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Jaded Beasts IV, Horse & Sheep  

Erotic-ahh Digest ISSN 1555-5496 Vol. 06-23

Horse – Edgy and egocentric they may be, but this sign is very smart and shrewd; and are also industrious, sociable and are often warm-hearted. They do tend to act condescending a bit, but do it with an innate grace.

Sheep – A talented, imaginative and refined person, this sign is very susceptible to being taken advantage of by others. They love to be surrounded by tranquility, can easily solve problems, are quietly passionate, and dislike war.

The Prize of Queens, Megan Hussey
Marguerite transforms into Pegasus when danger strikes, but fate sends her ranch-hand Cole to aid in stopping a thief who threatens their lives and love.

Brumbies, Ricci Love

Rebecca and Kurt are high powered business rivals. The brumbies are the wild horses of Australia. Join them in this magical love story.

Claiming The Lamb, Meagan Hatfield
An artifact in Lara's Year of the Sheep painting draws out an ancient evil and the lusty dragon lord sent to protect her from it.

Three Shakes of Wolf's Tale, Michael Barnette

Maryanne Lamb is working undercover to infiltrate a crime ring headed by the Wolf of Hong Kong but she's in for a big surprise: love.

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The Prize of Queens

by
Megan Hussey

Chapter One

If Peter Martin lived to be hundred years old, the boy swore he’d never forget the sublime sight of the Pegasus. And, thanks to the Pegasus, he just might live long enough to get that opportunity.

Taking full advantage of a sun-soaked Sunday morning, one he felt was best spent in the dew-glistened azure meadows of Bayville, Florida, the 14-year-old made quick, restless apologies to his sleepy-eyed mother and escaped their cramped homestead.

Then, running swiftly into a meadow that bordered their hedge-lined, carefully landscaped property, he yelped and turned restless circles in his favorite bed of dandelions. He threw his head back and basked in the breezes of a flawless Florida morning. And he ran barefoot through soft, dewy grasses toward an uncertain destination.

Soon, he supposed, he would abandon this nature made haven to visit its owner, his neighbor, Marquerite O’Mara. Peter harbored something of a crush on Marquerite; a tall, sturdy woman with broad shoulders, an easy laugh and sparkling green eyes that always reminded him of his grandmother’s emerald bracelet.

Unlike those tanned swimsuit models, the pouty lasses whose images flooded his father’s desktop calendars, Marquerite seemed more at home in a pair of jeans than a thong bikini. Still, even Dad admitted, she cut a fine form astride one of her prized palominos, the soft, curly strands of her fire-red hair flowing freely in the breeze.

Despite their shared wonder at the vision of Marquerite, sitting tall as she did in the smooth leather saddle of a sleekly maned ivory charger, Peter and his father, Roland, also shared a common curiosity. Why, they wondered, did she always ride alone?

Marquerite acted as the sole owner and proprietor of the Jaded Lady Ranch; a sprawling, tree-lined fifty-acre property she shared with a stable of five palominos. These stately animals claimed consistent blue ribbons at state and county fairs, as well as national horse shows.

Peter sometimes watched as the horsewoman groomed and shoed her prized charges. He noted that, while Marquerite always seemed a beaming, sweet-natured woman, her horses easily earned her broadest smiles.

“And while she’s always friendly to my parents and me, she just seems more relaxed around the horses,” he mused.

Even so, he always looked forward to their Saturday morning chats in her clean, though decidedly rustic, kitchen. She always offered him freshly made bundt cake and some inside advice on the art of horsemanship, a profession he himself intended to investigate right after high school.

This morning, in fact, he intended to ask what he considered an all-important question: if Buttercup, his prized Arabian mare, was ready and qualified for her first jumping exhibition.

First, though, he wanted to enjoy a little more time outdoors. With that in mind, he ran forward toward a narrow cliff that stood at the back of Marquerite’s property and overlooked a flowing brook. This narrow body of water literally sparkled this morning in the beams of the overhead sun. And, as always, Peter took a moment to admire and bask in its crystalline radiance.

His quiet observations were jarringly disrupted by the sound of a low, savage growl, followed immediately by the ring of a vicious bark, sounds that slashed the air above him and prompted the boy to turn sharply in their direction.

Peter’s eyes flew wide open as he desperately sought an escape. Then he screamed outright as, staggering backward, he slipped on some gravel that lay precariously underfoot and careened over the side of the cliff.

