Page 40 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

An older man with a silvery beard and silvery-blue eyes waited at the fire outside the tent. Sorcha did not know if he even realized he was naked or simply did not care.

She did not know where to look, but she was not complaining. She rather liked Lycan society, despite her introduction to it being through an unfortunate kidnapping.

“Tavish,” Aidan greeted the man. “Put on some pants.”

“As if you haven’t seen my naked arse a hundred times.”

“This lady might not want the pleasure.”

Tavish’s frank appraisal of Sorcha made a sound rumble in Aidan’s chest. “Who’s the witch?” Tavish asked.

“She’s not your business, you old busybody.”

“Don’t be like that. You know I’ll always love you best.” Tavish winked at Sorcha. “Heard you caused quite a stir.”

“Sorcha Beauregard,” Sorcha said, introducing herself even though several generations of duchesses in her lineage would have been thoroughly scandalized at the thought. She was fairly certain there were no masters of ceremonies lurking about to provide formal introductions, as there were at balls.

And Aidan was being even more silent than usual. “Lady Sorcha,” he added finally.

Tavish bowed. “My lady.”

He was still naked.

And she decided he absolutely did realize it, and he did care but only to aggravate Aidan and his sense of decorum. She also decided she liked Tavish very much.

Aidan sighed. “You’re still naked, Tavish.”

“Aye, that I am. Your lass seems of good, sturdy stock. Are you going to swoon, my lady?

“Certainly not.” She tilted her head. “Although I suppose I should not say that for certain, as I have yet to actually see your naked arse. It might be swoon-worthy.”

Tavish laughed so loudly that someone answered from the forest in what Sorcha could only describe as a puppy bark.

“And I suppose one must get used to it. I imagine you cannot always guarantee access to clothing,” she added.

“Especially as someone keeps stealing my best plaids,” Tavish muttered.

Sorcha glanced at Aidan. He was smirking without smirking. Smiling without smiling. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. “I once had to shimmy out of my dress when I traded it to a river nymph in return for releasing a trapped badger from an eddy. I had to walk home in my chemise.”

Tavish chuckled. “I like you, witch.”

“Thank you, wolf. I like you too.”

“All right, quit your flirting,” Aidan muttered.

Sorcha jabbed him with her elbow, cheeks heating. “I wasn’t!”

“He was taking to me, lass,” Tavish said.

“Oh, well, in that case, I was too, actually.”

“You have excellent taste.” He nodded to Aidan. “Why do you smell like that?” His nostrils flared. “Brutus?”

“Aye.”

“He’s grieving.”

“Aye. Which is why he’s still standing. Where’s Freya?”