Read Predator's Claim for Free Online Page B

turned to see the source of the whistle. It had come from Flynn the Super Sperm, who now regarded Charlotte like a hungry carnivore and as if she were a free surf and turf dinner.
    Bart just about flew to the door, shielding her from his cousin’s rapacious gaze. He blinked at her several times in quick succession. “You came.”
    She tossed him a blasé look, but he saw the twitch of nerves around her silver eyes. “I was tired of staring at my document on representations of evil in Christianity. Besides, I wanted to say hi to your folks.”
    He took her in, and felt as if someone had flipped his switch to “pause.” All of a sudden, he couldn’t move. Charlotte had kept her hair down tonight, and dark waves tumbled around her shoulders. The sort of hair that called to his hands, making them want to bury themselves in it, to lift it and expose her skin. Her curves, so pleasingly wrapped in tight black jeans and a sparkly black top, tempted him as nothing did. Even the hint of cleavage in her V-neck played havoc with his self-control. He’d never known anyone so freaking gorgeous, and it didn’t appear she had a lick of makeup on. Just her usual pale gloss and a faint touch of glittery stuff on her eyelids. He allowed his gaze to drop to her feet. Granny boots, one crossed over the other. She tapped her toe, as if ill at ease. He smiled, and something rattled around in his chest, no doubt his foolish heart. Inside his core, his wolf jumped onto its hind legs and tried to paw her in happiness.
    “So,” she said quietly. “Do I get to come in, or do you want me to work the door and keep the riffraff out?”
    “Come in, of course.” Unwilling to give himself a swat for being a dolt, he swatted his wolf instead, urging the filthy beast to calm down.
    Someone appeared next to them. Two someones, whose strong colognes warred with each other. Bart turned and caught the famished looks on both Flynn’s and Fletcher’s mugs.
    Did nothing ever change? No matter how many women laid themselves before Flynn and Fletcher, they always seemed more interested in another man’s woman. Not that she was his.
    Was she?
    “Bart,” Flynn drawled. “Introduce us to this pretty lady wolf.” He took a swig from his beer bottle, eyeing her boobs at the same time with a lazy, entitled air.
    He turned and whispered to Flynn, “Not until you stop staring at her chest, asshole.”
    Flynn curled his lip and lifted his gaze with the help of an eye roll.
    Cursing his cousins’ sense of timing, he muttered, “Charlotte, meet my cousin Flynn Cairo and his brother Fletcher.”
    He knew his cousins were both good-looking dudes, very much Charlotte’s type: tall, arrogant, and available. He waited for her usual exclamation of appreciation, and for her to abscond with one of them, or both of them. Accustomed to the routine, he’d spent countless evenings watching her walk off into the sunset with some undesirable.
    However, she just cleared her throat and shook both their hands, like a prim woman of business. “Nice to meet you.” And then she looked at him and bit her bottom lip.
    What? And what was with the sexy lip nibble? She never nibbled her lip in his direction.
    “Um…” he began, at a loss for words, but feeling he needed to interject something.
    “Charlotte,” Fletcher said, his mouth spread wide in a grin that no doubt worked wonders on lesser women. “How about a drink? Let me guess. You look like a martini woman.” He spent a moment looking her up and down, as if to verify someone had scrawled the word martini all over her boobs and hips.
    She barely spared him a glance, but her lips twitched in a tiny grin. “I’m good for now, thanks. And Bart knows my drink order. Milk on the rocks.”
    Fletcher chortled, as if he was in on the private joke and found it oh-so amusing. He reached in his pocket and handed her a business card. “Honey, if you ever have any interior design needs, I’m at your service. If you check out