Legs and arms flailing wildly, Peter tilted his head upward and opened his mouth to scream again; this cry dissolved into an open-mouthed gape as he saw a massive winged creature appear suddenly above him.

At first, the mysterious entity resembled a sleek cloud of pristine ivory that hovered low overhead. It soon became apparent, though, that the cloud had wings and a long, sleek tail, not to mention a silky mane that framed a noble nose and vivid emerald eyes. The creature also boasted a strong, sturdy mouth; one that now grasped Peter’s shirt collar and pulled him safely to the opposite side of the cliff. Setting the boy gently on his feet, the creature then executed a smooth landing of its own.

Peter looked briefly across the water to see the once ferocious dog retreat quickly from the side of the cliff. His sharp, low whimpers indicated his shock and wonder at the creature before him.

“No doubt,” Peter breathed as he turned to face the rescuer he almost feared. “I hear ya’, Buddy.”

Face to face, the creature radiated with a sheer luminosity that enveloped its entire being, an illusion that created an ethereal, almost angelic effect.

Yet, instead of likening the creature to the archangel Gabriel, this heavenly spirit bore a distinct resemblance to a creature in need of a hoof pick.

It looks like one of Marquerite’s horses, he pondered, shaking his head in sheer wonder. Only, as far as I can rightly recall, none of those critters spout wings.

Come to think of it, horses, on a general basis, just weren’t supposed to fly.

Peter’s eyes rolled heavenward, and he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

Brumbies

by

Ricci Love

Chapter One

The chill of an iced drink made Rebecca cry out and jump forward as it set a course down her bare back. A chain reaction of drink spillage resulted within the group of immaculately dressed and groomed young women. Among them stood, some the wives and girlfriends of the biggest names in the business world of Australia. Unlike Rebecca, she was one of the biggest business names in Australia, here with some of her greatest rivals, dressed in figure clinging, post office red, backless silk she cops a drink down her back. Might just unravel her aloof manner. Almost

"What the..!" Who the hell could be so useless? The trickling liquid reached the top of her red silk lace panties and a cold shiver entrapped her. Turning around, an apologetic looking grin and bright blue eyes which crinkled delightfully at the corners greeted her. A man she’d never seen before almost laughed at her, but then something about him exuded want. The shiver through her now had nothing to do with cold ice. Passion shook her to her very core. Fighting for control over her wayward emotions, Rebecca reprimanded him harshly. After all she must save face amongst her colleagues. She could almost hear the men snickering and saying the Ice Maiden just got iced.

"Are you always this useless? Didn't your mother ever teach you to carry your drinks carefully?" she chided.

Her tone sounded opposite to her thoughts, I wouldn't mind a piece of him, blonde hair and blue eyes always a sucker for them. What a pity he's so clumsy. Rebecca's condescending tone rippled quiet giggles around the group who had stopped primping and seemed in awe of this stranger. Her heart thumped at the proximity, look cool, stay calm, she glared directly into his eyes, like deep pools of shimmering tropical water. Snap out of it Rebecca!  

"So sorry. I, um...was pushed. Some bloke bumped me and...Well, you know" A gruff voice with a rich quality made him very attractive to Rebecca. With some kind of 'the boy next door' feel, his accent broadly Australian. Great just what I need some outback redneck.

He held out his hand, "Kurt Madison, it's a pleasure to meet you Miss er..."

Rebecca almost faltered as she contemplated her hand touching his. "Needn't think being nice will get you anywhere! Excuse me," she answered, time to get the ball back into my court, Pushing past, dangerously close to Kurt. "I'll just go and mop up a little." Raising her eyebrows at her group of friends which caused a further round of laughter, but every set of eyes remained fixed on this man with the rugged face and shock of sun-kissed blond hair.

Of all the nerve, someone pushed him my foot! A smile presented despite Rebecca's effort to remain aloof, not the tidiest pick-up she'd ever experienced but certainly the most original. Madison...yes, No doubt related to Gerald Madison, obviously being annoying ran in the family. I know he's watching me, I can feel his stare burning into my back. Maybe, if this guy has nothing at all to do with Gerald Madison’s race horse training company, Rebecca considered they may be able to spend a little time together. I could make some time in my busy schedule for him. With any luck he's only visiting from somewhere and I won't have to worry about emotional involvement.

