Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (10 page)

Chapter Ten

A
little after noon, Jack led Isabelle to his bike, which had been parked alongside his house. It was black and rugged. Wide tires. Bulky engine. Narrow passenger seat on the back. Swinging his leg over, he mounted the bike and handed Isabelle a helmet.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, after the fight last night—”

“I appreciate your concern,” he interrupted. “But I told you, I’m fine.”

He certainly looked
fine
. He’d changed into dark-washed jeans, a cotton T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. She’d never had a thing for bikers before, but he nailed the viciously sexy facade. And from the warmth blooming between her legs, he could’ve nailed her, too. Right here, right now.

It was a good thing Branson had brought her bag from the Hyatt to Jack’s place; she was prepared for the ride. While she’d packed light for her trip, she had jeans, a couple cute long-sleeved shirts, and a warm coat. Everything she needed. Except a better defense against Jack’s charm, apparently.

“What is this thing?” she asked, gawking at the bike.

“It’s a Ducati.” He brought it roaring to life, vibrating the cement beneath her feet. “And my favorite way to see the city.”

Nerves flitted through her as she took the helmet and shoved it on. “It’s a monster. Why can’t we take my Camry?”

“The Camry isn’t nearly as fun.”

True, but… “This is going to give me helmet head.”

“Your head is gorgeous, whatever shape it’s in.” Laughing, he turned and tightened the strap beneath her chin. “Well, I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to look adorable in this. But you”—he adjusted it over her head—“pull it off.”

Okay, so she might’ve felt a little better about this whole thing.

“Hop on,” he said, putting on his own helmet. “And hold tight.”

That she could totally do. It seemed as if from the moment they kissed, a switch had flipped. Her body craved being near his. She shivered with excitement from the mere thought of holding him tightly as they zipped through the city.

Blowing out a shaky breath, Isabelle gripped his shoulders as she straddled the bike and situated herself over the back. Teetering on the seat, she slipped her hands around Jack’s waist and hugged her body against his. Heat radiated through his leather coat, right into her chest, instantly relaxing her.

This was what she’d needed all along. In his bedroom, his office, on the back of a monster bike…whatever. Didn’t matter.

She breathed him in. Even through the leather, she could pick up his intoxicating scent. It rumbled through her, filling her with a light, airy kind of happiness she’d never felt before.

“You ready?” he asked, easing the bike down the drive.

As she nodded, he shifted gears. The engine growled like a wild animal. With a squeal, she tightened her grip around his waist and buried her face in his back. But within a few seconds, the wind whipped around them, bringing with it the interesting scents of the city. Salt from the bay. Clam chowder wafting from somewhere nearby. Car exhaust. Peeking through fluttering lids, Isabelle took in the passing cityscape.

“Lombard Street.” Jack pointed left, and they turned, taking a sudden dip. The road was paved with brick and impossibly steep. One hairpin turn led to another. They zigzagged one way before immediately curving the other.

“It’s famous for being the crookedest street in the world,” Jack said, turning his head so she could hear him.

“Yeah.” She leaned closer. As tight as she could get. “I see why.”

Grinning ear to ear, she took in the fragrant hydrangeas blooming alongside the narrow road. Studied the architecture of the houses looming over the street. The whole scene was stunningly beautiful in its uniqueness.

“That was crazy,” she said as they slowly wound down to the bottom. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Just wait.” Throttling back, Jack sped through the city, one light after another, rumbling the whole way. “You’re going to love this ride.”

He took her through the colorful neighborhood of Haight-Ashbury, drove around charming Union Square and the crowded Mission. He pointed out everything like a competent tour guide—as if he read her mind and her heart. She’d wished to see the highlights of the city while she was here, but hadn’t had time for it. She’d mentioned her desire briefly when they were in the de Young, but hadn’t expected him to remember.

He really was attentive. Would he be that way as a lover? Aware of every heightened nerve as she crested toward climax?

Damn it, how had one kiss made her hyperaware of how sensual he was?

It was as if she’d woken up from some kind of a sexual slumber.

