The Mating Game Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Mating Game

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author Acknowledgments

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  Read to Find Out

  Thank You

  The Mating Game

  by

  Melissa Snark

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Mating Game

  COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Melissa Snark

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Rae Monet

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2014

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-378-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-379-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To the only man I’d dedicate the rest of my life to locating the many things he can’t find.

  Author Acknowledgments

  My eternal gratitude goes to my critique partner, Lisa. Her feedback was invaluable in the creation of

  The Mating Game.

  I’d like to thank my amazing and talented editor, Angela Anderson, for all of her hard work.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author of this work of fiction

  acknowledges the following trademarks:

  Radiohead: Radiohead Trademark Limited Corporation

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Melissa Snark

  AND HER BOOKS

  “Learning to Fly is a beautifully crafted romance about a woman learning to love and trust again after she’s been hurt by a madman. When he escapes from prison, she takes refuge with the one man who can break down all her defenses. I love this book! The symbolic usage is inspiring. The characters are realistic and enduring, a couple you won’t easily forget. Suspense and tension rose steadily along with the romance, and I couldn’t stop reading. I was captivated by Cassie and Kyle’s story and I highly recommend this novel!”

  ~Lisa Rayns, Goodreads

  “A Cat’s Tale was an exciting tale of lust and trust as Josephine must learn to accept that Jared isn’t like other men. He is willing to do anything to protect and keep Josephine safe, including submit to the vampire. Jared is a hot sexy werewolf with more power than anyone expects. His sexual energy would drive a vampire wild but he only has eyes for his kitten.”

  ~Coffee Time Romance

  Chapter One

  Bright and early Saturday morning, Theresa Sanchez opened her front door to discover Zachary Hunter clad in a bright orange dress on her porch. The loose bodice fell low on his chest, displaying dark blond curls and showcasing his broad shoulders and powerful torso. The neon hemline stopped above the knees, revealing muscular calves, strong ankles, and shapely feet.

  It was unusual attire for a dominant male werewolf.

  She stepped closer and sniffed, seeking to satisfy the impulses of her she-wolf. The earthy scent of him flooded her nostrils—masculine and potent—inciting the heated ache of arousal between her thighs. She licked her lips, hoping that drool hadn’t dribbled down her chin. The man made her mouth water.

  “My eyes are up here, love,” Zach quipped in a crisp British accent. His hand lifted and a long, elegant finger tapped her chin.

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” She forced her roaming eyes upward, away from his buff chest, striving to remember that she and Zach didn’t play like that. The man was many things to her: best friend, confidant, and protector. He fixed leaky faucets and kept her ancient car running. But of all the roles he played, he remained “lover” only in her dreams.

  “Good morning, Theresa,” he said, voice rife with amusement. No doubt, the irony of his predicament had not escaped him.

  “Good morning, Zach.” Smothering laughter, Theresa held a hand to her mouth to hide an irrepressible smile.

  “Are you laughing at me, pet?” Zach cocked his head so that silken bangs fell across his forehead. His blue eyes twinkled and the corners of his sensuous mouth quirked in a smirk.

  “Oh, yes. God, I’m so sorry.” The compulsion to laugh overwhelmed her until she felt ready to burst. Her abdominal muscles ached. She flipped long, curly black hair forward around her face to conceal her expression.

  “Go on. Look your fill.” Zachary spread his arms in a display of self-mockery, causing that ludicrous skirt to rise, revealing masculine knees and athletic thighs. “Get it out of your system once and for all.”

  Theresa accepted the invitation and ogled him, belatedly noticing his disheveled appearance. A full day’s worth of scruff covered his square jaw and throat. Shoulder length golden-blond hair formed a tangled mess about his striking features. He had an aristocratic brow, an angular nose, and high cheekbones set in an oblong face.

  Her gaze tracked downward, irresistibly drawn to his spectacular physique, admiring everything but his choice of attire. The dress was hideous—a shapeless polyester sack, the most awful shade of burnished ochre.

  “Wow. That’s just…Wow.” Theresa struggled to keep a straight face. She wanted to laugh out loud but remained circumspect out of respect for Zach’s status. He far outranked her within the pack’s hierarchy.

  “Isn’t it, though?” He grinned, inviting her to laugh.

  “Oh, yes.” A smile blossomed on her lips and she giggled at long last. “Are you going to tell me how you wound up on my front porch in a dress?”

  Zach cocked his head and sighed. “I went running in the woods last night to clear my head.”

  Theresa stared with an arched brow. “Writer’s block again?”

  “I haven’t written a word in days.”

  The man had a talent for gross exaggeration, so Theresa mentally revised the time frame to twenty-four hours and the word count to less than a page. She cooed her sympathy. “You poor thing. It must be so hard on you.”

  He snorted. “You’ve no idea.”

