Her Werewolf Lover: Michael and Samantha (The Macconwood Pack Tales #15)

Chapter 2

“ O of!” Samantha cried out.

She hopped out of the shower on one foot, wrapped her hair in a bright orange towel, and mumbled a curse as she bent to rub her big toe.

Darn that bottle of shampoo.

Of course, it would have to come crashing down on her foot today.

The first day of the rest of her life.

The idea she’d made a mistake, moving across the country, or that this was some kind of cosmic warning made her stop for a moment.

Water rivulets poured over her body, chilling it in the cool morning air.

No .

She was not going to go there.

Shivering, Samantha crossed over to where sunlight streamed in through the large bay window overlooking the enormous backyard.

It was only September, and Sam was freezing her butt off already.

She looked at the frost on the lawn and shivered again. Goose bumps broke out on her pale arms.

California was the land of eternal sunshine and fair weather. New Jersey, eh , not so much.

You will adjust, Samantha, she told herself.

Making a mental note to unpack her few articles of warmer clothing soon, she tugged on her short silk bathrobe, knotting it loosely at her waist.

If her memory served correctly, autumn mornings were chilly in the Garden State, but things would heat up by around noon.

Good.

Excitement made her smile even as her toe still throbbed. She was finally going to get a chance to see the seasons.

Fall had always been quite the attraction for Sam. All the seasons, in fact.

California was nice, but it had one season. All. Year. Long .

There was nothing like fall on the East Coast, she thought with a smile.

She was bound to see some truly beautiful foliage in a state with so many deciduous trees and shrubs. Half of which, she was sure, were in her backyard judging by the riot of colorful leaves she’d seen on the ground that morning.

Samantha was still humming to herself when the sound of a loud, sharp knock coming from downstairs startled her.

What the heck?

Dropping the purple wide toothed comb she was just running through her hair, she sighed and ran down to answer it.

Whoever it was, they sure were insistent.

The ringing of the doorbell was loud and obnoxious, a chorus of choir bells that would have been more appropriate in a horror movie than in a home.

Another “improvement” by Vincenza, she was sure.

Ugh. That has to go , she thought, adding it to her ever-growing list of crap that needed to be changed.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. One minute,” she called as she rounded the staircase and slid down the hallway corner to the entryway.

“Ouch! Damn, oh damn , my toe! It hasn’t stopped throbbing from the shower yet. Now this?” Sam cried out.

“Hello,” the stranger said, as she opened the heavy wooden door and hopped towards the shoe bench that sat along the wall.

Ignoring her visitor, she reached for her injured appendage, cursing softly.

“Are you okay? Here, let me see.”

Strong masculine hands came towards her and removed her grip on her foot.

“It’s fine,” she moaned and bit her lip.

Pain was so not her thing. The large, firm hands cradled her foot, and turned it this way and that while their owner seemed intent on identifying any major damage.

Samantha stole a glance. She looked straight ahead, chagrined to see the giant of a man was taller than her even when down on bended knee.

Holy cow.

He was handsome with unruly dark hair, an unshaved chin, and the most disreputable looking pair of blue jeans she had ever seen clinging to a pair of solid looking thighs.

Gulp.

Muscles corded around his body, and she couldn’t help but whimper at the sight. Currently, he was holding her ankle and fixing that dark-eyed stare of his on her foot. His lashes were thick and long, and his eyebrows were just as full, with a perfect arch in each one.

Swallow.

Oh no. This would not do. Not at all. Samantha could not afford to get her head all turned around by a sexy stranger.

“Um, no , I’m not okay. You scared the heck out of me with all that knocking and ringing. I stubbed my toe. Twice in the last ten minutes,” she said and pulled back.

But the man held on in a firm, yet gentle grip. Those warm, powerful hands flexing briefly, making her squirm on the bench.

What the hell was wrong with her?

A smile teased the corners of his full lips, and wait , was he growling?

“Sorry about that,” he said and cleared his throat.

But he still did not release her ankle. Sam became flushed with every small stroke of his fingertips.

“Don’t worry, I’ve had some emergency training, and I promise not to bite.”

He smiled widely, showcasing his straight white teeth. Samantha nodded, as if this was all normal somehow .

Allowing this stranger into her home, sitting there meekly, albeit unclothed, while he continued to carefully assess the damage she’d done with deliberate, yet gentle touches on her tender foot.

“Trust me, I won’t hurt you,” he murmured.

