T.J. Spade and Montana Ash
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‘It wasn’t the astounding beauty of the woman at the centre of their little harem that had his feet stopping in their tracks. No, it was the thing sitting next to her. “What the fuck is that?!”
“What is what?” Maeve asked, blue eyes blinking innocently at him.
Bishop narrowed his eyes, “Don’t even, woman. You know exactly what I’m referring to. The life-sized skeleton sitting next to you on the lounge.”
Maeve looked to her left and jumped comically, her slender hand going to her chest as she gasped, “Oh my! How did that get there?”
Bishop lowered his head, taking a deep breath, telling himself to ignore the sniggering from a certain paramedic now standing next to him. “Maeve …” he warned.
Maeve rolled her eyes, her fake innocence falling away to be replaced by a look of determination. “What? Bish, it’s Halloween in nine days and we still haven’t put up any decorations.”
“And we’re not going to,” he assured her. He hated Halloween. All the crazies came out on Halloween and his job as a detective became exponentially harder. Not to mention the fact that he was a werewolf and he had to put up with idiots running around dressed like poor imitations of the real thing, howling their fool heads off and pretending to bite people. And what was worse? The real werewolves going around biting people. Then there was the stupid decorations and the annoying brats knocking on his door demanding his candy! Nope, Halloween was not for him.
Maeve pouted, crossing her arms over her chest and plumping her breasts up enough to distract him. He saw the smirk on her face and he raised an eyebrow at her; her wily, womanly ways were not going to work. “Why do you want to join the masses in their idiocy? You hate Halloween too,” he pointed out. “It’s one of the things I like most about you.”
Maeve laughed, the musical sound filling him with happiness and lighting him with love. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, sincerely glad Lucian was already at work at the firehouse and not around to read his mind. Even to himself he sounded like a corny moron.’
Copyright 2018 Montana Ash and TJ Spade.
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