  “Zach, you’re a bestselling author. Can’t you afford to take a break from cranking out the murder mysteries? At least until you get your mojo back?”

  “I’ve got a deadline, love. My editor is an absolute slave driver. That’s why I’m in this state.” He indicated the odious apparel with a flourish.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Your editor made you run through the forest in an orange dress. Makes perfect sense. I’m sorry I asked.”

  He frowned. “I was running on four legs, love, not two. You know that.”

  “Of course I do, but you didn’t expect anything but a hard time—showing up here in that.” Grinning, she gave
him a quick up-down.

  Zach chuckled. “Not really. To make a long story short, I left my clothes in a hunter’s blind but when I returned, my clothing was gone.”

  “Did someone find your clothes?” she asked with a worried frown. Such a minor thing might result in unforeseen troubles for the pack. As a rule, the local werewolves went to great lengths to conceal their presence from the human population. Normal people in the small Nevada town of Iron Stone remained blithely unaware of the wolves living amongst them.

  “Not someone—something,” Zach said. “Raccoons: three of the scrotty little sods. They ripped my clothes to shreds and dredged the creek with my shoes.”

  “Oh, no!” Laughter again threatened to split her sides. She pressed her hands to her ribcage and gasped for breath. “Did you eat them?”

  “No.” Zach looked miserable for the admission. “It was a mum and two babes. I didn’t have the heart.”

  Theresa reached out and touched his hand. “You’re a good man, Zachary Hunter.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather be a clothed man,” Zach said. “I stole this getup off a laundry line in the Widow Crawley’s yard.”

  “For shame! Stealing from a little old lady.”

  Zach rolled his shoulders to add emphasis to the voluminous dress. “Not so little.”

  She poked him in the ribs. “You’re so bad.”

  “Can I come in or are you going to force me to beg?” Zach asked, sounding mildly exasperated.

  “I don’t know. What if Isabel sees you looking like this? Whatever will my daughter think?” Grinning, she stepped back to allow him entry.

  “Then I’ll have two of you laughing at me,” Zach said tartly. He entered the foyer of her small two-bedroom bungalow. He moved with primal grace, befitting his long limbs and muscular physique. Poetry had never seen a lovelier motion.

  “Boy, you can say that again. Orange is all wrong for your complexion. Makes your calves look fat.” Theresa glanced outside just to be sure that something weirder wasn’t following on his heels.

  “Never mind my calves.” Zach stopped near the base of the staircase and rested an arm on the railing. He twisted his hips, causing the billowing skirt to flare. “I’m convinced this monstrosity makes my arse look fat. What do you think?”

  Following his invitation, Theresa had no other choice than to look. Her gaze swept all six foot plus of him, lingering over his strong shoulder blades. Unfortunately, the monstrosity of a dress concealed his tight backside. Fortunately, Theresa knew his body well enough to fill in the blanks. “Oh, absolutely, your ass has never looked bigger.”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor and she noticed the tracks his muddy feet had left on the tile. A growl of displeasure erupted from her throat. Her wolf surfaced, eyes flashing with red glimmer, teeth bared. “Zachary Hunter, your feet are filthy. Don’t you dare walk another step!”

  Zach swung back to Theresa with an unrepentant grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Stay put.” Theresa rushed from the room and returned in a flash with a bar of soap, a tub of warm water, and towels. She placed her palm against Zach’s chest and pushed him toward the stairs. “Sit.”

  Obedient, he planted his backside on a step. Theresa sank to her knees before him and placed the tub on the floor.

  “Theresa?” His deep voice contained a distinct note of confusion.

  “Yes, Zach?” Theresa infused her reply with innocence, pretending not to understand. It didn’t hurt to remind Zach every now and then that she was a woman as well as being his friend. He might regard her with nothing more than brotherly affection, but that wasn’t how she felt about him at all.

  “Nothing.” His gruff tone said the exact opposite.

  Theresa glanced down to hide her smile. She leaned forward and sniffed, drinking in his earthy scent composed of a variety of aromas—his arousal, the forest, virile male wolf.

  “It’s bad enough my neighbors might have seen you prancing down the street in that eyesore, but I’m not going to have you tracking mud through my house.” Theresa took his left ankle between her hands. “Lift.”

  He complied and she lowered his foot into the warm water. He remained still but alert as Theresa set about scrubbing his filthy toes with a small bar of soap. She felt the tension thrumming through his body, and it worried her a little. The silence was uncharacteristic. Normally, the vivacious Brit cracked jokes a mile a minute.

  His calves were lean but heavily muscled, and covered in a layer of blond hair. Theresa ran her fingernails across his instep and his foot jerked. He stifled a sound somewhere between a gasp and a grunt, and cleared his throat at the end.

  Theresa looked up with amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “Zach, are you ticklish?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” In his denial, Zach sounded more the proper Brit than usual.

