Page 18 of Howling Mad (Romance Expected Dating Service #1)

Michael

I wake to unfamiliar softness and the scent of vanilla.

For a moment, I lie perfectly still, savoring the warm weight pressed against my side, and the gentle rhythm of Finley’s breathing.

Pale morning light filters through curtains I don’t recognize.

My internal clock insists it’s barely past dawn, the hour I usually rise to check premarket reports.

Instead, I find myself cataloging the details of Finley’s bedroom.

A bookshelf overflowing with paperbacks tilts perilously in one corner.

Her clothes from last night create a trail from the door to the bed, marking our path like breadcrumbs.

On her nightstand sits a half-empty mug beside a stack of romance novels with dog-eared pages.

Everything about this space is warm, lived-in, imperfect, and the exact opposite of my meticulously organized apartment.

I’ve never felt more at home.

Beside me, Finley stirs, tightening her arm around my waist. Her hair fans across the pillow in wild waves, with one curl stuck adorably to her cheek. When her eyelids flutter open, I see a flash of surprise followed by something softer.

“Hi,” she whispers, her voice husky with sleep.

“Hi.” I brush the wayward curl from her face, relishing the freedom to touch her this way. “Sleep well?”

“Better than I have in months.” She stretches, catlike, and then freezes mid-movement, her eyes widening comically. “Oh, moon, I must look terrifying.”

I laugh, tracing the curve of her shoulder with my fingertips. “Terrifying is not the word I’d use.”

“What word would you use?” She props herself on one elbow, looking at me with that direct gaze that’s had me captivated since our first meeting.

“Beautiful.” I lean forward, pressing my lips to the hollow of her throat. “Captivating.” Another kiss, this time to her collarbone. “Mine.”

The last word comes out as a possessive growl that surprises us both. My wolf is closer to the surface this morning, territorial and smug.

Finley’s eyes darken, but before she can respond, her stomach growls loudly enough to startle both of us. “Apparently hunger trumps romance,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry. Wolf metabolism.”

I kiss her nose. “I’m pretty hungry myself. Breakfast?”

In her kitchen, we move around each other with a synchronicity that feels earned rather than accidental. I find plates while she retrieves eggs from the fridge. She reaches for the coffee beans as I locate the grinder. It’s a dance we’ve never rehearsed but perform flawlessly.

“Fair warning,” says Finley, wielding a spatula with exaggerated menace. “My cooking skills are questionable at best. My last attempt at scrambled eggs ended up extra crispy.”

“Fortunately for you, I make excellent scrambled eggs.” I gently take the spatula. “It’s one of my three culinary skills.”

“What are the other two?”

“Toast and cereal.” I whisk the eggs with practiced precision. “The secret is to add a splash of heavy cream.”

Finley hops onto the counter, watching me cook with undisguised fascination. “I’m learning so much. The renowned financial analyst Michael Thornton can also make breakfast. The pack would be scandalized.”

“My father would certainly think it beneath the dignity of a proper wolf.” I pour the eggs into the heated pan. “Real wolves hunt their breakfast, preferably something still twitching.”

“My mother once tried to teach me to skin a rabbit,” Finley says, wrinkling her nose. “I cried for three days and named all the rabbits in the forest for the next month.”

“Yet you live with one now.”

“Penelope would skin me if she heard you call her that.” She jumps down to retrieve mugs from a cabinet. “She prefers ‘lagomorph-shifter American.’”

I laugh, transferring the perfectly fluffy eggs to plates. She sets two mismatched mugs on the counter, one of which immediately catches my eye.

“‘I HOWL AT MY OWN JOKES’?” I pick up the mug, examining the chipped lettering with delight. “This explains so much about you.”

“It was a gag gift from my brother.” She blushes, pouring coffee into both cups. “I hid it the first time you came for a consultation.”

“Why?”

“Because I was trying to be professional.” Her blush deepens adorably. “Fat lot of good that did.”

“I’m ordering one immediately.” I pull out my phone, searching for the mug online. “We can be the insufferable couple with matching novelty kitchenware.”

The word “couple” hangs between us, new and tentative. Her smile tells me she doesn’t mind.

We settle at her small table, knees touching beneath it. She takes a bite of eggs and makes an appreciative sound that sends heat racing through me, reminding me of similar noises from last night.

“These are amazing,” she mumbles through a full mouth. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I save my culinary prowess for special occasions.” I tap her ankle with my foot. “Seducing beautiful wolf shifters or national holidays. That sort of thing.”

