Cry Wolf Read online

  “I was hearing you’ve got yourself a husband now, Maggie. What would he think about this flirting you’re doing?”

  Strange but gorgeous laughs out loud, spinning me to face him. “What would I think about it, Maggie?”

  Oh! I go all gooey inside at the thought of him helping me pull one over on the old bitch. It might also have something to do with how he’s looking at me, but I’ll deny that to hell under questioning.

  “I think you’d have to do something about it,” I tell him, putting my chin up and daring him to take it a step further. I smile as he takes the nudge in his stride.

  He dives straight in, so confident it takes my breath away. The kiss is barely a peck really, but bloody hell it floors me. I wonder for a minute what’s going on in my stomach until I realize those are actual damn butterflies. Like the kind you get when you’re a kid going to your first school dance with a good looking boy. He smiles and it turns a little smirky as I stare at him unabashed.

  I step back to force him to let go of me. “That’s enough, honey-bunch. We’ll give poor old Mrs Wallace here a coronary if you keep that up.”

  I slap him in the chest and instantly regret it. He’s hard. Like rock. I swallow the excess saliva that pools in my mouth at the thought of seeing what he looks like under the shirt. He’s smirking enough as it is without me giving any evidence of drool.

  “You’re the husband then?” Mrs Wallace asks, giving him a suspicious look. She’s staring at his hand. He flashes it at her, a simple gold band on his ring finger. I flip from somewhat aroused and intrigued to disgusted, instantly, but then he does something incredibly confusing and I’m lost once more.

  He puts his hand into his pocket, smiles at me in that same sweet, butter wouldn’t melt way Mrs Wallace did before she asked about my husband.

  “Sweetheart, you forgot your ring when you left the house this morning,” he tells me, taking my hand and slipping something onto my ring finger.

  I snatch my hand back and gaze at the set of rings he just put on me. They fit almost perfectly, just a tiny little bit loose but not enough to cause them to fall off. One simple gold band, and one sparkly emerald rock.

  What the actual fuck? I smile tightly, not that he seems to notice. His gaze appears to be moving from my loose tartan shirt to my skinny jeans and even down to my damn walking boots, and back up again, lingering appreciatively around my boobs before settling on my lips.

  “Right, then, hubby,” I say, “Get the card out and get the groceries paid for.”

  He laughs, before plonking a platinum card down which Mrs Wallace just frowns at.

  “We don’t take plastic,” she tells us, just looking at it.

  “Right, yeah. I forgot we’re in the back of beyond,” I say. “You’d better get coughing up cash then, you eijit.”

  He’s less brazen with his cash, I notice, even though it looks like he’s got plenty. Mrs Wallace bags everything up with the speed of a hammer horror mummy who’s slowly unravelling at the same time. She keeps shooting glances at us. I’m sure she’s suspicious, I’m just not sure if it’s of me or him or this whole weird situation this handsome stranger has painted us into.

  “You didn’t introduce me,” Mrs Wallace says with a sniff as she hands the bags over.

  “Well, I kind of thought you knew Maggie here,” the stranger jokes, clearly deflecting.

  Oh, so now he’s uncomfortable, is he? I’ll show him a thing or two about uncomfortable.

  “Oh, where are my manners? This is Dick,” I tell Mrs Wallace. “It’s not short for Richard or anything. It’s just Dick. His parents were arseholes. In fact, funny story, his surname is actually Hole. That’s why I didn’t take his name when we got married. I didn’t want to be Mrs Dick Hole for the rest of my life.”

  Mrs Wallace raises her eyebrows. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” he says, smiling pleasantly.

  I think I just met a bigger and far more convincing liar than myself. What a day.

  He grabs my bags. “Wives first,” he tells me, holding the door open like a gentleman while he checks out my arse and even gives me a low wolf-whistle.

  This is a right one I’ve just found. I need to find out what the hell he’s really up to, but right now I need to get these rings off so I can throw them back at him.

  One problem. They’re stuck. Goddamn it.

