The Tangle The stick, the thorn, the briar

He rather enjoyed this breathless moment as he awaited her response to his pickup line. Some she-wolves grew wrathful, snarling and spitting at him. Others reacted more demurely, pleased by and preening under his masculine attentions. He could never guess how any particular lady might respond to his wiles. He always savored these brief moments of anticipation.

The stranger accused him of making her lose her lunch, then frowned at him. He reacted without missing a beat. "I'm sorry, baby, I'd be happy to hunt something fresh for you." As he spoke, his golden eyes trailed over her, trying to suss out her innermost feelings as read through her expression and the way she held herself. "Maybe after we get to know each other? If you know what I mean?" In case she didn't, he lifted and wiggled one eyebrow.

"Or," he guessed in the next breath, "are you the type of woman who prefers to be wined and dined first? I can get down with that." Now he was standing close enough that he could just barely feel her body heat. It was delicious, as was the sweet, feminine scent clinging to her pretty, velveteen furs.