Page 29 of Hoofin’ It

Most girls I knew with blonde hair had blue eyes, but the woman I’d be spending the rest of the evening with had brown eyes touched with the faintest gleam of gold. My exposure to Dad and other werewolves gave me an appreciation for hazel eyes. I figured the color had something to do with the wild side of the lycanthropy virus, the one that blended man and beast into a whole.

She scooted out of her seat. From the bar, I hadn’t noticed her slim figure had the hallmarks of a fit body. Unlike a lot of women I’d met over the years, she wasn’t the kind of girl who kept her waist tiny with the goal of appealing curves. When she moved, muscles and hard lines marked her as someone who liked being active.

It didn’t take long for my mind to wander to the thought of her in a pair of tight jeans riding a horse, and I was disturbed by how much I liked the idea.

Her lingerie, too skimpy to even classify as a bikini, didn’t do her justice, and that annoyed me almost as much as the way she tensed when she eased her way by the bouncer. “This way, sir.”

She led me to a hallway tucked at the far end of the bar and up a flight of narrow stairs, discreet enough I hadn’t noticed it in my initial look around the club. My time on the force helped me recognize the woman’s tension, and I could guess the cause of it.

In her shoes, I’d be tense, too, since a one-eyed man with a scarred face had just bought her time for the evening. After the past two days, I probably looked like a serial killer who lured women deep into the woods to have his way with them before tearing their bodies into little pieces and burying them.

The VIP lounge had booths with tall backs and curtains arranged in tiered rings facing an elevated stage, offering the illusion of privacy for those within.

It bothered me most likely didn’t care if anyone watched what they were doing with the club’s women. A pair of bouncers waited at the top of the stairs, and the woman hesitated before saying, “We’re exclusive for the night.”

The club had a thing for overly muscled bouncers dressed in suits, men who could probably break bones without much effort. Both regarded me with a frown. A phone rang, and I traced the sound to a nearby podium. One of the bouncers answered, “What?”

His eyes widened a moment later. “Yes, sir.” After he hung up, he nodded to me and turned his attention to the woman I’d bought for the night. “Front row, Sally.”

Sally? Somehow, I hid my surprise, although Sally herself had something to do with it, as she immediately headed for the steps leading down towards the front row. Following her gave me an opportunity to get a better look around the place. While the downstairs lounge had been busy, few of the booths were occupied, but a single glance convinced me to turn my attention elsewhere in a hurry.

Maybe some people enjoyed voyeurism, but I wasn’t one of them. I already needed several buckets of bleach to erase the mental images my parents had painted with their unwanted lesson on werewolf reproduction. By the time the night was over, I’d need a vacation from my vacation from my first vacation. In fact, I swore against ever going on another vacation ever again.

Sally led me to a booth tucked to the side and stared at the floor.

“Ladies first,” I murmured, gesturing towards the curved bench seat.

While some of the booths were more like circular beds with end tables, Sally had brought me to a smaller booth meant for two, one with enough space between the bench and the table a determined woman could end up on her partner’s lap if she really wanted.

I tried not to think about that too much when I slid onto the seat beside her. Dad had never hidden his admiration of the fairer gender, although the lycanthropy virus ensured the vast majority of his attention remained on my mother.

Women were to be admired and respected, and he’d take my balls for a trophy if he ever caught wind of me treating a woman like I currently was, as property to be bought and sold. Would he let me off lightly since he’d sent me into the damned nightclub in the first place?

I barely had enough time to unzip my jacket before a waiter brought the bottle of Scotch and a pair of snifter glasses. “If you need anything, sir, do not hesitate to ring the bell.” The man motioned towards a discreet button at the end of the booth. He left us in private—as private as a tall-backed booth could get.

A better man would have asked his company if she wanted a drink, but I poured a double and slid it to her. “I’m about as talented at small talk as the average goat, so please forgive any rudeness. It’s unintentional. Sally, is it?”

“Sally,” she confirmed, and the way she said her name gave me the feeling it wasn’t actually her name at all. Clutching the snifter, she glanced at me before taking a sip. When I made a show of pouring my own drink, she took a longer swallow.

If she figured out I was in need of a little liquid courage, I’d probably be laughed out of the nightclub. I didn’t intend to touch her any more than necessary to maintain my ruse, especially since it’d be several days before the lycanthropy virus worked its way out of my system. “Shane.”

I took a sip of my Scotch, keeping an eye on her the entire time. Most of her attention seemed focused on her drink, but she reached up and fiddled with her bra. At first, I thought she was adjusting it, although I couldn’t imagine how something so insubstantial supported her breasts.

Her finger traced the black and red lace, drawing my attention to her creamy, untanned skin and a small disc attached to a tiny black wire. While I hadn’t worn wires often as a cop, I’d done a stint or two undercover, and the device I’d worn looked very similar to the one attached to her bra. The way she warned me our conversation was being monitored was so subtle my jaw just about hit the floor.

To cover my astonishment, I took a swig of my drink, which burned all the way down. “You’re no stranger to Scotch, are you?”

Slipping her hand out of her bra, she reached for her glass and swirled the amber fluid around. “I like it. It’s complicated, a bit like you from the looks of it. To buy a bottle like this, you’ve got the money, but you don’t dress like you come from money.”

“I’m on vacation, so I thought I’d live a little.” I set my glass aside and snagged the bottle, lifting it up to admire the label. “Something this nice deserves to be shared with worthwhile company.”

“That leather jacket’s hiding a flirt, I see.”

“More like a lot of dust following a long ride on my bike.” I liked I could speak the truth and nothing but the truth; while I had indulged in a long soak, Lewis’s spare jacket hadn’t gotten any love—or cleaning—from me, resulting in more dust and dirt on the leather than I liked. “I was looking for a nice place to unwind.”

Sally drained her glass and set it aside, then she scooted a little closer to me, trailing her fingertips along the length of my arm, checking for evidence of dust, which she found in plentiful supply. “It seems you’re right. You’re a bit dusty from your long, hard travels. Let’s get you out of that so you can be comfortable.”

A trap of my own making, involving my credit card and the most expensive bottle of Scotch I’d ever touched, closed around me. With her being wired and someone likely listening in on everything we did or didn’t do, I either had to play along or make a break for it.