  He follows me out of the shop and I hold out my hands. “That’ll do, over-familiar. I’ll take my bags now, please, and you can be on your merry way to kiss some other strange women in shops since that seems to be your deal.”

  He laughs, walking back the way I came, toward my house in the distance. I mean my mam and da’s old house. It’s not really mine. I never want it to be mine. I rush to keep up with his longer legs.

  “What do you think you’re doing anyhow? Is this supposed to be a turn on, because all it is now, is creepy.”

  He stops and looks at me. “You didn’t think it was creepy when I kissed you. You wanted it. You practically begged for it with those big brown eyes. So, don’t try to bullshit me, Maggie.”

  “How is it you know my name anyway?” Who the hell is he? I try to think back if there was anyone who might have pulled an Ugly Duckling since high school, but honestly, I can’t picture anyone I haven’t seen around already in the two days I’ve been back.

  “You’re not exactly a mystery,” he tells me. “Everyone around here knows who you are.”

  “Well, yeah, but you’re not from around here,” I tell him.

  He smiles at me. “So you noticed.”

  Yeah, arsehole, I noticed. Tell me who you are already.

  “You’re not getting in my house, by the way.”

  He snorts. “Are you always this feisty?”

  “No. Sometimes I’m just stabby,” I warn him, making him laugh again.

  Ugh. This guy is so infuriating.

  “Nice place,” he comments as he pushes the gate open and starts up the path.

  “Just put the bags down on the porch,” I tell him, keen to get rid. I pull at the rings again and the damn things won’t come off. “I’ll oil these off when I get inside and mail them to you.”

  “That’s no good,” he tells me, standing by the door with the bags. “I’d need to give you my address and I don’t have one of those.”

  “So what, you’re a drifter?” I raise an eyebrow. He’s well dressed and he has money. He’s also homeless? Doesn’t make sense. Unless he’s a scam artist. Oh hell yeah, that makes sense.

  “I’m... between residencies at the moment,” he tells me.

  “Well then, you can come back tomorrow for your rings.”

  He doesn’t put the bags down. I unlock the door, ready to use the keys to stab him in the eye if he tries anything untoward. He lets me take the bags once the door’s open, not moving from my porch.

  “Then I shall see you tomorrow, dear Maggie.” He manages somehow to grab my hand and kiss it before he fucks off down the path.

  “Not too early,” I call back. “This kind of beauty doesn’t come without a shitload of sleep.”

  He smiles as he waves from the gate. The weirdo doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered that I blew him off. Treated him like a threat and questioned the life out of him. Not that he gave me any answers. The bastard didn’t even tell me his name.

  I go inside and put the groceries away, then I take one last longing look at the rings and sigh. They have to come off. No matter how pretty they are. Probably stole them from a dead girl. Wouldn’t put grave-robbing past that man. I shiver at the thought.

  Yeah, that’ll do it. I have to get the damn things off before they curse me to hell.

  I can’t get the damned things off. Oil didn’t work. Butter didn’t either. It’s like my knuckles swelled up on purpose so I wouldn’t have to give them back. I sit on the couch and grumble at this fact, hacked off that I’m only getting to sit on the couch for a couple of hours before I have to open
the pub. The regulars expect it. It’s too small of a town to deny them all the couple of pints they’re thirsting for on the daily.

  Yeah, I’m basically an enabler to alkies now. Well, at least while I’m here. Maybe once I sell the house I can go back to the mainland and find a job again in London or Edinburgh. Somewhere with more people than cows.

  I can’t do anything to hide the rings, so I don’t. I just put on a dressy black top and darker skinny jeans and my nicest ankle boots that I’m still able to actually walk in. I think about slap, and actually bother to shove some on. There wasn’t anyone around to really put in the effort for before. Now? There probably still isn’t, but the stranger got me all wired up with that kiss. I doubt I’d be able to turn him down too many times before I stopped caring that he might be a scam artist.

  My pale face is more dramatic with the deep red lipstick and dark eye-liner. I think it makes me look like a witch, to be honest, but guys are always a million times more attracted when I wear it. Must look more slutty than witchy to them, because we all know men have one-tracked minds.