 Rebecca trained horses as well. In fact for the last two years running her horses had more wins than Gerald’s, except the Melbourne Cup, his horse won last year and would be up for back to back wins this year. Horses were serious business in Australia. Rebecca coveted the Melbourne Cup win, the race that stopped a nation. This year she would have that, well she had the best chance at having it. All she had to do was keep her eye on the prize and not let anything distract her from her business. But she’d heard whispers of Gerald making secret changes to his business line-up and that worried her a little.

      Kurt apparently would not to be put off. "Need a hand with that?" he suggested as he stepped into her path. "I'm quite good at cleaning up things"

"Well, you'd have to be, I'm tipping you've had a lot of practice!" Rebecca tryed to push past, but Kurt wouldn't budge.

He laughed then and became instantly more desireable. His nose crinkled at the sides, and dimples creased in his cheeks.

"Come on girl! Don't be so hard on a bloke, I'm just a man after all." Leaning into her as he lowered his voice, "I 'd love to run some more ice down your back. Especially on a hot night, cool breeze blowing through the room."

Now that's the best offer I've had for two years. If only life could be that simple, but I think I could get hooked on this guy. I've been there with Brad, a relationship built on sexual attraction is bad news. I will never be sexually controlled again. Despite her reservations Rebecca found it hard not to feel physically attracted to Kurt Madison. How can I get out of this? There's only one way, be a bitch.

"Who do you think I am? Office Slut? It'll be a cold day in Hell, actually it will have to freeze over, before you ever get that close to me, icecubes or no icecubes. Now, get out of my way!" she seethed through clenched teeth. The passion rose. Damn, that may have been a little too harsh. Pushing Kurt aside and making a beeline for the toilet door about ten steps away. Kurt looked shocked and never stood in her way this time.

Leaning on the back of the restroom door Rebecca analyzed the mixture of feelings running through her. Stepping over to the hand basin and looked in the mirror. Turning on the cold water tap, Rebecca questioned her reaction and actions.Why do I always do that? Why do I always have to pull the Tough Bitch act? I need someone in my life, why can't I just let my guard down once? Splashing some cold water on her face and staring at the reflection in the mirror. "Well, if he's serious surely he won't let that put him off!" Now, I'm talking to myself!

“Look at me, thirty years old and sworn off relationships! All because Brad Rivers is a two timing prick and I am tied to a job I'm totally over! How did life get to be so damn complicated? Whatever happened to house, car, two and a half kids and happily ever after! Probably doesn't exist, not for me anyway.” Rebecca felt better saying it out loud.

She glared defiantly at her own reflection as her natural optimism kicked back in. “No, I refuse to be so negative, if other people can find it so can I. I deserve to be happy, everyone deserves to be happy. Now, if Kurt is outside this door when I go out I'll at least give him the benefit of the doubt. If not, then he's not worth it anyway.”

Tucking a slip of long, dark hair back in, refreshing her lippie and checking her back, there, not too bad at all. Luckily I chose this backless dress, anything else would have been badly stained. It seemed the drink he had must have been clear because any that clung to her bottom had all but dried now. Ok, out the door we go! Looking around Rebecca saw no sign of him, typical! A little disappointed, but not really surprised. All talk, most men were.

Kurt was well aware that there was no-one within a bull's roar of him when he spilt the drink, actually the glass contained iced water only, he had no intention of staining that stunning dress of hers. Every part of that woman, from the shining oil black hair, down to her red painted toenails peeping out from her stiletto’s attracted him.

He had to meet her anyway he could, so he tipped a little of his cold drink down the firm and lean muscle of her back. It landed right in the curve he longed to kiss and caress as he worked his way down to her tightly and perfectly protruding backside. How he wished he could be that stream of water now coursing into the top of her underwear. At least I got her attention and it was worth it, this woman is a complete knockout!

Of course it's not everyday a bloke needs to go to such lengths to get some attention. But this gorgeous female drew him in like a bug to the light. It was worth the try anyway. That glare she gave, Crikey! Could cut a man in half I reckon!           

He watched her come out of the bathroom and stayed out of her line of vision. Hah! I knew she'd look for me, I win again. But that thought didn't make him feel any better, he hadn't meant to really upset her. Probably to 'blokey' for her anyway, I'm sure she'd prefer a stuffed shirt to me. I should have shaven at least. Rubbing his chin and feeling the two day stubble, which grew slightly darker than his golden blonde hair. Feeling suddenly self-conscious Kurt thought maybe a tie wouldn't have gone astray either! After all this night was designed to be the night he met all the big wigs.

Claiming The Lamb

By

Meagan Hatfield

Chapter One

“Thank you for coming.”