She’s about to respond when we hear the front door open, followed by the unmistakable sound of Penelope’s gym bag hitting the floor.

“Honey, I’m home!” Penelope calls. “Is it safe to proceed, or should I break out the hazmat suit and industrial-strength—OHMYGOD!”

She freezes in the kitchen doorway, eyes comically wide as she takes in the scene of Finley in a too-large T-shirt (mine), me in yesterday’s jeans and no shirt, two plates of eggs, and the intimate tableau we clearly present.

“You’re back early,” says Finley weakly.

Penelope recovers quickly, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Clearly. Though not early enough to be scandalized properly.” She sniffs the air. “This explains why the apartment reeks of wolf pheromones. I thought someone had set off a musk bomb.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. Finley buries her face in her hands.

“I’m not saying anything.” Penelope backs out of the kitchen, hands raised in mock surrender. “But I told you so.” She stage-whispers the last part, winking at me before disappearing down the hall.

Silence descends as the intimate bubble of the morning bursts, reality crashing back. I glance at my watch and grimace.

“I should probably go soon,” I say reluctantly. “I have a client meeting at eleven with someone a day ahead in time zones.”

She nods, but disappointment flickers across her face. “Of course. Real life beckons.”

I reach across the table, tangling my fingers with hers. “Last night wasn’t a one-time thing for me. You know that. Right?”

“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “Me neither, but it’s going to be strange. Isn’t it? Going from matchmaker and client to...whatever we are now.”

“Wolves who found each other despite themselves?” I suggest.

Her smile returns. “I like that.”

I reluctantly leave her apartment forty minutes later after a goodbye kiss that nearly makes me call in sick.

The drive to my apartment passes in a blur of memories from the night before.

By the time I reach my home office, I’m fifteen minutes late and completely unprepared for the meeting.

My thoughts remain firmly entangled in Finley’s bed sheets as I boot up the computer for the meeting with Tokyo and Carl.

The meeting is a disaster. I transpose numbers, forget key points in my own analysis, and at one particularly mortifying moment, refer to a market upswing as “howlingly good.” Mr. Nigi, thankfully, thinks it’s a charming wolf colloquialism rather than a Freudian slip revealing where my mind actually is.

By the time the client exits the conference call, Carl’s patience has evaporated. “What the hell was that, Thornton? You’re my most reliable analyst, and today, you’re performing like an intern after a three-day bender.”

“I apologize.” I straighten my tie, hastily thrown on just before connecting to the call, striving for composure. “It won’t happen again.”

“Is something going on I should know about? Health issues? Family problems?”

“No, nothing like that. I just...” I hesitate, uncertain how to explain that I’m distracted because I’ve potentially found my mate. “I’m dealing with some personal matters.”

He sighs. “Just get it together before coming back to work Monday.”

That’s unexpected. “Thank you. I appreciate it, and I’ll get things sorted by Monday.”

By Monday, my head feels more settled, and I’m back to normal, at least when it comes to work, though I watch the clock as it gets closer to lunchtime.

Promptly at noon, I leave the office, and I’m soon ordering Finley’s favorite turkey club sandwich from the deli near Romance Expected, along with two coffees.

One black for me, one with caramel syrup and extra cream for her.

The server raises an eyebrow at my specific instructions.

“Let me guess,” she says, scribbling on the cup. “New relationship?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to those of us who’ve witnessed the evolution of the ‘I know exactly how she likes her coffee’ phase.” She hands me the receipt. “It’s cute. Nauseating, but cute.”

I arrive at Romance Expected just after noon, balancing the food and drinks while pushing open the door with my shoulder. The bell jingles cheerfully, announcing my arrival.

Red glances up from the reception desk, a knowing smile spreading across her face. Today, she’s wearing a kimono in various shades of crimson with matching red-framed glasses.

If it isn’t half of our most recent match.” She grins in delight. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Thornton?”

I hold up the lunch bag. “Thought Finley might be hungry.”

“Indeed she might.” Red’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “She’s been absolutely ravenous today. Something about needing to replenish her energy. Can’t imagine why.”

Heat rushes to my face, and I clear my throat. “Is she available?”

“She’s in the conference room, setting up for our speed-dating event this weekend.” Red rises, her kimono rustling like autumn leaves. “I’ll just go check on that...thing I need to check on...somewhere that isn’t anywhere near the conference room.”