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said, “caller unknown.”
    Which meant it could be any one of the job sites.
    As she slid across lanes, only a few horns blaring, taking her exit, she pressed the call pickup button.
    “Melanie Baxter speaking.”
    If she were at the office, she’d go into her whole spiel of “thank you for calling blah, blah, how can I make your day wonderful?”
    Lame.
    But she was driving, so there had to be some leeway there.
    She still hadn’t gotten a response. “Hello? This is Melanie.”
    Mel put on her blinker once more and pulled into the construction site, only one horn spouting behind her, following the makeshift road to the construction trailer. The new foreman wasn’t hanging around outside, nor did she spy the truck assigned to the site for worker use. Which meant she’d be going it alone. Good, yet bad because she would have really appreciated more eye candy.
    She turned off her car and looked at the car’s nav screen as if she could see the caller. If the person didn’t answer, she’d have to end their one-sided conversation because she had things to do . “Hello?”
    “I saw you.” The voice was mechanical, distorted, and unrecognizable. “I saw you go in there, you little slut.”
    Then pure silence, telling her the call had been cut.
    Slut? Her? She’d had the same friggin’ boyfriend for years until he decided fucking Paige was in the best interest of his career.
    Had to be a wrong number. Had to be. Because otherwise she’d have to be scared and Mel refused to get worked up about it. Not when her life was finally going the right direction.
    Melanie snatched her purse, tossed her phone in the bag, and then shoved open the door, swinging wide and right into the path of… a hot hunk of yummy man.
    Yeah, he was sweaty and dusty from the site, but that didn’t matter. Not when she took a deep breath, captured his scent and realized the male currently clutching his stomach was one hundred percent hers .

    *
Foster Lawson had imagined the day he met his mate for years. Year s . Emphasis on the plural there.
    In fact, so long, he’d resigned to the fact that maybe he wasn’t destined to mate. After all, what woman in her right mind wanted a mountain of a werebear with anger management issues so deep, they’d need a nuclear blast to get to the bottom of them? None. Not one.
    Didn’t matter anyway. He had never picked up that special scent that meant a woman was destined for him. All his.
    A scent he wasn’t thinking about as he jogged through the construction site he supervised. He headed toward the five-bedroom monstrosity currently being wired by Archer—one of the owners of Catson Construction—so he sure as hell wasn’t paying attention to the sports car that squealed to a stop in the site’s impromptu parking lot.
    Then two things hit him. First was the vehicle’s door as the occupant shoved it open without checking if someone was nearby. The top got him right in the gut and sent him stumbling backward, a growl jumping to his lips as anger overtook him. Not only at being hit but being delayed as well.
    Time was money on a construction site.
    The second was a scent—her scent—as the tiny, curvy little woman bounded out of the car. The flavors had his bear running forward, the animal snarling and growling at him with each step. It reared onto its back legs, scratching and scraping him. It wanted free. Now. Shit, it took everything in him to keep the beast at bay. It reacted as if he was in danger or some shit. As if someone had stepped forward and was ready to take them on. But it wasn’t fury that drove him—this time anyway—it was something else. Something foreign. Something…
    Holy shit, his mate, and she gut-punched him in more ways than one.
    “Oh my goodness, I am so, so sorry!” she cried, shutting the door and hurrying to his side. “I didn’t hurt you did I?”
    Her tiny hands nudged his out of the way, and she yanked his shirt up to look at his stomach. He tightened his abs