for entirely different reasons. Where his Manhattan penthouse had been all sleek lines and minimalist elegance, this space spoke of family history and warmth. The massive table could easily seat forty people, but he'd transformed one end into an intimate setting with flickering candles casting dancing shadows across fine china and crystal glasses. Two place settings sat close together—his at the head of the table, hers adjacent—creating a pocket of romance within the grand space.

He made this romantic on purpose.

The realization sent her pulse skittering even as her lioness purred with need. This wasn't just dinner between businesspartners. This was a date, complete with all the careful attention to detail that spoke of a man trying to impress the woman he wanted.

"Thank you," she managed as he pulled out her chair, the gentlemanly gesture at odds with the predatory intensity she could feel radiating from him.

When he took his seat, she finally looked down at the plate before her and gasped. The meal was a work of art—perfectly seared salmon with what looked like a complex sauce, vegetables arranged with restaurant-quality precision, and delicate garnishes that spoke of serious culinary skill.

"This looks amazing. Did you make this yourself?"