Her rogue heir

What is his talents?

*Henrietta*

Oh, he has the wrong of it here.

I have learned at an early age how to judge a situation. When my mother was so melancholy that a wrong word would set her to tears. When she could be enticed to frolic among the bluebells. When the vicar was raining down hell and brimstone in his sermon. When he would talk gently of lambs and children.

So I do indeed know a good bit about Dimos Softpaw's talents. He is skilled at evading followers, can disappear into the mist before the person trailing him knows the mist has even arrived.

In spite of his clothing, he reflects a mien that matches his surroundings and allows him to blend in seamlessly. In my parlor, he had acted like the son of an Alpha, arrogant and proud.

Within this establishment, he would be mistaken for a laborer as he does nothing to draw attention to himself. Yet he is watchful, his eyes sharp and alert, and anyone with half an ounce of intelligence would know he is not one to be trifled with.

He also possesses a tactile nature. If he isn't stroking his glass with a long blunt-tipped finger, he is rubbing his bristly jaw or using his thumb to draw a non-ending circle around a knothole in the scarred wood of the table. I fight not to imagine him stroking my nape, rubbing my shoulders, drawing circles around my n*****s.

And he savors. He doesn't toss back his scotch but sips slowly and allows it to wander for a time along his tongue. I know because I watch his throat just above his perfectly knotted tie to determine how long he goes before swallowing. I can't help but think he would take the time to savor a kiss as thoroughly. I am tempted to test my theory.

It has been a good long while since I have been tempted by any man to do anything other than what is required of me. He is temptation, dark temptation, wicked temptation. In the end, probably a devastating temptation, one that could fracture hearts, if a she- wolf has a heart to fracture.

Perhaps X was correct, and my coming here was a fool's errand. Yet, I can't seem to regret it. "Do you think anyone still cares what your father did?"

"I care." He simply says.

Resolute, I will give him that. "Your father often mentioned an Alpha Padfoot. It seemed they were firm friends. Could he have been involved?"

"Padfoot?" He asks.

"Do you not know him?" I shoot back.

He shakes his head lightly. "I know the Alpha. I can't see Father having much in common with him. The man seems to have an interest only in plotting wild escapades."

"Conspiracy makes for strange bedfellows, I suppose." I mumble.

"Did Father ever take you to one of Padfoot's affairs?" He asks.

I shake my head. "No. Perhaps because he knew it wouldn't be to my taste."

"What did he say about him?" He enquire.

"Only that he was off to see him. Has his name come up during your quest?" I counter.

He slowly shakes his head. That is disappointing. I had hoped to garner some information before I attend that particular Alpha’s latest affair. "It probably means nothing then."

I finish off my brandy. "I'm sorry I couldn't have been of more help."

He narrows his eyes. "You went to all that trouble to arrange this meeting to toss out one name? You could have provided that information in a message." Placing his elbows on the table, he leans forward until I can see the green in the hazel of his eyes. "Why did you want to see me?"

I lick my lips, then curse myself for doing so when his eyes darken with desire. It stems from my youth when I would become nervous, sometimes going so far as not to lick but to gnaw until I drew blood. "I just thought the name might prove helpful." And perhaps he might do some investigating, learn of the upcoming affair, and attend to determine if he could garner any information. Although for the life of me, I don't know why I want him there. His presence would simply interfere with my task.

He comes half an inch closer, and yet given the manner with which my heart thuds, he might as well have touched his nose to mine. "Liar. What did you hope to gain?"

"To put my past with your father to bed." I say.

I shouldn't have mentioned that particular piece of furniture because now his eyes smolder.

"My father... or me?" he asks in a silky voice as though we are already locked together, my arms wrapped around those broad shoulders, my legs around those narrow hips as he pounds into me. "Perhaps you want to put me in your bed."

Another lick of my lips. A hard swallow.

"You are drawn to me," he says huskily, and I imagine that rough voice whispering naughty words into my ear.

"Don't be ridiculous." Do I have to sound so damned breathless as though I have just spent the last of the air in my lungs crying out his name in ecstasy?

He chuckles darkly. "Let me be absolutely clear, Ice Princess. I would never partake of my father's leavings."

*****

As my car slides through the streets, I'm disappointed that I finished off my brandy before he uttered his horrid and ugly words. I would have taken immense pleasure in tossing my leavings in his darkly handsome face. Instead, I laughed caustically and said, "How arrogant you are to think you appeal to me in the least."

When he appeals to me on far too many levels to count. Then I stood, bid him adieu, and with my head held so high I'm bound to have an aching neck come morning, I stormed from the establishment.

Why did his words smart? Why does his opinion matter? I'm accustomed to not feeling, to never experiencing remorse, regret, or doubt. Dear Goddess, I have got something in my eye. Both of them as a matter of fact because they each sting. How careless of me.

My upset is a result of the ordeal I have endured for the past year, that is all. The aftermath of Alpha Wolf fort's deception. I vaguely wonder how Dimos Softpaw would react if he knew the truth of things, of how it had truly been between me and his father. He probably wouldn't care in the least. I'm a fool to find myself attracted to him. It has been a good long while since I have been a fool.

The car comes to a stop. A servant helps me down. I stride into my residence, pass off my bag and umbrella to the waiting butler, and then hold out my arms, welcoming Snoopy as he leaps into them. I hug him tightly. Unconditional love. I wish that people gave it as freely.

"Did you learn anything of significance?" Brewster asks.

"He knew you were following him. He questioned me about it." I wander into the front parlor, set Snoopy in a chair, go to the sideboard of decanters where I pour two brandies, and offer one to my most trusted ally, which means I trust him just a hair.

"Blast him," Brewster mutters before sipping. "Anything else?"

"Not really." I lower myself to the chair. He didn't react to the name Padfoot, so I suspect the Alpha might not be as involved as I thought. I will probably find nothing at all within his residence. "He wasn't as tidy."

I would wager he hasn't taken a razor to his face since the night he came here. His unkempt state is rather appealing, making him appear more rugged and dangerous. Or perhaps that is a result of his disgust for me.

"What are you thinking?" Brewster asks.

I release a long, slow, drawn-out sigh. "That I'm ready for this matter to be done with."