Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (6 page)

“But you can’t chose who you’re fated to love.”

“You’re right.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as they taxied to a stop near the small terminal. “But you can choose to live alone rather than bond with someone who doesn’t have the pack’s best interest at heart.”

Wow.
“That’s harsh, don’t you think?”

“Harsh?”

“You’d live three hundred years”—give or take twenty, depending on the amount of adrenaline in her system—“and die young rather than bond with someone you’re destined to be with? What’s worse is you’ll be condemning me to an early death, too.”

It was ridiculous. Inexcusable.

She shook her head slowly as the plane door opened and cool air whipped through the cabin. “I’m not condemning
you
to death. I don’t know why you’re worried about something that hasn’t even happened and doesn’t concern you.”

“Because you’re wrong. It does concern me.” His heartbeat pounded in his ears. “It may not have hit you full force yet, the way it has for me, but it’s there. Deep down, on some level, you know it.”

She didn’t move. Not a muscle. Not a quiver or a twitch of those perfect lips.

She
did
feel it.

“Mr. MacGrath?” the steward blurted from the rear of the plane. “The Porsche you requested has arrived.”

“Porsche?” That got Isabelle twirling around in her chair and peering out the tiny oval window. “
That
…is what we’re driving to your friend’s house?”

“It’s a Porsche 911 GT2 RS.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “Whatever that means.”

The car was black as night. Fin on the back. Six hundred and twenty horsepower. Sleek and mean, with the smooth, gliding curves of a sexy woman.

“It’s the fastest street-legal model on the market.” Jack shrugged, itching to push it to its limit. “If we have to take a drive through wine country, might as well do it in style, right?” He smirked as the steward extended the keys toward him. “Care to see how fast it can go?”

“Hell yes.” Standing with lightning-quick speed, Isabelle snatched the keys out of the steward’s hand. “And I’m driving.”

Chapter Six

J
ack could barely focus on his GPS. “Turn right.”

Isabelle shifted, barreling around a sharp curve.

“Hard left.”

Pedal to the metal, she did as she was told and gripped the wheel tight. The car hugged the bend effortlessly, even though they buried the speed limit.

“Up ahead,” he said over the powerful purr of the engine. “One mile. Winery is on the right.”

But the winery came faster than she anticipated.

Guess that’s what happened when you drove one hundred–plus.

“Right here.” Jack’s voice constricted. “You’re going to miss it.”

“No, I’m not.” She downshifted, causing the engine to roar. “Hold on.”

Braking hard, she waited until the car was below sixty, and then released the brake and turned right. The car lost traction, and exhilaration filled her right up. Jack gripped her knee, squeezing tight. Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she recovered from the skid, shifted again, and came to a sudden stop in front of a Tuscan-style home. Tall pillars. Stone moldings on the front. Soft mood lighting, even in the daylight. And now that she had the chance to check out her surroundings, grapevines stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Leaning over, Jack yanked the keys out of the ignition. “I think I’ll take these.”

She giggled, but as his hand brushed her knee she went hot. “Did I scare you?” she asked, rubbing the spot that was still tingling from his touch.

“It was just what I needed.”

What’d he mean by that?

Before she could pry, he opened the door and got out, stretching. She followed, meeting him on the passenger side of the car. Out of morbid curiosity, she checked his hands. They had been shaking last night, after all. Now, they were still and sure.

Strange.

“Jack!” a woman’s voice called from the direction of the front door. Her accent was thick. Spanish, maybe? Italian mixed with a little Greek? “Get over here and give me a hug.”

“Great to see you, Jasmine.”

He waltzed over and scooped her up into a huge embrace. As he spun her around, Isabelle got a good look at Jack’s “friend.” His
only
friend, it seemed. Branson excluded, of course. Jasmine was taller than her. Probably five foot nine. Razor-short blond hair, falling around her face and framing her chin. And she was skinny with boobs, damn it. Wearing a flowery maxi dress, a cropped jean jacket, and wedge sandals.

Some things in life weren’t fair.

“The place looks amazing,” Jack said. “As do you.”

When he set her down, she nudged him with her elbow and then pointed at Isabelle. “Going to introduce me to your lady?”

Your
lady?

She wasn’t his any more than the Porsche cooling off behind them.

A hint of sadness pricked her, making her frown. Shaking it off, Isabelle stepped up onto Jasmine’s patio and extended her hand. “I’m Isabelle Connelly. We’re looking for a Bella Nolan painting,
Werewolf in Manhattan
.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “She’s bound and determined to find pieces to add to her collection in Dublin. It’s all she talks about.”