Lara May stood outside greeting the mass of people streaming into the exhibition hall. When she angled her head, her eyes went wide in disbelief at the number waiting to get in.

“Gee, sis,” she leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear. “Did you invite all of Southern California or just San Diego?”

Sasha tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and cast Lara a patronizing look. “You are lucky I got any of these people to come at all. Paintings based on the Year of the Sheep,” she said, turning her attention back to the guest list in her hand. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”

“No one,” Lara replied with a smug grin. “That’s why I’m a genius. My show will be a huge success and everybody’s here to revel in it.”

“And here I thought sheep were mild-mannered pessimists,” Sasha grumbled, checking another name off her list. “One would think you were a dragon with your need to be the center of attention.”

“A-ha! I’ve rubbed off on you.”

“Humph,” she huffed, nodding down to the cross and vial she constantly wore around her neck. “Now if only I would do the same.”

“Sasha, don’t start up with that vampire stuff again,” Lara said and groaned. “I swear, that boyfriend of yours has brainwashed you. Next thing you’ll be telling me the Wolf-man is real.”

At her sister’s arched brow, Lara rolled her eyes and made ‘you’re crazy’ circles with her forefinger.

“I’m not crazy,” Sasha bit back, her face flushing bright red. “And neither is Jacob.”

“Whatever you say,” Lara said, pecking her on both cheeks. “But I’m going in to get some champagne before you start lecturing me again. I’m not about to shell out all this money on catering and not have a few glasses of the good stuff.”

“Just don’t have too many,” her sister scolded.

“Oh, mom, what would I do without you?”

Still laughing to herself, Lara rounded the large Shoji screen and made her way into the main viewing area. Pristine white carpets, natural woods and the diagonal pattern of the room all conveyed a feeling of openness and calm. Lara smiled. Ever since her first trip to the orient, she’d loved Oriental design and culture. It was why she’d studied both Feng Shui and the signs of the Chinese horoscope in the first place.

Though the Friendship Garden in Balboa Park definitely focused more on the Japanese culture than Chinese, it seemed only fitting she open her Zodiac exhibit here. In order to blend in with the lavish gardens and to appease its director, she’d opted to serve a menu with a decidedly more Japanese flair. She’d also chosen to wear her long brown hair in a bun, held by chopsticks and a dress that put a flattering, American spin on the popular Japanese kimono, knowing if she managed to impress the director her art would be showing here until the end of tourist season.

As she walked toward the buffet table and flowing champagne fountain, Lara smoothed her hands down her waist and hips, even though she could see no wrinkles…yet. While the red satin dress looked and felt wonderful, she realized she’d be standing all night if she wanted to get through the evening without creases.

After popping what she vowed to be the first of many sushi rolls into her mouth, she picked up a champagne flute and made her way through the crowd, smiling pleasantries as she went.

So far the evening seemed to be going off without a hitch. She even had a few interested buyers, which was always a good thing. Yet, while she spoke with the director about the evening’s show, she couldn’t ignore the prickling sensation creeping along her spine. The heat of someone’s gaze burned her back as sure as if fire licked her skin. Frowning, she whirled around. Her eyes raked the crowd, instantly settling on a tall, broad shouldered man staring at her from across the room.

A feeling of awareness glazed over her as she regarded the handsome stranger. He wore black from head to toe—black pants and a long sleeve knit shirt, which gave him a dangerous yet sexy allure. Though he had a rich, almost regal air about him, the raven colored hair spilling above his eyes gave him an irresistible, just out of bed, tousled look.

A lump caught in her throat and her breath came hard and fast in her lungs. It became all she could do to keep her thoughts trained on the conversation with the director, and not the man across the room. As if he sensed her reaction to him, a devilish smile twisted his thin, yet sensuous lips. He lifted a thumb, dragging it across his lower lip as he blatantly looked her up and down. Her insides quivered and a knot of desire coiled tight and hard in her belly.

What the hell am I doing?

The thought came, even as she excused herself and began walking inexplicably toward him.

His shuttered eyes seemed to drink in the sight of her. The satin dress suddenly felt delicious as it swished and slid against her skin. The diamonds cascading between the cleavage exposed by her plunging neckline suddenly felt like beads of ice on her heated skin. It was as if her every sense was heightened, on alert from his presence.

He’s dangerous.

“Hello,” she said, fingering the flute’s shaft as she stepped up to him.

“Ms. May, it’s an honor to finally meet you,” he said in a deep, velvety voice.