While she loved every minute of their ride and the delicious tingling in her middle, there were things she wanted to talk to him about. The painting he’d returned to Switzerland. His predicament with adrenaline rushes, and how quickly he was weakening. And why their kiss made her want to do naughty things, despite the fact that she knew she shouldn’t.

As if he read her mind, he veered into a parking area near Pier 15. Pulling the motorcycle into a private section of the public lot, Jack turned off the engine and waited for her to dismount before getting off the bike himself.

“What do you think of my city?” he asked, setting their helmets on his bike.

“It’s breathtaking.” She was still reeling as she fluffed life back into her hair. “I didn’t think I’d be able to experience everything in such a short amount of time.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He grinned, shooting her that smile she liked so much. “I find that if you step back, away from the drama and noise, you can easily grasp the whole picture. You can appreciate the simple beauty of things…and remember not everything is as complicated as it seems when you’re in the middle of it.”

As he said the last words, his voice deepened to a sexy rumble.

Not everything is as complicated as it seems.

Like what was happening between them? She wondered. Is that what he’d meant? Oh, but if he only knew…

“Come on,” he said, and took her hand. His touch was warm and gentle, guiding her toward a massive silver yacht moored to the dock. It was luxurious and sleek. The most beautiful boat she’d ever seen. Three stories, from what she could tell, with an open area on top to lounge.

He took her hand as it rested at her side. “All aboard, Miss Connelly.”

“This is yours?”

“I like being out on the sea. It’s calming.”

He pulled her toward the ship as she picked her jaw off the floor. She’d been on a few boats in her life, but nothing like this. It was beyond elegant. Over the top.

“It was the fastest yacht I could find on the market at the time,” he said as they stepped on board. “Powerful, too.”

“Of course it is.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Because you need the rush, right?”

Nodding slowly, he led her up a narrow set of stairs to the upper deck. It was even more gorgeous up close. The whole ship was decorated in white and black, from the shiny flooring to the lounge cushions to the glass of the bar along the far side.

“Do you take this out often?” she asked.

“Not as much as I’d like, but it’s quiet on the water. A good place to reflect on what’s important.”

Yeah, she bet.

As she stood against the rail near the front of the ship, the crisp ocean wind rushed through her hair, and the floor trembled beneath her feet. She felt refreshed up here. Free, somehow. Being with Jack was an adventure like nothing else. It seemed as if she was always guessing with him. Constantly being taken on a wild ride. She’d only been in San Francisco for three days, and she’d already been to a museum, an underground werewolf fight club, wine country, and now this. And so much had changed within her, too. Last weekend, she hated anyone with the name MacGrath. Saturday and Sunday, she was intrigued, despite herself. And now, if she wasn’t careful, she might beg him to kiss her again.

“Where are we headed, Captain?”

“Oh, I’m not the captain.” The boat pulled away from the dock and headed into the bay. “At least not today.”

On the shoreline, skyscrapers seemed to rise against the edge of the sea, before a backdrop of pristinely blue sky and rolling hills. And in the forefront, a giant Ghirardelli sign hung high, visible to passing boats in the bay.

“If it’s all right with you,” he said, standing beside her, “we’re going to head out into the bay, sail around Angel Island, Alcatraz, and then maybe sweep under the Golden Gate.”

“Whatever you want. I’m along for the ride.” Leaning over the rail as they headed out, she sighed. “So…how did you get involved with the black-and-white Van Gogh? The one in your office?”

“Ah, another game of twenty questions.” He clasped his hands together as he leaned over the rail next to her. “When I heard it was stolen from the museum in Switzerland, I hired the Grady brothers to get it back.”

“Do you have an investment in it?”

“No.”

“Then why spend so much money to get it back?” She frowned as she gazed out over the boxy white building in the center of Alcatraz. “Why get involved with people like the Gradys knowing full well how bad it would look if they got caught and ratted you out? I mean, you could’ve ended up someplace like this.”

