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normal size. “True enough. I’m sorry. You’re trying to help me, and I’m being a total bitch.”
    He laughed, enjoying the ups and downs of their conversation. It always seemed to be that way with her. “You’re welcome. And you’re not being a bitch.” He slid a teasing glance her way. “For once.”
    She laughed with him. Her face lit up when she was truly amused, her cheeks pink with good health, her eyes bright and lively. But it was her mouth he focused on. Perfect for kissing, plump and red, with a tiny indention in the center of her bottom lip.
    At first glance, she might appear a perfect ice princess, but underneath she was full of fire and vitality. Her beauty blinded most to her true nature. Buthe knew. Her passion was like molten lava, slow to build, but devastating in effect. The memory of the sounds she made when aroused, the tiny whimpers that escaped her when she peaked, haunted him.
    Celeste’s amusement slowly faded. “Thank you.”
    He didn’t need her gratitude. He’d do anything to keep her safe. Her company mattered to her, and he refused to let anyone harm her. “I should go.”
    She seemed surprised and possibly disappointed. “Yes. It’s late.”
    “It’s only fair to warn you that I’m going to speak to Drake.”
    She sighed. “I figured as much.”
    “He’s not going to be happy you kept this from him,” he pointed out.
    “I don’t figure he will be.” Her clean, honest gaze met his. “I wanted to handle it on my own. When it became apparent I couldn’t, you were my first choice. I can’t lie. I wanted it to be you.”
    If she’d punched him in the gut, he wouldn’t have been more surprised. She’d never treated him as anything other than a bothersome pest, a man she put up with because of her relationship with his brother. “Why?”
    Her regard sharpened. “If you don’t know the answer, you’re a fool.”
    For the second time, she’d shocked him. What sort of fucked-up reality was this? Celeste never seemed to want him around. Other than the one time she’d gotten drunk enough to kill a horse and jumped in bed with him, she’d never given him anything but a hard time. “It’s late,” he repeated. “Either Drake or I will come for you in the morning.”
    Before she could answer one way or the other, he left, cursing himself for the fool she’d claimed him to be.
     
    * * *
     
     
    Drake, as expected, flew off the handle. “Why in the hell didn’t she come to me for help?”
    The alpha surged to his feet, but at the touch of Emma’s hand on his arm, he sank back to the chair he’d vacated. Micah understood his brother’s anger. He’d experienced it himself. “She wanted to take care of it on her own.”
    Drake’s temper lessened but didn’t dissipate entirely. “She not only risks her well-being, but also that of the Society.”
    “I don’t think she sees it that way,” Micah pointed out. “Only an attempt at corporate espionage or some such.”
    “Regardless”—Drake slashed a hand through the air—“if someone is close enough to harm her company, then he’s close enough to discover all of her secrets. What happens if we’re discovered? We can’t risk it.”
    Emma, already dressed for bed in a blue silk robe, grabbed Drake’s hand and squeezed. “Relax, honey. It would take more than a few e-mails for Celeste’s shifter side to come to light. She’s kept it hidden this long. I don’t think she’ll risk everything now. Besides, what else would you do? Lock her in the cellar?”
    Micah admired the way his tiny sister-in-law stood up to his oldest brother. She was exactly what Drake needed in his life, warmth and light to match his darker moods. He consulted his watch and winced when he saw it was nearing one o’clock. “I’m going to be worthless at tomorrow night’s show.”
    Drake’s sharp gaze raked his face. “Birmingham, right?”
    Micah nodded. After the brief stop in Alabama, their tour would take them farther west