Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) by Kristin Miller Read Free Book Online

sound so bad.
    She set up the painting on the desk across from the bed and let her eyes skip over its colors as she dozed off.
    Except she woke up thirty minutes later and couldn’t go back to sleep. She tossed and turned all night, thinking about how she was going to get all the paintings back. If only the other ten were as easy to snag as this one. She worried about how she’d display them in the National Gallery of Ireland, and what her father would say. When she crawled out of bed at nine, showered, and then dressed in jeans, black riding boots, a gray tank top, and a black cardigan, she still didn’t have the answers to any of those things.
    But she knew how to find one more painting, and it was waiting for her downstairs. In Jack’s arms.
    As she made her way into the lobby and then out the front doors, she searched one way and then the other. No sign of Jack. Sighing, she cinched her purse over her shoulder and waited.
    “Isabelle,” a deep voice called. “Over here.”
    Looking past the line of taxis, Isabelle spotted Jack standing in front of a black stretch limousine. He wore dark jeans, a deep blue sweater, and black boots. A shadow of stubble emphasized the rugged lines of his jaw and cheekbones. And there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday. He appeared almost…hopeful, if she had to put her finger on it.
    And in his hands were two Starbucks cups.
    Delicious.
    The coffee looked good, too.

    “T he note said you wanted to have coffee with me,” she said, gazing out the passenger window of his limo. “Didn’t we just take the exit for the San Francisco International Airport?”
    As she turned to him, her hair fell over her shoulder in silky-soft waves. It took every ounce of willpower surging through Jack’s veins not to reach out and brush a few loose strands out of her face.
    Don’t move too fast. You’ll spook her.
    “You’re observant,” he said, taking a long drink of his Americano. “We’re taking a short flight to Napa.”
    “A—what?” She turned her full attention to him and glared. “Where are you taking me?”
    “Napa. It’s wine country, and we’ll be back by tonight. You can leave after that if you want.”
    She quirked an eyebrow, though he didn’t pick up one iota of resistance. “You didn’t say anything about a flight.”
    “That’s right, I didn’t.” The limo pulled into a private gate and swept around a large hangar. “But if you want the painting, that’s where we have to go. I told you, it’s not far. You’ll be perfectly safe, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re going to visit a longtime friend of mine.”
    “Oh.” She pinched her lips together with her forefinger and thumb. Contemplating. “And he has my painting?”
    “ She , actually. Her name is Jasmine Winters.”
    Isabelle stared out the window as if she were completely relaxed with the situation, yet his heightened sense of smell detected the rosy scent of curiosity, followed by subtle hints of jealousy.
    It seemed Isabelle was piqued by his relationship with Jasmine.
    “She’s a sweetheart,” he went on, trying to play it cool. “You’ll love her.”
    “Oh, I’m sure I will.” She cleared her throat, and adjusted her top. “So did you sell the painting to her, or…”
    “About thirty years ago, she moved from New York to San Francisco. She missed New York terribly, so I thought the painting would cheer her up.” The limo stopped in front of his private jet. “I called her last night, asked if we could come up to grab it, and she said that was fine.”
    “Yes, fine,” she said, though she didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it.
    He exited the limo, extending his hand to help her out. She took it, sending fiery spirals of heat snaking through his body. The surge of energy in his veins wasn’t as strong as, say, a fight or a new adventure, but it was there. Satiating him. Giving him more time.
    He’d been weakening more quickly the last few