Pack Mistress #2 (Quick 'n' Dirty Erotic Paranormal Romance) by Evelyn Lafont

Pack Mistress #2 (Quick 'n' Dirty Erotic Paranormal Romance) by Evelyn Lafont

Author:Evelyn Lafont
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal romance, paranormal erotica, werewolf erotica
Publisher: Evelyn Lafont


***

Enrique had an appointment with a potential new artist, and Sally was to accompany him, so they left R. W. and me with the responsibility of hanging the new painting. As R. W. was carting his sweet ass in front of me to the front of the gallery, I grabbed his arm and tugged so he would turn around. When he did, his eyebrows were up as though he wanted an explanation for my not-quite-unwelcome grab.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Doing what?”

“Why are you revealing so much about what it’s like to be a Were? Do you want everyone to figure it out?”

He laughed. “No one is going to figure out anything. It’s art. It’s an interpretive dance between the brain and the brush.”

“How did you know?”

“How did I know what?”

“How did you know what it looked like to be in the middle of a shift if you can’t shift?”

Naturally, he answered my question with another. “How did you know that’s what I painted?”

I shook my head as if to get his question out of it while opening and closing my mouth like a guppy for about three seconds. Then, the notification bell rang to tell me that a customer had entered the gallery. R. W. took that as his cue and walked away with the painting and hanging supplies.

I straightened my skirt and fluffed my hair while trying to clear my mind of R.W.’s question. How the fuck did I know what he was painting? Process of elimination, I guessed. What else could it be? This answer satisfied me, except that the view in his paintings seemed so…familiar.

I heard someone rapping their knuckles on the reception desk and hustled out there to greet them. For the next hour I busied myself by simultaneously helping the customer evaluate the work of local impressionists and navigating my ass out of the pathway of his grabby hands.

I didn’t even notice when R. W. had finished hanging the painting and left.



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