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For years, Marc Fonteneax believed that his mate belonged to another. He’s lived with that knowledge every day, accepted it. Only…it looks like he was wrong.
It turns out that Bernadette Reeves is the woman meant for him. The problem is that she won’t accept that they’re mates, even after he marks her as his own. First he needs to let her know that there really is such a thing as werewolves. After that, he’ll have to tell her that her son is one…
Bernadette is a strong woman who doesn’t stand still for nonsense. As the Disaster Relief Coordinator at a major hospital, she was a take-charge, get-things-done type of woman. It’s bad enough that something is wrong with her son. She doesn’t have the time or the patience to deal with his oh-so-masculine doctor.
Excerpt:
Bernadette felt woozy. She was pretty sure she was having hallucinations of some kind. Well, right now, they were a very nice kind.
She lay on what seemed to be a carpeted floor, industrial carpet, not all that nice. But crouched over her was a very muscular, very attractive, very naked man. He had dark hair on his head, dark hair dusting his well built torso--a little pale for her tastes; she’d never really been attracted to white men.
There were exceptions to every rule, though. This white man was yummilicious. And beyond well built, he was well hung. Good God Almighty, was this boy blessed!
She wasn’t the type of woman who looked at nudie pictures of men, but she was a healthy, red-blooded American woman, obviously not dead. She could certainly appreciate how his arm and shoulder muscles bunched and stretched as he reached over to loosen her collar.
His pectoral muscles rippled when he took on her weight to sit her up. Continuing her visual journey south, she enjoyed the tight six-pack of his abdomen, the soft arrow of black hair inviting her to keep looking. So she did, coming to the conclusion that virtue is truly its own reward.
She didn’t date much, instead putting Tayler’s mental and physical well-being ahead of any social life she might have. That wasn’t to say that she never did go out, that she never had her physical needs met. She was as human as the next woman, after all.
Still, looking at the ample, half-erect package resting against the lightly furred, hard and muscular thigh was enough to stir a hot rush of need in her core.
“Bernadette? Don’t make me get the ammonia, come on, Sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Oh, yeah…
“What, um…Marc?” she looked up into his eyes and back down at his lap, where his sex was stretching, purpling, growing much, much bigger.
Following her look, he had the grace to blush, but he made eye contact boldly.
“You’re naked,” she murmured, feeling her own face heat up.
“Uh, yeah,” he grinned, shifting in a fruitless attempt at modesty. She was sure it was consideration for her, most men would not be embarrassed to show off assets like his, she knew. “If you think you can sit up on your own, I’ll just get dressed.”
She nodded, pulling herself upright, trying to fix her gaze on his face. Putting clothes over that body was a crime.
“Uh, I forget, why are you naked?” she asked, “Uh, not that I’m complaining…” She looked him up and down, brazenly. It really was fun to make this virile, self-assured man blush.
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