  I get walking and open up the bar early, doing some cleaning to pass the time until people start to shuffle in. The only saving grace of this place is that it’s drinks only. I mean, besides the occasional pack of crisps or peanuts. If we served any actual food, I’d be way out of my depth.

  The regulars start to float in within half an hour. I already have their orders memorized and this is only the third time I’ve done this.

  Mr Murphy takes a pint of Guiness and nurses it half to death the entire night. There’s usually some left at the end of the shift. Benny Byrne takes a shandy and orders a second an hour later. He always asks when I’m going to get a TV in the bar so he can watch the game. Mr Peterson gets salted nuts and two pints of bitter and he sighs every time he takes a sip of his drink. He finishes both pints, belches loudly and leaves about five minutes before closing time. Mr and Mrs Wallace are apparently irregular regulars who don’t have to stop in nightly.

  Fergus makes a second appearance after last night, this time without his grandmother. He gives me a shy smile as he orders a pint. He’s so damn cute. Kind of makes me wish I was a little younger. Not that there’s anything too scandalous about a seven year gap between consenting adults. I just think I’m a bit too jaded to ruin a guy who seems way more innocent than I was at his age. Give it another week and we’ll see how well that theory holds up.

  “How’s it going, Fergus?” I ask as I pour.

  “Oh, you know, can’t complain,” he mumbles, turning red.

  “You got a plan yet?”

  “A plan?”

  “To get out of this one horse town?” I ask, glancing around.

  He takes my meaning and nods. “Ah. Yeah. College. In Wales. Next year.”

  “Good for you. What are you studying?”

  “Oh, um, theatre studies.” He burns an even brighter shade of red. Damn cute.

  “Well, just you make sure you put down some roots in Wales. You don’t want to wind up back here with all the auld duffers.”

  He laughs nervously. “Yeah.”

  He takes his drink and guzzles it, sitting down across from Mr Murphy, who throws him a shady look immediately.

  “Don’t you go making yourself sick, Fergie,” the old man warns him. “Your grandmother can’t be doing with that kind of nonsense.”

  Fergus looks mortified. He wipes his mouth and sets the half finished pint down.

  “Got the thirst?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.

  He shakes his head, glancing around. He leans in. “Would you mind hanging around and having a word, after you close up?”

  Oh no. I’ve probably been giving him the eye. Unintentionally, of course. Bad girl, Maggie. Better set him straight before he gets his hopes up.

  “I’m married, Fergus,” I remind him quietly, sort of glad of the stuck rings for now. I flash them his way and he frowns.

  “Were you wearing those yesterday?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not what I...”

  He turns as the door creaks open. I glance over too, interested. Everyone I was expecting tonight is already in. Who the hell’s visiting now?

  “You can bugger off, Kev,” I call out, “Once was enough.”

  But it’s not Kev who walks in. Nope. It’s another gorgeous hunk of man meat that definitely doesn’t belong in this musty old freezer. This one’s blond and sullen, and if he happened to be a vampire I would beg him to bite me. Maybe I might beg him anyway. I swallow as he approaches the bar, all ability to function abandoning me instantly. His gaze is super intense as he locks it on me.

  “Maggie, we need to talk.”

  Another stranger who knows my name? I’ll ignore the fact that he just basically demanded a slice of my time, other than to acknowledge it kind of raised my heart-rate. I raise my eyebrows at him and Mr Peterson frowns his way.

  “Don’t talk to a lady like that,” Mr Peterson snaps.

  Hot and sullen draws the nosy old man a dirty look. “I’ll talk to my own damn wife anyway I want.”

  What the fuck? I stare at him as he turns back to me, pulling on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.

  “Come on, darling. I need to speak to you in private.”

  Okay. One thing’s for sure. I want to know what the hell is going on. Wait, not just that. Two things are looking pretty certain now. I also know I can’t be left alone in the back room with this guy. He’s a little threatening looking and I might just be in the mood for a little roughing up.

  Ugh. I disgust myself. It’s been way too long since I got some, clearly.

