She was taking too long and running out of time.
“Damn it.” No time to squeeze into her Spanx. Dashing to the closet, she yanked a black dress off a hanger. It reached mid-thigh and ballooned a bit at the bottom. With a ballerina neckline, three-quarter-length sleeves, and seams that lined the sides, the dress fit her body perfectly, playing up her curves and flattening her stomach. It was her go-to classy number. It had a tie that was supposed to wrap around her waist, but it wasn’t on the hanger, so she ditched it. Running to the bathroom, Veronica fought her way into the dress, tugging the soft fabric down her thighs as she turned the corner into the bathroom.
“Veronica! You about ready?”
Logan. She hadn’t even heard him come in.
“Yeah, I uh…” She pulled her hair into a ponytail, cinched the tie tight, and smoothed down the sides. It didn’t work. Her hair wouldn’t tame. She yanked down her hair, ran a brush through it and tousled the sides. She hated leaving her hair down when she was working, but she couldn’t walk around with wild strands of hair jumping from her ponytail. “How’d you get in?”
“I knocked, but you didn’t answer,” he yelled from the living room. “I tried the door and it was open.”
She must’ve left it open last night when she let Cocoa back in. That wasn’t like her, but going to bed after three in the morning wasn’t like her either. No wonder she wasn’t firing on all pistons. She rubbed lotion over her face—no time for foundation—lined her eyes with Charming Charcoal, and smoothed strawberry-pink lip gloss over her lips.
“You really need to keep your doors and windows locked,” Logan said. “The last thing you want to do is give this guy easy entry into your house.”
“I know, I know! It’s not like I meant to leave it open.”
“You wouldn’t even know that he was in your house until it was too late.”
“The postcard said he was going to meet me at the wedding,” Veronica said, stealing one last look in the mirror. She looked horrible. As if she’d had very little sleep, couldn’t get her hair to cooperate, and didn’t have time for makeup. Ugh. Nothing worse than starting off the morning on the wrong foot. “He’s not going to break into my house.”
Logan mumbled something about being overly confident, but she couldn’t quite hear him. She threw on her work heels—a pair of strappy sandals she could miraculously walk around all day in without getting blisters.
“What was that?” she asked, racing down the hall.
Logan faced the kitchen with his back to her, and when he spun around, Veronica lost her breath. He was completely put-together, dressed in a black-and-white tux that fit his frame flawlessly. The trim coat hugged his chest and clung to the muscles on his arms, then tucked into his slacks, showing just how lean his waist really was. He was standing tall, his shoulders pulled back—his perfect posture no doubt attributed to his time in the Marines—and his dark hair was a styled mess, made darker by the gel streaking through it.
“You look”—his jaw slacked as he gave her the once-over—“stunning.”
“Thanks.” Veronica smiled from the inside out. She didn’t want to be close to Logan—any closer and the spark she already felt for him could inflame into an inferno—but the fact that he thought she looked stunning made her squirm with giddiness. He’s a player, she reminded herself for hundredth time. A player who isn’t looking for anything long-term. He’s not who you want, he’s not who you want. “You shined up pretty good, yourself. How’d you get ready so fast?”
“It doesn’t take me long.” His dark eyes blazed with something hot. “You did something different with your hair.”
“I don’t ever wear it down to work, but I’m out of options.” Without meeting his gaze, Veronica tossed her purse over her shoulder and snatched the bag with the favors. She made it into the heart of her living room, and caught sight of a tiny black velvet box situated in the center of her coffee table. “What’s that?”
Logan picked it up and spun it in his palm. “It’s not yours?”
Feeling the blood drain from her face, she shook her head. “Tell me you brought me a gift.” Though she knew from the look on his face that he didn’t.
“Stay here.” His jaw clenched tight. “Don’t move.”
He swept through her house, checking every room, slamming open doors.
The stalker had come in. When? While she was in the shower? No, that wasn’t possible because Logan had just been out there mowing the lawn. He would’ve seen something. Her hands shook when she realized it had to be last night…while she was sleeping. Someone had been in her house, had let himself right in. Had he watched her when she slept? Veronica’s body chilled at the thought.
“Nothing looks touched or disturbed,” Logan said. When had he returned to the living room? “I’m going to open it.”
His words were spoken in a fog. Veronica nodded, and watched as he yanked back the top of the box. His face twisted into a disgusted scowl.
“What is it?” Did she even want to know? “Logan?”
He swallowed hard and spun the box around so she could see. Two emerald earrings sat in the center of a silky white pillow. They were larger than any emeralds she’d ever seen on earrings, but they were surrounded by what looked like sticky pieces of dog hair. Wolf hair, she corrected. Dark brown-red droplets were scattered over the pillow, and long, stringy chunks clung to the fur.
“Is that—”
“Bloody wolf hair.” Logan’s voice was so low, he nearly growled the words. “Son of a bitch got into your house.”
She covered her mouth with her hand and began to back away from the box, from Logan. “The notes were creepy, and the blood and pictures, but this—he broke into my house!” Her voice cracked and she spun around, looking at her home in a completely different light. He’d been here. Watching her. Walking through her living room. God, he could’ve done anything in here. He could’ve helped himself to her food or slept on her couch. She shivered as her thoughts raced out of control. “But he didn’t break in—he walked in! I left my front door wide open! What am I going to do?”
Logan snapped the box closed and shoved it into his coat pocket. He looked angrier than she’d ever seen him. On edge. As though he was barely keeping a rein on his composure. “If he really wanted to hurt you, he would’ve done it last night. He would’ve hurt you while you were sleeping.”
She tugged at the ends of her hair, frantic for some sort of security. “And that’s supposed to help? How am I going to sleep here now?”
“He doesn’t want to hurt you,” Logan said almost to himself. His gaze was focused far off, and his words were clipped. Mumbled and harsh. “He wants you for himself. He wants to romance you into being his mate.”
“His what?” Veronica screeched, going dizzy. “I have to sit down.” She moved to the couch, but stopped when she thought about what the stalker might’ve done there. “I can’t sit. I can’t—”
“It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” Logan caught her by the arm and pulled her against him. He smelled good. Strong and fresh, with a musky, manly scent. It roused something inside her—the desire to lean her head against his chest and let him care for her. “I’m not letting you out of my sight from now on. You’ll stay with me if you have to.”
She buried her head in his chest and nodded.
“Okay, we’re going to lock up and go to the Sanchez reception. You’re going to call Heather and have her take care of the ceremony.” Logan stroked his hands over her back and rested his head on hers, soothing away her worries little by little. “After the wedding, we’ll figure out the safest place for you to stay, even if that means checking in to a hotel for a while.”