DEMI
Maverick opened the doors. The room froze around a half-finished joke. Heat, roasted meat, wolf scent, and four powerful heartbeats hit me at once. Three men sat at the table, all dark-blond angles, broad shoulders, and matching expressions of men caught doing something stupid but not yet ready to apologize for it.
Their gazes moved over me, paused on my weak human scent, and sharpened. Maverick’s hand left mine, but he stayed close enough for the bond to hum. “This is Demi Noell,” he said. “My mate. Owner of Sweet Temptations in Crescent City.”
He said the bakery’s name as if it mattered. Like I mattered. My spine straightened before I could stop it. Sweet Temptations had a reputation even in circles too proud to admit they liked cupcakes. If the brothers knew it, good. Let the