Lara smiled and looked up his well over six-foot frame to his face. A sigh sounded inside her at the sight of him. The man was sinfully gorgeous—and huge, she thought, perusing his muscular build. Like some kind of warrior or knight in the books she used to read as a child. She hadn’t thought men like him even existed.

His chin and jaw were lean and square and she itched to run her palm along them. He had a perfect Roman nose and dark black brows framed his breathtaking eyes. She’d never seen anything like them in her life. They looked like pools of mercury streaked with black and flecks of gold.

“Well, this is unfair.” She managed a playful tone. “You know my name and I don’t know yours.”

His cheek twitched as he kept back a grin.

“I’m sorry—where are my manners?” he asked, extending his hand. “Lachlan Black.” 

When she slipped her hand into his, warmth feathered through her. And when his soft lips caressed her skin, the burning quickly spread to flame.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Black,” she said with a cordial nod. “So, are you enjoying my work?”

“Yes, very much,” he said, pointing to the easel in front of him. “I’m especially fond of this painting.”

Lara sidled around to stand beside him. She smiled at the picture he mentioned. It was her favorite in her Year of the Sheep collection. Sasha had posed for her, wearing only an antique pair of jade and gold earrings—nothing else.

“Do you paint from life?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then the likeness to the real object is staggering.”

She snapped her head toward him. “Do you know Sasha?”

A deep chuckle rumbled through him. Lara’s eyes fixed on his quaking chest. The ridges and contours of muscular body were visible even beneath the expensive knit. The idea of her sister’s hands smoothing over that chest made her ill.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. I was speaking of the earrings,” he nodded to the picture.

“Oh,” she smiled, turning her attention back to the painting. Relieved he wasn’t an acquaintance, or worse, ex-boyfriend of her big sister’s. “They are beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” he said, looking at her. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything more stunning.”

Heat blossomed on her cheeks. Clearing her throat, Lara pointed to the gold design above the raindrop-shaped jade stone.

“These gold symbols have been around for centuries,” she said. “Like the Zodiac, their meanings are deeply rooted and have long been speculated to have a hidden connotation in certain circles.”

A wicked smile curved lips.

Three Shakes of Wolf's Tale

by

Michael Barnette

Captive lightning in multiple colors flashed across the ceiling in time to the trip-hammer beat of the band on stage.  Wildly gyrating bodies filled the dance floor to over flowing, the flashes from the ceiling repeated in the plastile flooring under their feet.

The rest of the Wolf’s Den-- formerly an import export business’ warehouse-- was dim as a back alley and anything could, and did, happen there from petty drug deals to outright homicide.

But it wasn't all that terribly different from any of a dozen or so similar clubs that clotted the old Hong Kong shipping district.

One thing set this club apart from those other clubs: It was owned by a man only known as the Wolf of Hong Kong.

Who he really was, and what his real name might be were a total mystery.  The fact the Wolf allegedly headed the biggest crime corporation in the whole city-- probably in all of China--wasn’t a secret.  His company was indirectly linked with drug manufacturing, cloning of human pets for the underground slave trade, and more deaths than the most recent outbreaks of avian flu had caused in the last two decades.

Maryanne Lamb knew why she’d been chosen for the assignment in the Wolf’s Den.  Looking around made it obvious.  All the women working as waitresses at the club were shapely and ranged from attractive to incredibly beautiful, though she suspected few, if any of them, had been born with their looks as she had.  She was also the only blue-eyed platinum blonde in the whole place-- not surprising since there were very few Anglo women working there at all.  The other reason for her selection for the job had less to do with her outward appearance and much more to do with the fact she was the most beautiful woman with the requisite field experience in under cover work.

As the most important assignment she’d ever been put on, Maryanne wasn’t exactly unhappy she’d been chosen, at least not initially.

But three months of the nightly grind of waiting tables and being groped by strangers, coupled by the aftereffects of night after night of the loud music-- Well it was starting to wear on her patience.  Especially since, in all that time, she’d seen not a single glimpse of the Wolf.

Until he showed up she couldn’t even request a change of duty.  It had taken all of the organization’s considerable talent to create an identity that would pass the screening process used by the Wolf’s Den.  So until she could make a report on his identity-- at the very least-- she was stuck working there whether it took another day or a year to get the information she had to stay.

A hand slid down her leg, only the black hose she wore between her and the groping heat of the damp palm.  She forced a smile, and grated out, “Don’t touch me, please.”

The man just leered and reached for something a little farther up her body as she put the man’s drink on the table.