“Oh, I see.” Jasmine shot Jack a perfect smile. “But why don’t you just—”

“Do you have it inside?” Jack cut her off, touching her arm as he spoke. “Would you mind if we saw it first thing?”

Isabelle’s gaze homed in on his touch. He held Jasmine’s arm, just above the elbow. His touch was gentle and reassuring, his fingers lightly brushing against her skin. A low hum rumbled through Isabelle’s belly.

It was the strangest thing: coffee didn’t normally give her indigestion.

“If you’re ready,” Jasmine said, starting into the house. “It’s right this way.”

Eager to set eyes on her painting, Isabelle strode inside before Jack and was instantly taken aback. The entire place was covered in white marble sculptures. Small pieces stood on windowsills. Larger ones were situated in the foyer, and in the corners of the great hall that led to the living area. More sculptures greeted them there. There were angels, kings, and couples lost in loving embraces.

“Your home is stunning.” She couldn’t help but traipse slowly, taking in every inch. “How long did it take you to collect all these?”

“Better part of two hundred years. Jack helped me find this one.” She brushed her hand along a sculpture of Aphrodite as she passed. “Remember the auctioneer winking at you?”

He chuckled. “I remember.”

“You could’ve had any woman you wanted,” Jasmine said, shooting Jack a sideways glance.

Isabelle could’ve mistaken the gleam in her eye, but Jasmine sounded…jaded.

“But you pushed everyone away,” she continued with a sigh, and then turned her attention to Isabelle as they wound through the formal dining room. “He’s a loner, this one. Better guard your heart.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he blurted from beside her. “She’s built up Fort Knox around it. No one’s getting in.”

Jasmine chuckled. “You sound as if you’ve tried.”

Isabelle glanced at Jack out of the corner of her eye. His jaw clenched and unclenched. His lips pressed white. And then he met her gaze. Though his body was tense and his movements jerky, there was a softness in his eyes that contradicted all of it.

As they strode down a narrow hall that smelled of rose petals and vanilla, Jasmine said, “I keep the painting in the bedroom. It reminds me of the city I love so much.”

Did they have a tryst in New York? Isabelle couldn’t help but wonder. Pangs assaulted her stomach again as the thought struck her.

Jasmine opened the door and they swept inside into a world of white. White bedding, pillows, fluffy blankets. White floors, furniture, and curtains.

And there, on the wall over the Ice Queen’s bed, hung
Werewolf in Manhattan
. The only splash of color in the pristinely monochromatic room. She couldn’t help but hold her breath.

It was as beautiful as she remembered. The city had been buzzing with excitement that night, so she and Neil had gone to a rooftop so they had a breathtaking view of the unmistakable skyline and no one to interrupt them.

Isabelle hadn’t realized it, but she’d walked over to the bed to get a better view. When she realized she’d been staring for too long, she twirled around. Jack and Jasmine stood near the door, whispering.

“S
omething I missed?” Isabelle asked sweetly.

Oh, she could play it cool now, but jealousy burned in her gorgeous green eyes.

She may not have wanted to admit it, and hell if he knew how he was doing it, but he was getting through to her. Finally getting under her skin. If only there was a way to speed up the process. Make her realize how great they could be together, especially if that was the way fate had intended.

“Jack was just telling me that you’re from Ireland,” Jasmine said, climbing over the bed to take the painting off the wall. “That you’re going to be the Alpha of the pack.”

“That’s right.”

Jasmine unhooked the art and handed it to Jack.

“Sounds wonderful. I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland.” As Jasmine slid off the bed, she put an arm around Isabelle’s shoulder. “What do you say we talk about it over lunch?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said, checking his watch. “Now that we have the painting, we should probably get back.”

“Nonsense.” Isabelle followed Jasmine toward the kitchen. “I wouldn’t mind talking about Ireland, as long as you tell me a little about how you know Jack.”

Shit.

“No, we really should—”

“Oh, I’ll give you
all
his juicy secrets.” Jasmine beamed, glancing over her shoulder at him as they walked past. “I’ll make cream cheese chicken and grilled asparagus. Does that sound all right?”

No, none of that sounded remotely close to “all right.” Okay, the cream cheese chicken sounded bomb.

Despite the resistance flaring in him, he followed the women anyway, confused as hell how they went from strangers to best friends in two seconds flat.

Jasmine was all business in the kitchen, sweeping from the countertop grill to the sink, and back to the island where he and Isabelle were seated. She put the asparagus on the grill, drizzled it with oil and spices, and then went to work seasoning the chicken. For a few minutes, Jack thought he was in the clear.

“Jack and I met at a sorority house,” she announced, stirring spices.

Here we go.

