“Garrett Shea, right?” Antonia asked. “I—saw a picture of you.”

“What?” someone else said, someone with a profound bass voice, someone not to be ignored, but she couldn’t stop looking at Garrett.

Which was a good thing, because Garrett Shea picked that moment to leap at her. Really leap, too. He covered the distance between them in half a heartbeat, tackling her so hard she slammed back into the wall.

He was sitting on her chest, ignoring the pandemonium that had just erupted. His long hair swung down into his face, almost touching hers. His hands were on her shoulders.

And…he didn’t smell! He had no scent at all. Not “he recently showered and took it easy on the Mennen”—no scent. Zero scent. He smelled like a piece of paper. She had never, in her quarter-century of life, ever smelled a person who—

That’s how he got the drop on her! He could get the drop on any werewolf, and what the hell was he, anyway?

“You’re not pack,” she told him, trying to get a breath.

“Garrett Shea?” he asked.

“Right,” she groaned. “Get off.” He was leaning in, his upper lip curling back from his teeth, and she didn’t know whether to be alarmed, afraid, pissed, or aroused. It was so damned confusing she just laid on the tile like a squashed bug.

“Shea?” he said again, almost into her neck.

“Now. Get off now.”

“George!” someone shrieked, a drilling sound like a bad visit to the dentist. “Get the hell off her right this minute!”

“—swear I didn’t know, she just said she was here to help and I thought you guys would get a kick out of—”

“Sir, if you’ll grab a hand, and I’ll grab a hand—”

“We’ll be too slow.”

“Shea?” Garrett asked her again. His befuddled expression had entirely disappeared, leaving a look of sharp concern in its place.

Too bad; she had her legs up now, her feet resting on his belly, and she kicked out, hard, and was extremely satisfied to see him sail over the counter and crash into the tiles behind it.

She flipped to her feet, making the dark-skinned woman flinch, and grinned as Shea slowly pulled himself up behind the counter.

“Are we going to do this now, or should we put it on our schedules for later? Because either way works for me. Actually, right now works for me.”

“Jesus,” the blonde said, making everyone but the dark-skinned woman flinch. “How many teeth do you have?”

Oh. Her smile. Monkey etiquette, monkey etiquette! Her palm shot up, covering her mouth. “Enough to get the job done, I s’pose. Who are you?”