Page 27

"Maybe I'm just interested in what makes people tick." Her eyes drift to my neck, where my tattoo peeks out. "You're a fan?"

I touch the ink reflexively. "You could say that. Wolves are... special to me."

"Is it a family totem?"

"Something like that." I don't elaborate because I can't exactly tell her it's because I am a werewolf. Geneticist or not, not everyone is acceptive and receptive about the shifter race. "What about you, got any ink?"

"One piece." She touches her right hip through her dress. "It's nothing fancy."

The thought of her tattoo, hidden beneath that dress, sends heat rushing through me. I want to see it. I want to trace it with my fingers, and my tongue.

Christ, what is happening to me?I've been around beautiful women my entire adult life. Why is this one turning me inside out?

"It's getting stuffy in here," I say, nodding toward the balcony doors. "Want some fresh air?"

Dahlia glances at the crowded room where her friend Emily is now taking selfies with our drummer. "Sure. Lead the way."

I guide her through the throng of partygoers, my hand hovering near the small of her back without quite touching her.

The night air is cool and refreshing after the heat of the packed penthouse. The city lights stretch out before us like a glittering carpet beneath a velvet sky.

"Wow," she breathes, moving to the railing. "This view is incredible."

"It's one of the perks of the job," I join her, leaving a small distance between us. "Though honestly, most nights I don't even notice it."

"That's sad," she turns to look at me. "A view like this should never become invisible."

"Maybe I just needed the right person to see it with."

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile she tries to hide. "Do lines like that actually work for you?"

"I don't know. Is it working?" I grin, leaning my hip against the railing.

"Not even a little bit,"

"Then I'll have to try harder." I take a sip of my whiskey. "So, Dr. Dahlia, what does a geneticist do at rock concerts?"

"The same thing everyone else does. Listen to music, drink overpriced beer, watch the hot guy on stage."

"Hot guy, huh?" I raise an eyebrow. "Anyone I know?"

Your ego doesn't need the boost."

"My ego is perfectly healthy, thank you very much."

"I can see that." She gestures to the penthouse behind us. "All these screams 'modest and humble.'"

"Hey, I earned every square foot of this place," I defend myself, though I'm not actually offended. "I was playing dive bars for tips five years ago."

"That's impressive. How did you get started?"

"My brother and I used to play on street corners after our parents died. Music was the only thing that kept us going." I don't know why I'm telling her this. I never talk about my past with strangers.

"I'm sorry about your parents," she says quietly.

I shrug, uncomfortable with her sympathy. "That's ancient history. What about you? How does someone become a geneticist?"

"By being a massive nerd who'd rather dissect frogs than go to prom."