He leaned close, covering the space over the tiny table. The air in the shop rocketed from cool to sizzling. “If I did get married, I’d want a woman who understood that the actual wedding doesn’t matter. It’s one day and one night. That’s all.” He flicked a picture in the binder. “I’d want a woman who had a sense of humor and wouldn’t be afraid to make a bouquet out of pussy willow. Lots and lots of pussy willow.”
Veronica laughed as Logan emphasized the first part of the word. But by the second time it escaped his lips, heat tingled up her neck.
“I don’t think that’d make a very pretty bouquet,” she said, crossing her legs.
“I think pussy willow would be a great addition to any kind of arrangement.” He licked his lips slowly, as though he was savoring certain flavors that might’ve lingered there. “What’s wrong, Veronica? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Of course not.” She shuddered, but tried to play off that she was cold. She brushed her hands over her arms and stared outside. “I wonder what’s taking Patsy so long?”
“Maybe she’s trying to convince the bride to add pussy willow to her arrangement.”
Veronica shot to her feet. “Would you quit saying that word! No bride would put that in her bouquet—it’s dirty.”
“Oh, come on, it’s funny. People take this stuff too seriously. I mean, if you were my bride, for example—not that I’d ever let that happen—and you made your bouquet out of pussy willow, I’d make my boutonniere out of”—he turned a page in the binder and laughed—“cockscomb.” Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, Logan leaned back, pushed his hips forward and kicked his foot up on his opposite leg. Why couldn’t she take her eyes off his crotch? Did he have to display himself like that? With his hips pushed out and a very obvious bulge in his pants? “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the word pussy willow,” he said. “In fact, I think you should say it.”
What would it prove? That she could say the word “pussy”? She was twenty-seven years old and could say the word whenever she pleased…but not if it meant pleasing him. She wouldn’t give him the gratification.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And I’ve got a twisted sense of humor. Say it and I’ll drop it. It’s just a word. A word that is said and forgotten. Pussy willow. Come on, V. Are you really that uptight?”
No, she was really that stubborn.
Veronica gritted her teeth together, nearly tripped on her way to the counter, and tapped quickly. “Patsy?” her voice squeaked. She couldn’t think about any pussy being on Logan’s lips. “Are you back there? Patsy?”
“Pussy willow,” he whispered over her shoulder.
She spun around and sucked in a clipped breath. Logan was close. Inches away. His body radiated heat, drenching her in tingly warmth. He looked down at her with those smoky gray eyes, making her forget that stupid word and the way he was pressuring her to say it like some teenage boy daring her to flash him at a party. She was overcome with the desire to press her hands down his abs and lean against him. Every time he said the name of that stupid flower, her will loosened. She couldn’t forget the way his lips had moved against hers last night. The way the pressure of his body had felt heavy and right. Fighting the urge taking over her body, Veronica rested her back on the counter and gripped the pointy ledge.
“Sweet, sweet”—he leaned down as if he was going to kiss her—“pussy willow.”
Veronica was going to break apart from the pressure. Explode into thousands of tiny, turned-on pieces. She had to regain composure. Logan didn’t want her. If he did, he would’ve finished what he started last night. This was a game, a stupid, stupid game, and he was going to laugh at her when it was finished. But she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t find the strength to push him away.
“Fine!” she yelled. “Pussy! Pussy! Pussy! You happy now?”
The humor in his eyes died down. He looked…hungry.
“Veronica?” Patsy said from behind her. “Everything all right out here?”
She deflated. And spun around. “Yes. Everything’s fine. The bouquet?”
“The bride approved it.”
“Thank you, Pussy.” Veronica’s stomach flipped. “I mean Patsy. Thank you, Patsy.”
Smacking her forehead, Veronica snatched her bag off the floor and stormed out the door. She didn’t look back. But when an allergic symphony of sneezing and groaning rang out behind her, Veronica knew Logan had followed her out.
Chapter Seven
“Come on, pick up.” Veronica stood against the brick wall of the floral shop building, her phone glued to her ear. “Come on, Leah.”
Logan was sitting in his truck not twenty feet away, checking out something lying in his lap. Veronica prayed he was playing with his phone.
“Hey V!” Leah’s voice never sounded sweeter. “What’s up?”
“Did you know Jake hired Logan to follow me around?”
“Logan just texted Jake and warned us you’d be calling. I just found out what happened, Veronica, and you better believe Jake will hear it from me when this is over. He should’ve told me.” Leah sighed, covered the phone and hollered something at Jake. “If I’d known what was going on, I wouldn’t have left. But for the record, I did tell you that a secret admirer is creepy, right?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Any guy who likes you is going to say so.”
Veronica rubbed her forehead. “I know, I know.”
“On the bright side, Jake said Logan was the best bodyguard in Seattle. They used to be in the Marines together, so I think everything’s going to be okay.”
“But Jake told you everything, and you think it’s a good idea for Logan to be following me around?” Veronica smoothed down the flyaways on top of her head. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Another long sigh. “V, the guy sending you all those notes is crazy. I guess he left a box of wolf hair on your doorstep and a note that talked about turning you into a werewolf…like what happened to me. The note went on and on about how the pain would eventually turn to happiness, and how it’s what you’ve been asking for. Totally twisted.”
“What? Wait, wait, slow down. How does he know—I mean, I didn’t see anything like that. The only notes I’ve gotten have been really sweet.”
“Remember the night of our engagement party? You stayed late to talk to that guy about reserving the rehearsal site for our wedding and we went back to the house to set up the after-party? Remember how Jake told everyone that they should go out instead?”
Veronica nodded, fully aware Leah couldn’t see her. “He said he wasn’t feeling well, and asked to sleep on my couch. He insisted you go out with everyone else and call when you got home.”
“I guess that was so you wouldn’t be alone. He didn’t want me there in case the guy came back, and he thought he could handle it without freaking you out.”
“What the hell, Leah? Seriously!” Logan’s gaze snapped her way, as if he could hear the hysteria in her voice. “Why couldn’t he tell me the truth?”
Her sister’s voice turned meek. “He said you already freak out about werewolves so much, and you’d never give him the benefit of the doubt if a werewolf was stalking you. You already think we’re all evil.”
True.
“And that’s not the way it is,” Leah said. “He wants you to like him, to really think of him as family.”
“You’re my family.” Veronica’s heart pinched. “You’re the only family I’ve got.”
And you were turned into a werewolf, too.
“Jake wants to be considered a part of our family, if you’d let him. Although I don’t like the idea of him keeping the stalker thing from me, I can understand why he wanted to keep it from you. Besides, he says you were never in any danger—not with Logan beside you.”