Chapter 8

Guthrie didn’t know what had come over him. They couldn’t have moved until the tree was lifted. So what was he to do? She smelled so sweet—a mixture of she-wolf, the citrusy scent of the Christmas fir tree, and the delightful taste of wassail on her lips and tongue… He just had to have a taste or two. He loved how she had kissed him right back. She’d been his captive audience, and she had seemed to enjoy it as much as he had. He just wished that Ian hadn’t gotten the men together so quickly to lift the tree.

After the tree fiasco, which was not his fault this time, he couldn’t quit thinking about Calla. He realized he wasn’t the only one when Ian called him back to his office.

“She asked to see you before you go,” Ian said as soon as Guthrie walked into the room.

“About what?” Guthrie asked, frowning and wondering if she had changed her mind about having him go with her.

“The party, maybe. I don’t know. I swear, Brother, you look as though you’re ready to panic. If you’re worried about a woman in a toga getting interested in you, don’t wear your kilt. That’s all I have. And…have some fun while you’re at it. All right?”

Guthrie shook his head. “This is not what I consider having fun.” Not when he had to keep Calla out of potential danger.

He left the office and strode to the guest room to see Calla. Her door was open, and she was on the phone, but as soon as she saw him, she motioned for him to come in and smiled a little.

At first he was relieved that she didn’t appear upset with him over the kiss, but then he gaped at the toga Calla wore. The silky white fabric was draped over one shoulder, leaving the other bare, with the rest of the fabric falling in sensuous folds that caressed her body all the way to her jewel-sandaled feet.

Forget worrying about Baird harassing her. Between any single men at the party hitting on her and the chill in the air, the lass was in trouble no matter how he looked at it. Or at her.

“Aye, aye, I know the flowers were supposed to be pink, but the bride changed her mind and now she wants purple. So—charge her for it.”

She was staring at the floor as she spoke to the florist on the phone, so his gaze stole over her body again. He swore he could even see the shape of her nipples pressed against the fabric when he hadn’t noticed them before.

What was she thinking, baring all that delectable body to—he didn’t even know what they were—humans or wolves. He assumed humans, but they could be as much trouble as wolves once they began drinking. As evidenced by the Rankin reunion.

***

Calla had really hoped Guthrie wouldn’t get bodyguard duty while she was in charge of a wild twenty-something, Greek-themed toga party.

She often dressed the part for whatever theme the party was. Her clients liked it because she fit in better. She really hadn’t wanted Guthrie to see her in a toga, especially the way he was eyeing it. She was certain he appreciated it. But as soon as he learned she was wearing it among a bunch of wolves—mostly male variety, she was certain he wouldn’t be happy.

She tugged on a coat and said, “I’m all set.”

“They’re human, right?” Guthrie asked. “The rest of the guests?”

She gave him a small smile. He growled low.

Not good. But, Calla thought, he had to remember that he wasn’t there to protect her from everyone. Just Baird and his kin.

Calla thought that Duncan, the youngest of the brothers, had always been the one who wanted to fight first and ask questions later. Cearnach was more one to talk things out, and so, she’d thought, was Guthrie. She’d never seen him like this before, so she wasn’t sure what to expect.

When they arrived at a home in a woodland setting, the place was lit up with colorful Christmas lights outside. Styrofoam candy canes were on the front door and reindeer statues in the yard. Someone had had the “cute” notion of stacking one reindeer on the back end of another to make it look like the male was humping the female.

Ethan and Oran snickered. Guthrie bit back a growl. He was afraid this was going to be one hell of a wild party, and he didn’t want Calla anywhere near it.

Calla was out of the vehicle before anyone could get her car door, and Guthrie assumed she didn’t want him to see what was going on inside. But that wasn’t happening this time.

To Ethan and Oran, he said, “You stay outside to keep an eye out for any signs of McKinleys. I’m watching out for Calla inside.”

His blue eyes bright and red hair mussed by the chilly breeze, Oran smirked. “I’d switch jobs with you in a heartbeat. If she’d stolen my underwear, I’d certainly be sticking close to her.”

“Aye, and then you would forget the mission.” Guthrie went inside where the music was blaring and a bunch of young professionals were drinking up a storm, dressed in everything from store-bought costumes to plain sheets wrapped around their bodies—their otherwise naked bodies.

He saw more than one male strutting his stuff underneath a sheet and shook his head. There must have been about thirty partygoers, only about a third female. At least half of the males were wolves. None of the females were. Except for Calla.

She seemed to be doing all right without his protection as she directed someone to start playing a game. He admired the way she’d set up the buffet table and decorations, with a festive fire in the fireplace. He had to hand it to her. He was impressed by the way she was managing things.

Then a woman slipped her arm around Guthrie’s and said, “Don’t know you. And you’re supposed to be wearing a toga. Party rules.”