“Okay,” she said, wanting to believe he meant it about more than just her toe.

The situations running through her head were highly unlikely. Provocative, but not in the realm of reality, she mused.

“There now.”

He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her foot, lifting his head as a shiver ran through her. His grin was contagious, but she frowned, fighting the urge to smile along with him.

“Now, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

That gentle tone of his caught her off guard, as did the intensity of his almost black eyes.

Pretty eyes. Familiar eyes.

Samantha frowned, hardly protesting as he ministered to her injury with work-roughened, callused fingertips.

Ah, but they felt good. Too good on her chilled skin, still damp from her shower.

“Stand up,” he commanded, and she obeyed .

His head was bent, studying her foot. And she took a moment to look him over, as well.

Whoa.

The man was drop-dead gorgeous.

A breeze from the open door went right through the flimsy piece of silk she wore, and she shivered.

Suddenly, remembering she wasn’t dressed, Samantha leaned forward and clutched her robe. She stepped to the side, moving her foot so the stranger had no choice but to release her foot.

What the heck was she doing allowing a strange man in her house, permitting him to stroke her skin with those maddening, slow touches at seven o’clock in the morning?

That question was better left unanswered, she realized. It had been so long since anyone had touched her with any intent, and here she was mistaking his concern for interest.

Shaking her head, she focused on the man’s face, determined to take control of the situation.

“It’s fine. Thank you. Um, I’m sorry, Mr.?”

“No problem. It doesn’t look broken, but you may want to ice it. If it still hurts, I mean.”

She stared at him blankly. The stranger raised a dark eyebrow. Smiling widely again, he gestured with his hands for her to continue .

Those tender, warm, masculine hands that had felt so good on her skin.

“Your toe,” he repeated when she remained silent. “Ice it if it hurts.”

“Right,” she murmured.

But what should she do about her pink bits , she wondered as they sparked to life with interest.

Longing and need pulsed through her. Two emotions that had not been felt in so many months, years even, Sam had no idea what to do with either.

OMG.

Was she actually thinking about sex? Her mouth opened, and she shivered again. That had not happened in a very long time.

The stranger stood up suddenly, jogging her from her naughty thoughts. She looked down, gasping as her gaze zeroed in on the noticeable bulge inside his tight jeans.

Holy. Hotness.

Samantha swallowed. She closed her eyes and flattened herself back against the wall.

Was that another growl?

She wondered and peeked through one eyelid to find him looking around the anteroom.

Odd. Very odd .

“So, where do you want me to start? I can take some notes while you get dressed.”

He pulled a rolled-up notebook and a blue ballpoint pen out of the back pocket of those tight, faded jeans. She noted how they hung perfectly and low on his slim hips.

Like some kind of bad boy rock star , she thought, and bit her lip.

He waited, looking at her expectantly.

Where did she want him to start? Was that the question he’d asked?

Her mind shouted, IN THE BEDROOM WITH ME!

But her mouth remained thankfully closed.

Heat spread throughout her body, starting at her center, and climbed all the way up to her face. Sam decided just then that she might need another shower.

This one ice cold.

Her gaze traveled from his startling black eyes down his muscular body visible through the thin white t-shirt he wore. She gave a slight shake of her head and tried to find some place safe to look.

“Wait one minute, will you? Start what? Who the heck are you?” she asked, trying to force her brain to stay focused .

“I’m sorry, I thought you were expecting me, Mrs. Birkemeyer. I’m Michael Duarte from NJ Beautiful Designs & Construction ,” he waited a beat for her to recognize the name.

When she didn’t, he continued, “My Aunt Eileen said you wanted me to come by and give you an estimate for some work? Ringin’ any bells yet?”

“Oh. Oh! Miguelito! The handyman!”

He barked out a laugh that startled her. Samantha’s heart thudded and her body heated again. It was a raw and honest laugh.

A good laugh.

When was the last time I laughed like that?

Too long ago.

“Um, yeah, I’ll be right back,” Samantha said, leaving Miguelito, er, Michael, there to look around.

“I’ll be waiting,” he replied, his intense dark gaze landing on her, and making her feel all sorts of funny things inside.

Sam nodded and bit her lip. She turned around and jogged up the stairs.

This seemed bigger than the average introduction. Like Michael was important, and that was something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Sighing, she shook her head .

Sam had bigger things to worry about than her sexy handyman.

Besides, he probably thought she was crazy.