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for a woman already claimed? He didn’t want to get involved in a polyamorous mating. He didn’t want another man touching her silky soft skin. Making her pant. Or keen. Or…
    Jealousy burned and his fists clenched at his side as he followed that other guy. How crazy was this? He wanted to beat the hell out of the dude for touching his own wife.
    Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe she wasn’t Chris’s mate after all. He’d not gotten any horizontal – cowgirl, or doggy style – action in a while, so perhaps he just reacted to her attractiveness. Yeah, right, and his uncle Hector didn’t eat that tourist the year the deer were scarce.
    Still though, what could he do? If she was truly his mate, then married or not, now that he’d met her, the mating urge, the fierce fever that caught his kind and brought on a sexual frenzy, would start. He feared it already happened given all of his fantasies and dreams which featured her – minus the husband. Whether the Asian dude liked it or not, and despite the fact Chris wasn’t about to get involved in a ménage, simple hormones might force him into a situation not of his choosing.
    Bloody freakn’ hell.
    But perhaps he jumped the gun. Just because she was married didn’t mean she needed to stay that way. Not all marriages meant a true mating. He needed to find out more about her, and her marital situation, such as, was she happy? Did she and the uptight dude love each other? Were they actually mated, marked and everything, or just together? If Chris ‘accidentally’ killed her mate, would she forgive him and visit him in jail?
    Important questions, and the best way to get some of those answers was to make sure he got this job and an opportunity to return, which, given the scowl on buddy’s face, seemed less and less likely.
    I’d better get my head in the game. The big one on top, not the massive one in my pants.
    “So this is the space?” Chris said, gesturing to the unfinished basement. Empty of even a cobweb, the area was a blank palette waiting for his touch.
    “What do you think?” was the sarcastic retort.
    I think you’re a douchebag. Easy. Calm. This wasn’t a brother Chris could punch, but a client, a client whose wife he hoped to steal. “I think we can make an awesome gym.” Turning on his contractor mode, Chris whipped out his measuring tape and got to work. He asked questions. Took notes. Made suggestions. Did everything he would normally do on a new job, and bit by bit, the dude relaxed, which meant the stick up his ass withdrew a few inches.
    Crouched on one knee, finishing a sketch, Chris made small talk. “I never got your name by the way.”
    “Jack. Jack Smith.”
    Talk about a totally Anglophone name, unexpected given buddy’s accent and obvious Asian parentage.
    “You seem young for marriage,” Chris blithely remarked as he packed up his tools.
    “Jill and I have known each other all our lives.”
    Jack and Jill? Seriously? There went his wolf sense screaming something was hinky. But what? He doubted Jack would tell him. And there went his hope that he could steal Jill easily. Childhood sweethearts meant they shared some kind of bond. Even if they weren’t officially mated, as a married couple, it meant to get Jill away from Jack, they’d need at the very least, a divorce, which made him think of something else. “Any kids?”
    “No.”
    One small blessing. Chris would hate to wreck a family home. “So where are you and the wife from?”
    “West.”
    The art of small talk seemed more than Jack could handle, but Chris didn’t let up. “I’ve always wanted to see the coast. I hear its real pretty. So what brought you guys to town? Family? Work?”
    “Is my life history necessary for you to do your job?” Jack rudely queried.
    Clipping his pencil to his notepad, Chris stood up, and stared down at the shorter fellow. It took a lot to swallow his annoyance at Jack’s continued rudeness. He’d be doing his Asian honey a favor when he