Her eyes flared wide, the brilliant silver glowing even brighter. She jabbed a finger through the air accusingly. “You told me to dress provocatively!”

“You changed your looks before I made any suggestion about how you should dress tonight.”

Her knuckles whitened where they held her top together. “You got me to dress like this when you knew they would come after me.”

“I didn’t know you were going to dress like this. You’re the one who sent that lycan into overload.”

“Oh,” she squeaked, face flushing a vivid red.

Before she could arrive at a more dignified answer, he hopped out of the Jeep. Heading toward the back door, he called over his shoulder, “That lycan was right. You want to give it up.”

Gideon bit the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from adding that he wanted to be the one to receive it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A dog in season is subject to variances of mood; be sensitive to your pet.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

Claire stepped into the kitchen and let the door slam behind her. “You make it sound like I’m in heat,” she accused.

Propping her hands on her hips, she waited for him to assure her otherwise, waited for him to say she wasn’t actually a dog, that she couldn’t be ruled by base, primitive urges.

He cocked an eyebrow at her as he shrugged out of his jacket and removed his holster. She translated his look to mean, if the shoe fits.

All the ways in which she had recently changed flashed across her mind: heightened senses, quick temper, wardrobe, hair, makeup, revitalized interest in men.

“Oh, my God.” She sank into a chair, propping her elbows on the kitchen table and burying her face in her hands. “I am in heat.”

“You’re not in heat,” he said as he opened the refrigerator to peer inside.

She looked through her fingers, staring at him hopefully.

“Well,” he amended, “not exactly.”

She dropped her face back into her hands with a moan. Not only was she a werewolf, but a werewolf whose biological clock tolled for a litter of her own. “I’m not stepping outside this house ever again.”

“Yes. You will,” he countered with annoying certainty, head still inside the fridge, rear end displayed to full advantage in his well-worn denim.

Jamming her eyes shut against the sight, she fought back a wave of lust. Oh God. Did he drive her wild with need? Or was it simply an instinctive need to fornicate? She snuck another glimpse at his ass, refusing to believe that she had lost all dignity, all self-control—that sex, regardless of the partner, would suffice.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to flaunt myself all over town.”

“We’re not any closer to finding the alpha of your pack. You’re going out again. You have to.”