Shame she couldn’t say that for several of his family members. She’d met his daddy only a few times, and each time was a little worse than the last. And his older brother wasn’t much better. To be honest, she didn’t know why Van Holtz didn’t challenge them both and take the Alpha position from the mean old bastard. That’s how they did it among the Smiths, and it was a way of life that had worked for them for at least three centuries.

Hair dripping wet from the shower, Van Holtz walked into his kitchen. He wore black sweatpants and was pulling a black T-shirt over his head, giving Dee an oh-too-brief glimpse at an absolutely superb set of abs and narrow hips. No, he wasn’t as big a wolf as Dee was used to—in fact, they were the same six-two height and nearly the same width—but good Lord, the man had an amazing body. It must be all the things he did during the day. Executive chef at the Fifth Avenue Van Holtz restaurant; a goalie for the shifter-only pro team he owned, The Carnivores; and one of the supervisors for the Group. A position that, although he didn’t spend as much time in the field as Dee-Ann and her team, did force him to keep in excellent shape.

Giving another yawn, Van Holtz pushed his wet, dark blond hair off his face, brown eyes trying to focus while he scanned his kitchen.

“Coffee’s in the pot,” she said.

Some men, they simply couldn’t function without their morning coffee, and that was Van Holtz.

“Thank you,” he sighed, grabbing the mug she’d taken out for him and filling it up. If he minded that she’d become quite familiar with his kitchen and his apartment in general, after months of coming and going as she pleased, he never showed it.

Dee waited until he’d had a few sips and finally turned to her with a smile.

“Good morning.”

She returned that smile, something she normally didn’t bother with with most, and replied,

“Morning.”

“I promised you waffles with fresh blueberries.” He sniffed in disgust. “Canned. As if I’d ever.”

“I know. I know. Sacrilege.”

“Exactly!”

Dee-Ann sat patiently at the kitchen table while Van Holtz whipped up a full breakfast for her the way most people whipped up a couple of pieces of toast.

“So, Dee”—Van Holtz placed perfectly made waffles and bacon in front of her with warmed syrup in a bowl and a small dish of butter right behind it—“what brings you here?” He sat down on the chair across from her with his own plate of food.

“Cats irritate me.”

Van Holtz nodded, chewing on a bite of food. “And yet you work so well with them on a day-to-day basis.”

“Not when they get in my way.”

“Is there a possibility you can be more specific on what your complaint is?”

“But it’s fun to watch you look so confused.”

“Only one cup of coffee, Dee-Ann. Only one cup.”

She laughed a little, always amused when Van Holtz got a bit cranky.

“We went to raid a hybrid fight last night—not only was there no fight, but there were felines already there.”

“Which felines?”

“KZS.”

“Oh.” He took another bite of bacon. “Those felines. Well, maybe they’re trying to—”

“Those felines ain’t gonna help mutts, Van Holtz, you know that.”

“Can’t you just call me Ric? You know, like everyone else.” And since the man had more cousins than should legally be allowed, all with the last name Van Holtz, perhaps that would be a bit easier for all concerned.

“Fine. They’re not going to help, Ric.”

“And yet it seems as if they are—or at least trying.”

“They’re doing something—and I don’t like it. I don’t like when anyone gets in my way.” Especially particular felines who had wicked right crosses that Dee’s jaw was still feeling several hours later.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep. Just like that. Orange juice?” She nodded and he poured freshly squeezed orange juice into her glass.

“You don’t want to talk to the team first?”

“I talked to you. What’s the team going to tell me that you haven’t? Except they’ll probably use more syllables and keep the anti-feline sentiment out of it.” She nodded and watched him eat. Pretty. The man was just . . . pretty. Not girly—although she was sure her daddy and uncles would think so—but pretty. Handsome and gorgeous might be the more acceptable terms when talking about men, but those words did not fit him.

“Is something wrong with your food?” he asked, noticing that she hadn’t started eating.

She glanced down at the expertly prepared waffle, big fresh blueberries throughout, powdered sugar sprinkled over it. In bowls he’d also put out more fresh blueberries, along with strawberries and peaches. He’d given her a linen napkin to use and heavy, expensive-looking flatware to eat with. And he’d set all this up in about thirty minutes.

The whole meal was, in a word, perfection, which was why Dee replied, “It’s all right . . . I guess.”

A dark eyebrow peaked. “You guess?”

“Haven’t tried it yet, now have I? Can’t tell you if I like it if I haven’t tried it.”

“Only one cup of coffee, Dee. Only one.”

“Maybe it’s time you had another.”