Blue Moon Brides: The Complete Series by Anne Marsh Page A

touch her in ways he knew she’d never permitted before. The wolf in him regarded her possessively now—and the man was in complete agreement.
    The woman with the flowers shook her head slowly. “You should rethink that one, honey.  A man who looks like that? You want him somewhere besides the front porch.”
    His mate’s muttered, “In the doghouse,” carried just fine across the yard, as did the other woman’s rich laughter.
    “Like that? Well, when you let him out, he’ll make it up to you soon as you say the word.” Lark’s guest smiled knowingly before making her goodbyes.
    Still ignoring Rafer, Lark headed into one of the greenhouses, where colorful sprays of flowers showed through the glass panes. When she opened the door, a blast of heavy, luscious scent hit him. He wanted to follow her in, shut the door, and take her on a bed of lily petals, rub the waxy petals against her soft skin. Tease her to the edge of orgasm and then take her over. Again, something that wasn’t happening.
    He tried and failed to imagine her living in his bayou-bound houseboat with its faded, slip-covered couches and a mismatched assortment of beds and chaises and cushions. Pack slept wherever sleep found them, tumbled together. Touching.
    Last night, she’d let Dag touch her.
    His wolf loved her caring for his Pack—and the man liked it just fine too.
    Slamming out of the greenhouse some half hour later, she shot him a glare, but she didn’t leave the farm or get in her truck. He hadn’t wanted to take the keys away from her; and as long she didn’t make moves to drive off, he wouldn’t, either.
    She was under house arrest, and they both knew it.
    His mate was pissed. He supposed that was better than running from him. The third time she made the trip from the greenhouse to the potting shed, she did an about-face and pointed herself right towards the porch. Frowning, she stomped up the steps and skidded to a halt in front of him.
    “You,” she snapped.
    He tried to look concerned. Receptive. Hell, he did care. And as much as he could, he’d give her what she wanted. “Yes?”
    “You need to go,” she said and, yeah, that was one of those can’t-go-there demands. He wasn’t leaving—ever—and the sooner she got onboard with that plan, the happier he would be.
    Since his leaving obviously mattered to her, however, he put the question out there. “Why?” Clearly, mind-blowing sex wasn’t enough for her.
    She looked frustrated. “Because I have a job to do here.” She dropped the load of plastic nursery pots on the porch and crossed her arms over her chest.
    Not being stupid, he kept his eyes fixed on her face—her angry face—and forced himself not to notice how her defensive gesture pulled the faded cotton of her T-shirt tight over her breasts. Her nipples pebbled where the fabric rubbed against her, begging for attention.
    “I have things I need to take care of,” she insisted.
    “Let me help.” Please , he added silently. His wolf’s instinct was to see to his mate’s needs. Not being able to figure out what the hell it was she needed had that wolf whining with frustration.
    “Right.” She snorted, and he wanted to drop a kiss on the tip of her dirt-smudged nose. “You can’t. I don’t know anyone who can.”
    “Explain.” Squatting down, he began restacking the pots. Doing something—no matter how small—felt good.
    “I have a mortgage.”
    “Okay.” He knew what this was. The Pack might prefer open spaces and plenty of room to run, but they’d made a point of learning everything they could about their more human neighbors. He’d had hundreds of years to learn the nuances of human finances. His mate owed someone money. And that worried her.
    “On this farm,” she said pointedly. “A really big mortgage.”
    He wondered what she considered a large sum and then decided it probably didn’t matter. Whatever amount she owed, she obviously couldn’t pay it. “Tell me about it,” he