Resting his elbows on the granite, he tented his fingers together and listened. Isabelle did the same, as if she were mocking him. And when he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, she bumped him. The playful move lit him up inside, sparking a smile and a feeling of lightness that hadn’t been there before.

“That was a few years after I moved back to San Francisco. About”—she patted the chicken and stared off into space—“twenty-eight years ago, I guess. Let me tell you, Jack MacGrath was on the prowl.”

He grimaced. “Do we really have to go into this?”

“Yes,” the women blurted in unison. And then they smiled.

“He wouldn’t take anyone home, though. Oh no. He would go to the parties at the werewolf sorority houses on SFSU’s campus, have a drink, introduce himself, stay for a few hours, and then bolt. Never stayed with one woman long enough to have anything serious, even if he hadn’t found his mate.” She threw the chicken on a second grill next to the first. This one had high sides. “Can you believe it?”

Isabelle shook her head and bumped him again. “Sorority houses? Is that where you were looking for your Luminary?”

“One place among many.” His voice sounded solemn, though he hadn’t meant it to. “I searched for years.”

He held her gaze longer than necessary to drive the point home. He didn’t want just anyone. He wanted her. And now that he had found her, he wasn’t letting her go.

“He wasn’t very charming back then, if you can believe it.” Jasmine wagged a spatula at him before turning the chicken. “But along the way, everything flipped on its end.”

“He wasn’t very charming
back then
?” Isabelle parroted, grinning. “As if something changed?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Jasmine stood with her back to them, hand on her hip, staring at the chicken. And then, after a few moments, she dumped cream cheese, heavy cream, and milk into the pan.

It was a heart attack in the making, but smelled tasty.

“He used to go out more, but would have this apathetic, almost grumpy expression on his face. For years. Remember, Jack?” Pouting into a frown, she raised her shoulders up and looked as if she were giving her best imitation of Grumpy Cat. “Like this.”

Isabelle cracked up beside him. “That’s a good impression.”

“Jasmine…”

“But then he bought two Bella Nolan paintings.” Taking the asparagus off the grill, she rolled a few onto each plate and then flipped the coated chicken onto the top. “He stopped going out, but when I’d stop by to check on him, he seemed happy. As if the paintings truly eased whatever pain he was hiding inside.”

“Oh, that’s deep, Jasmine,” he said, staring at his food the second she slid it over the island. “Is that what your psychology degree did for you?”

She shrugged, standing across from them with her own plate. “Am I off base?”

Isabelle’s gaze flipped between them.

“It’s reaching,” he answered quickly.

“Umm-hmm,” Jasmine mumbled, her cheeks full of chicken. “That’s why you gave me
Werewolf in Manhattan
, wasn’t it?”

“Why?” Isabelle said, scooting closer—so close their arms brushed, sending chills through him. “Why’d you give it to her?”

“So I wouldn’t feel so lonely,” Jasmine answered for him. “If it worked for him, so he didn’t feel lonely without his Luminary, it would work for me.”

As he chewed slowly, trying to keep food in his mouth so he didn’t have to talk, Isabelle’s gaze heated the side of his face.

“Which was why I was so surprised when he called, saying he was going to give the paintings to you. It’s not that I mind giving it up—it was never mine to begin with—but he’d held on so tightly for so long”—she set down her fork and bent over the island—“and then he shows up with you, and I understand.”

Isabelle’s heart slowed—he could hear its strumming beat, calling him.

“You understand what?” Isabelle said softly.

Jasmine’s eyes sparked with dark amusement. “She really doesn’t know, does she?”

He shook his head and choked down the last bite of food. It was tastier than it smelled, creamy and flavorful. He swallowed down a helping of despair, too, while he was at it.

“Forget it,” Jasmine said with a smile while turning on her charm. “Enough about Jack and me, and Bella Nolan. Which part of Ireland are you from?”

They talked for hours about Ireland and San Francisco and New York and places they’d never been that they’d always wanted to go. He hadn’t realized it was nearly four o’clock, but the tremors rattling through his fingers served as a personal alarm clock.

They were coming closer now.

“Time to go,” he said, and hustled her out the front door.

With
Werewolf in Manhattan
in one hand, Isabelle embraced Jasmine in a bear hug with the other and kissed her on the cheek. They certainly took their sweet time to say good-bye.

Not like they had a ticking timer counting down the last minutes of their life, or anything…

“She’s the one,” Jasmine whispered into Jack’s ear when they embraced. “I think she might be the only one who can’t see it.”

He nodded in total agreement and turned to stride toward the car. His stomach seized into a knot. His vision swam and his hands went numb.