“Then it’s a good thing the prison’s been shut down for fifty-some-odd years.” He chuckled tightly. “I will admit the Gradys are not my favorite people to work with, but they get the job done. They’ve never failed an assignment I’ve given them. To date, they’ve returned thirty stolen works from museums around the world.”

She snapped her gaze his way. Only he wouldn’t look at her. “You’ve recovered thirty stolen pieces?”

He nodded, only once, and then slowly turned his head to meet her gaze. “It’s not something I like to advertise.”

She huffed into a laugh. “Why the hell not? It’s better than people thinking you’re an art thief.”

People like her father, for one.

“I’d rather keep my hobbies to myself. The curators I’ve worked with know what I do, and they know where to find me if something comes up. But I’ve asked them to keep my contributions quiet.” As they sailed toward Angel Island, Jack said, “On a clear day like today, you can see Napa from there.”

Nice change of subject…

“Really?”

He nodded and stole behind her. Resting his hands on the rail, he trapped her body with his. Rested his cheek next to hers as he peered out over the horizon. The air around them charged with intensity as the heat from his chest radiated into her back. She bloomed with desire. Leaned back against him and bit back a soft sigh.

“There.” He pointed in the distance. “Can you see it?”

No, but she could
feel
it.

She wanted to spin in his arms. Look up into his sultry brown eyes. Kiss those lips until she was drunk on the heady taste of him.

“Isabelle?”

“Hmm?” She hadn’t realized he was waiting for an answer.
Shit
. “Oh yeah. I see it.”

Rather than release her, he stayed behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder. And she didn’t want him to move. Not as long as these tingly feelings were fluttering inside her. Thousands of butterflies released in her chest and beat their tiny wings against her rib cage.

Why was this happening? What had changed when he kissed her?

As they sailed around Angel Island, its grass and rock hills were a spectacular contrast against the urban landscape in the distance. Looking at the rugged countryside, one wouldn’t think San Francisco was a short boat ride away. And then it struck her. Looking at Jack’s muscular physique, square jaw, and the wide breadth of his shoulders, one would never expect that he was dying inside.

Although she would’ve liked to stay another couple days to explore what was happening between them, she couldn’t. Finding two paintings was a major bonus, but she still had to track down ten others, and it wasn’t going to be a picnic. Back home, Neil was searching the auction circuit for information, but last night she’d checked her texts. No luck yet. He’d also said her father was fighting to hang on.

Her heart ached to spend more time with him, to experience more of this life with him at her side. It tore her up inside to see him sick and jaded. She chilled as uncertainty settled over her skin in a clammy wave.

As they approached the Golden Gate Bridge, Jack coiled his arms around her waist. How did he know she craved comfort in this moment more than any other? Even though she’d had a year to come to grips with the fact that her father was dying, she hadn’t accepted it. Couldn’t recognize the truth. Pain whipped through her, and her eyes burned with tears. Jack held tighter, as if he could feel the agony ripping through her. Turning in his embrace, she stared up at him.

His jaw clenched and unclenched as his hands skated up and down her back. “Do you know it’s a San Francisco superstition that you have to kiss when you pass under the Golden Gate or you’ll have seven years of bad luck in your love life?”

She blinked back tears. “Really?”

She turned her attention to the bridge as they passed underneath its rusted beams. When she brought her gaze back to center, Jack was staring through her, heating her with the promise of a future she shouldn’t want. Her heart sped, and her knees went weak.

“No,” he said, smirking with those plush lips. “Not really.”

She smacked him playfully in the chest. “You’re so full o’ blarney.”

Moving her back , he pinned her against the rail, robbing the air from her lungs.

“I love when those little idioms come out,” he said, so close to her mouth. “Drives me mad.”

And then he kissed her. Pressed against her, mouth to mouth, hip to hip. Her stomach tumbled and then caught as the shadow of the bridge passed over them, and the sun’s rays hit them on the other side. Tunneling his hands into her hair, he tugged her against him to deepen the kiss. His lips were soft and tender, but the heat was demanding. Scorching and undeniable. His tongue swept inside, questioning her true desire with each brush of her cheek. She answered on a whimpered sigh and threw her arms around his neck.