  His foot jumped again when Theresa ran her fingernails across his instep, tickling sensitive skin. Her smile called him liar.

  “Stop that.” Chuckling, Zach leaned back against the stairs, exposing the strong column of his throat, and used his elbows for support. A guttural groan escaped him when she ran her hands over his ankle to lift it from the water. He indulged in physical pleasure with a hedonism she envied.

  Theresa hid behind a curtain of black hair, hoping to disguise the intense pleasure she took from the simple act of touching him. Being on her knees before him left a good amount of bare flesh exposed to her roving eyes. Naughty thoughts filled her head. More than anything, she longed to shove that ridiculous skirt up his legs and discover whether the man had the equipment to match the rest of his masculine glory.

  How would he react if she did?

  Envisioning it, she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue, and her mouth watered for the taste of his flesh.

  Her hands moved upward along Zach’s legs, tracing the corded muscles of his calves. His springy leg hair felt rough against the sensitive pads of her fingertips. Heat radiated from his skin, scalding hot in contrast to the cool morning air.

  She reached his knees and the hem of the dress. She hesitated for a moment, playing with the polyester material, pinching the fabric between her fingers, and then pushed steadily upward. In response, Zach grew statue still, not moving other than the pulse of blood in his veins, his heartbeat throbbing at the base of his throat, and a twitch of his jaw. His breath was a harsh rasp, quick and shallow, filling her ears.

  The hem passed his knees and reached mid-thigh, but still he said nothing. Tension leapt between them, and the air grew thick with the mingled scents of perspiration and arousal. Theresa resisted meeting his gaze, fearing what she might find there. It was far easier and yet painfully intimate to continue to stare at the corded girth of his thighs. The man had a superb physique defined by exquisite details, sinew beneath tanned skin. Not a spare ounce of body fat marred his granite form.

  He was a magnificent male animal…

  The bunched material hit an invisible point of no return. The knowledge that she was mere inches from uncovering all of his masculine glory sent shivers along her spine.

  Giddy with excitement, heat and moisture pooled between her thighs. Theresa licked her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. Her pussy ached and she got wetter with each passing second. No, not ache. Ache did not adequately describe how she yearned to be filled and stretched by his magnificent cock. An excruciating emptiness centered at her core. The primal response of a female to a robust male.

  “I’m going to come just looking at you if you don’t stop doing that.” Zach’s voice emerged rough, a throaty rumble as his wolf added growl to the words.

  Her startled gaze flew to him. His eyes were cerulean, blazing like stars thanks to the fierce energy causing them to glow. As she watched, his irises expanded until they eclipsed the sclera. Wolf eyes stared back at her with unwavering intensity.

  Then her lips curved in a slow, sensuous smile and she dug her fingernails into the muscular outsides of his thighs, just hard enough to hurt
. “Stop what, Zachary?” she asked, her voice a sultry whisper.

  “Stop licking your lips, love, or you’re going to wind up with my cock down your throat.” It was not an empty threat.

  Theresa tilted her head back to expose her throat, a gesture of submission and surrender. She shifted her position on her knees, pressing closer so that her stomach connected with his shins, causing the muscles of her abdomen to clench. Her nipples were erect, jutting against the thin cotton of her shirt. She lowered her face toward his lap so that the scratchy hair of his legs abraded her sensitive breasts, and she whimpered with pleasure.

  Zach yanked the orange polyester skirt aside, revealing his erection, jutting and huge, rising up from between his legs. Although his skin tone was fairer than hers, his cock had flushed crimson thanks to the hot blood pulsating just beneath the surface of his skin. His balls were swollen and the same dark shade of red.

  His free hand caught the back of her head, fingers tangling in the dark strands of her hair, and he urged her face toward his rod. “Suck me, wench.”

  “Oohh, whatever you say, Zach.” She snickered and the musk of his arousal filled her nostrils. She fluttered her lashes and pressed a closed lip kiss to the ruddy tip across the slit. Her tongue flickered out to take that very first taste and the salt of his cum coated her taste buds.

  “Theresa?”

  Theresa blinked and focused upon Zach’s face. Leaning forward, he wore a puzzled expression, and there was no mistaking the look of speculative curiosity in his blue eyes. His brow knit and he repeated her name, speaking with a husky timbre to his voice. “Where are you, love? What’re you thinking?”

  Abruptly, her fantasy fled her mind, jarring her into awareness. She flushed so deep that she must have resembled a boiled lobster. “Sorry, I was thinking about washing the kitchen floor.”

  “Right.” Zach’s clipped tone conveyed his skepticism, and she felt his gaze boring a hole in the back of her head. Of course, he smelled her arousal, but it should be something he was used to given the affect his virile masculinity had on women.

  Bending, Theresa made hasty work of his feet and finished toweling him dry. She stood, gathering the tub and towel in her arms. “I’m just going to put this stuff in the laundry room. I’ll be right back.”