Immediately, his warm water turned to hot and nearly scalded him. “What the devil…”

He pulled open the steamed-up glass door and looked from Enrick to Colleen.

“Closest bathroom,” Enrick said as Colleen tossed her dinner into the ceramic bowl.

“Bloody hell,” Grant said under his breath and yanked a towel off a rack, but he didn’t cover himself in time before Colleen turned her pale face in his direction and got an eyeful of his aroused state.

Chapter 4

“Are you ready to return to bed, lass?” Enrick asked Colleen, offering her a hand up from Grant’s bathroom floor. Grant was still securing his towel around his waist or he would have aided her.

What else could go wrong tonight?

“I don’t think your whisky agreed with me,” she said in barely a whisper. “And the room is spinning out of control.” She took another gander at Grant’s towel, and he couldn’t help but be a wee bit amused.

She took Enrick’s hand and stood, then rinsed her face in the sink and dried it with a towel as he held on to her elbow to keep her from falling.

Grant let out his breath. “Go to the kitchen and get her something to settle her stomach, will you, Enrick? I’ll take it from here.”

With his arm around her waist to keep her steady, Grant returned Colleen to the lady’s room, which, by all rights, should be hers. Her husband—or for wolves, mate—should be in the room Grant now slept in. But she couldn’t stay in the room adjoining his while she remained here, or it could signify that they were attached. Nor would he give up his bed to sleep elsewhere, which would also cause conjecture on his people’s part—making them think he was no longer in charge. A night, no problem. But months, a year? He couldn’t allow it.

Even if she felt that it was her right to stay in this room, he didn’t believe she’d want to cause speculation any more than he would. He was glad that Lachlan, at least, had departed for the evening.

Enrick brought her something to settle her stomach, and after she drank half of it, she covered herself back up with the covers, not looking at Grant or his brother.

She closed her eyes and didn’t say anything. Neither did Grant.

Enrick glanced at his brother’s state of undress, and Grant took a deep breath. “I’ve got it. Go to bed. See you in the morning.”

Enrick looked back at Sleeping Beauty, smirked, then left the room and shut the chamber door.

Grant closed her bed curtains to keep the warmth in and returned to the shower to rinse the soap off hastily, in the event she returned to steal his cold water with another flush of the toilet. He toweled off, then finally climbed into bed. He’d barely shut the bed curtains when he heard a woman’s footsteps as she ran past his bed to his bathroom.

He listened, heard her lose more of her supper, the toilet flush, and the water in the sink run. Then she hurried past his bed and into the lady’s chamber. The mattress creaked a little in the next room, then blissful silence. He truly felt bad for how she was holding up. But he couldn’t do much more for her now.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he couldn’t with worrying about the lass.

Then he heard something different—her soft footfalls headed toward her chamber door. What the devil?

Her door opened into the hallway, and he heard something else. Toenails clicking on the floor as they headed out of the lady’s chamber. Wolf toenails. He groaned and threw his covers aside, naked, then headed into her room. Her skirt, blouse, peach panties, and matching lace bra lay scattered on the floor. She was gone.

He hurried out of her room and down the hallway to catch her. She was racing down the stairs to the first floor.

Hell and damnation. All he needed was a tipsy American she-wolf getting herself in trouble. He headed in the direction she’d gone, then heard the wolf door squeak open and shut in the kitchen. He called on the urge to shift in a hurry, not sure how he would convince her to return to the keep. His body welcomed the change, his muscles warming, stretching, his human form turning into the wolf.

He shoved through the wolf door and listened.

Despite being drunk, she moved fast, her nails clicking on the stone walkway leading through the gardens.

Tracking her scent, he sprinted through the cool, misty herb garden and then down the stone path to the sitting garden. She wasn’t there. He circled around, sniffing for her scent. Then he stared at the gate that led to the rose garden and the seawall. Either she’d come and gone this way before he reached the outdoor sitting room, or she’d jumped over the wrought-iron gate that led to the rose garden. He didn’t think she could have moved fast enough to get here and leave again, racing down the garden path before he arrived.

He leaped over the gate, clipping it with his back paws. He smelled her delightful she-wolf scent in the rose garden and followed it until he reached the four-foot-high seawall. He glanced to the left and then to the right of the moss-covered gray stones. He didn’t see her. She wouldn’t have risked her neck going over the seawall. Then again, she wasn’t sober. The place was unfamiliar and the smells provocative enough to entice a visiting wolf to check them out.

He jumped on top of the slick wall and looked down. Below on the jagged, slippery wet rocks, he saw the she-wolf loping along the path he and his brothers used when they were old enough to risk it and young enough to chance it before they knew better.

He was angry at himself for giving her the whisky and putting her in harm’s way. He howled for her to stop, hating that his clansmen would hear him and worry that there was trouble. There was—in the form of one sexy she-wolf.