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“No.” Gwen hesitated. “He seeks us out because he thinks we know more than we are saying.”
“Which we do.” Kat grabbed the kettle and poured the water into the three cups. “Does he take milk?”
Her grandmother shook her head. “Three sugars.”
“Black syrup. Yuck.”
Gwen smiled and continued. “And because he’s desperate for a miracle and willing to chase even the craziest of leads.”
Kat nodded. Had their positions been reversed, she’d be doing the same. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I think we need to keep your wolf on a very tight leash.”
“He’s not my anything, so quit it.” She stirred some sugar into the second coffee, then handed it to her grandmother. “You don’t have to try to set me up with every eligible male that comes within sniffing distance.”
“Someone has to. You’re doing an abysmal job of it yourself.”
Kat rolled her eyes. “I thought gray-haired grannies were supposed to warn their granddaughters against the evils of casual sex, not devise ways of getting them into the sack.”
“My dear, you’re so much easier to deal with when you’ve been laid.”
“Gran!”
Gwen’s green eyes twinkled. “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Kat muttered. A good night of sex certainly did have a way of easing the tension—but she didn’t have the time for that sort of thing. Not with this case.
“My dear, there’s always time if you use your imagination.” Gwen patted Kat’s arm, then hobbled over to the sofa.
Kat picked up the two remaining coffees and followed. “What do you mean by a tight leash?”
“Just that.” Gwen eased her feet onto the coffee table and sighed. “Would you mind massaging my feet later? They’re aching something fierce.”
Kat nodded and placed one coffee cup on the table. The other she held on to as she walked to the door. “We can hardly hog-tie him and keep him captive.”
“We won’t have to. Trust your grandmother and open the door.”
She did. “Welcome, detec—”
The words died, snatched away by the potency of the man approaching. In some ways, he was nothing out of the ordinary—dark hair, nut-brown eyes, a determined chin that desperately needed a razor. He wore a black leather jacket that strained across his shoulders, a white shirt pulled over the top of faded denims, and black boots. An everyday man. Except on this man, everyday was not only powerful but sexy as hell.
She inanely offered him the cup. “Coffee?”
One dark eyebrow rose as his gaze
rolled languidly down her body. It was a touch that wasn’t a touch, and yet one that sent lust winging through every fiber of her being. Though she wore an old T-shirt and loose sweatpants, the intensity of his gaze suggested she might well have been standing there naked. His desire burned her. Made her tremble. Ache.
“Thank you.”
As he wrapped a hand around the cup, his fingers briefly caressed hers. Energy jolted her spine. Knowing werewolves were sexually magnetic during the rising of the full moon and actually experiencing the effects were two entirely different things. She resisted the urge to mop her brow and stepped back.
“Come in.”
“Thanks.”
He moved past, and she caught a whiff of his aftershave. It was an odd mix—the rich aroma of freshly cut wood combined with the tang of earthy spices.
“Evening, Detective Morgan.” Amusement touched her grandmother’s voice. “Nice of you to finally drop by and say hello.”