  “Let’s step outside.” I come out from behind the bar and look at Fergus. “No helping yourself. I’ve got a video camera, right? Back in two minutes, everyone.”

  Blondie takes my arm and walks me out. Being so close to him is a special kind of torture. He smells as good as he looks, and he looks damn good. I pull back from him with effort and look him over. He looks like he stepped out of an underwear ad and put on way too many extra clothes, including a leather bomber jacket and dark jeans.

  He scowls at me when I move my gaze from his crotch to his face.

  “Right. For one thing, I already have a fake husband so this is only going to confuse things for me,” I tell him, making sure he catches my pissy tone. “And for another, you’d better tell me who the feck you are right this instant or else I’m going to go back in there and make up some story about you hitting me. And trust me, the vibe you just gave off in there was seriously wife-beater.”

  He growls. Honest to god. Growls. My heart skips a beat. What the hell is wrong with me?

  “My name is Lukas. I can’t explain why I’m here, but I need you to come with me. Now.”

  “Get real. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “What is that on your finger?” he asks, yanking my hand forward and frowning deeply at the ring. “Theo got here before me.”

  I’ll not repeat the string of curse words that blast from his lips after he drops my hand and sulks like a little boy on the playground, complete with kicking at the dirt under his feet.

  He glares at me when he’s done sulking. “How could you?”

  “How could I what?” I ask, totally lost.

  “How could you promise to be his?”

  “Slow the feck down,” I tell him. “Explain yourself for God’s sake. You can’t keep saying weird shit and expecting me to know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  Sighing, he drags a hand through his hair before looking at me again.

  “You don’t feel like you’ve been claimed.” His furious frown recedes. Funny how much that damn sullen arsehole look suits him. I think he’d look like a serial killer if he ever tried to smile.

  “Um, what was that now?” I ask, realising I’m too busy ogling him to take in the weird shit he’s spouting. “Something about a claim or something? I’ve not had an accident recently if you’re one of those damn cold calling lawye
rs.”

  Yeah, that did it. The frown is back, and it’s brought an angry spark in his pretty, golden looking eyes. What is that colour anyway? Caramel? Hazel? Whatever it is, bloody sexy is what it is.

  “You don’t have his scent on you, but you’re wearing the rings he brought you.” His lips twitch, just slightly. Oh, yeah. Full on Norman Bates when he smiles. “He didn’t claim you, which means he tricked you.”

  “Tricked me?” I ask, wondering what the hell he’s going on about.

  “Which means you’re fair game.”

  “Okay. You’re wired to the moon, pal. I’m gonna help you out by ending the conversation now. You can get back to whatever planet you came from. Okey-Dokey?” I turn back to the bar.

  He makes an irritated huffing noise and the next thing I know there’s hot breath on my neck and sexy man smell burning my lungs. Holy hell. How is it possible for a guy to smell so good? It’s like cigar smoke and orange rind with some weird third ingredient that should not make sense but all together it’s intoxicatingly incredible. Like cream your panties on the spot kind of incredible.

  “Do you mind backing up there a bit,” I ask, “Only I can practically feel your cock on my arse and I don’t know how I feel about that considering this isn’t even a first date.”

  He breathes in deeply before he steps back, and I swear to God, the look he gives me floods my panties, like instantaneously. “Then I look forward to our first date.”

  “Was that you just asking me out?” I can’t believe it. He’s serious?

  “What time do you finish?” He nods toward the bar.

  “Ha ha ha. No. I’m not meeting you out here for a booty-call in the field behind the bar. What do I look like? A slapper?”

  He tries to look patient. It doesn’t sit well. This guy would never make it as a liar. He’s too tightly wound. Too serious. Which makes all his weird talk even stranger, when I think about it.

  “So, when can I take you out?”

  Probably never, I think, but don’t say. He’s pretty damn good looking and I can’t say I’m not at least intrigued to talk to him a little more. Maybe even to fool around a bit. But I have to be at the bar every night, and I don’t much fancy getting up early to have a morning date.