“Come on baby, you know you want it.  Dressed like that, you’ve got to want it.”

She sighed.  What was it with men?  Put on a skimpy costume and they automatically assumed it was either an invitation to touch, or that you were advertising your availability for sex.

“We don’t pick our costumes sir, they’re assigned to us,” she replied as she evaded his searching hand and did her best to resist the urge to hit him in the face with her serving tray.

He just laughed and tried to feel her up, but she danced out of his reach, and dropped his change from his drink on the table and got well away from him.

The club was always busy, but tonight it was beyond busy.  Madhouse was the first thing that came to mind, a total nightmare of endless customers dead set on getting as staggering drunk as possible.  As far as she could tell the only empty table in the entire place was the one permanently reserved for the Wolf.  The bouncers had already run off three groups of patrons who’d tried to claim it.

Glancing that way she got a shock.  There were now several goon and thug types standing around the table, acting as guards, even though the table itself remained empty.

A hand grabbed her and she spun to find a half drunken club goer leering at her.  “Hey baby, ya wanna dance wif me?” he asked in alcohol sodden English.

“No, thanks.  I’m working.  You know how it is,” she replied automatically.

“Sure, sure, bosses get mad.  Maybe after huh?”

She just gave him her best glacial smile and darted away to try and get a better look at the men around the Wolf’s table.  Maybe being able to pick one of them out of the groups of faces she knew were associated with his crime organization might give her some clue to the identity of the Wolf himself.

Maryanne hadn’t made it more than ten feet closer to the table before she noticed that the rippling sea of bodies filling the club were moving, and not in the typical ebb and flow of people moving about the tables, entering and leaving the dance floor.  This time there was a ripple through the middle of the crowd, a distinct parting like a shoal of fish moving aside to for a shark.

Her heart started to pound, excitement filling her.

This is it.  It just has to be the Wolf.  They wouldn’t get out of way for anyone else except maybe some kind of celebrity and we always know when any of them are coming.

From her vantage point on the second tier of the club she could catch glimpses of the slow moving knot of people.  Men mostly, with a few barely clothed women toward the middle.

She tried to see who was at the center, but all she caught sight of was a dark-haired head that might or might not be the Wolf.

I’ve got to get closer.  I have to find out if one of those people is the Wolf, she told herself as she pushed through the club patrons.  Those who’d noticed the commotion on the lower level were as eager to see the new arrival as Maryanne, but they were just curious.  Maryanne rose on tiptoes trying to see, wanting to find out if the Wolf had actually come to the club.

If so her months of waiting would finally pay off.

If not, she’d be stuck undercover and working her tail off as a waitress until he did finally put in an appearance.

God let it be him, please.  I don’t know if I can take the noise in this place much longer.

The knot of people reached the guarded table long before Maryanne managed to get close enough to see who was at the center of the group.  When they dissolved from their clump to take seats at the table she finally got a good look at the dark-haired man.

She stared not sure if the man was the Wolf or not. He appeared to be a lot younger than she’d been led to believe, in his mid to late twenties rather than the forty-something man her briefing told her to expect.

Her gaze moved over the man at the heart of the group. Taking in what she could of his appearance in the flashing lights of the club.  Younger and a lot more attractive than the sketchy descriptions provided by their informants ever suggested.  And both facts led her to the abrupt conclusion that this couldn’t be her man.  Disappointment filled Maryanne, but she squelched it.  Just because this man wasn’t the Wolf didn’t mean the Wolf wouldn’t put in an appearance.  If someone sat at his table, he’d be there, sooner or later.

Maryanne watched as the rest of his entourage settled around the table, most of the men taking up places as guards, the women taking seats and trying to get as close to the as they could.  She felt a momentary pang of jealousy as the blonde woman leaned closer and pressed a heated kiss to his mouth, because she really would love the chance to kiss those sensual lips.

He’s just gorgeous.  I wonder what the rest of him is like under that suit?

While Maryanne observed the woman’s whole body came out of her chair as she deepened the kiss, turning it into something closer to an assault.

When the man-- was he the Wolf or not? - pushed the blonde firmly back into her seat Maryanne couldn’t keep from smiling.  The stormy expression on his ivory face showed that he certainly hadn’t appreciated the woman’s brash behavior.

Give it up girl, he’s a crime manager at the very least.  Or the head of a Tong so no point in even daydreaming over that kissable mouth.  You get paid for taking these guys down, not for going down on them.

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