Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (12 page)

But he’d called her amazing for many more reasons than the painting. She was giving him something special, a gift he’d cherish for the rest of his life. If only he could say with certainty how long that would be.

Somewhere over the course of the night, hollowness had carved him out. He felt weaker than he had days before. As if tremors were about to rack his whole body. And although being near Isabelle and her artwork was a rush in and of itself, something had changed. The electric currents soaring through him were there, but his hands still shook, and his head still spun.

He didn’t have long left.

He could feel the end closing in, and although he refused to admit it to Isabelle, fear had trickled into his chest, paralyzing him. The worse part? She could save him. With the bonding process—vows spoken while they were having sex—his life would be saved.

He’d never felt so close to his goal, yet so far.

Isabelle held his heart—his life—in the palm of her hand. Did she know how important she was to him? Not only because she could save his life, but because she cared enough to do this for him.

As she finished setting up the easel, she stared over the top of her clipboard. “All right. Let’s get to it.”

Shaking his head as laughter struck him, Jack undressed. No need to burst through his clothes if he didn’t have to. He shuffled out of his shirt and flung it to the ground at the base of the nearest tree. He popped the button on his fly. A strangled sound, almost like a whimper, floated on the night breeze. He glanced up, hands on the top ridge of his pants.

Isabelle stared, hunger blazing in her emerald eyes.

“Something I can do for you, Ms. Nolan?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s—you’re not shy, are you?”

“I don’t have any reason to be.”

Blushing, she returned her gaze to the clipboard. But her eyes flickered to his bare torso one more time. And then again.

He yanked down his pants, kicked out of them, and then shot one more glance at Isabelle before starting on his boxers. If he wasn’t mistaken, she sucked in a clipped breath as he pulled them down and tossed them onto the pile with the others. He couldn’t help but flex and twitch his muscles as the warm night air set upon him.

As their eyes met, Jack winked. And then balled all the energy into a pit in the bottom of his stomach. Tendrils of electric currents pulsed through his limbs, making them tingly and warm. And then he shook, head to toe, skin to bone. Muscles elongated, lengthened, and bulked up. With a hearty shake, fur blanketed his body and he dropped to all fours. He fought the urge to howl at the full moon as he completed the shift and sat back on his haunches.

He felt free. Completely exhilarated.

He stretched, bounded around the dirt to get the spring in his legs, and then gazed at Isabelle.

“You’re magnificent,” she said, her eyes wide. “Your hair…it’s black as night. And your eyes…they grab me from here.” She paused and dropped the paintbrush to the dirt. Gasping, she bent to pick it up. “It’ll make for a beautiful painting.” She cleared her throat and narrowed her gaze at the canvas. “Go ahead and pose however feels natural.”

Natural would be shifting back to human form, hauling her into his arms, and making love to her right here, right now.

That probably wasn’t what she meant.

Instead of doing what he
really
wanted to do, Jack took a wide stance and raised his chin toward the moon. As if he were howling for his mate.

“That’s good.” With one eyebrow rising in contemplation, she moved her brush over the canvas. “Now don’t move.”

It was tense at first, holding still for so long. But as the wind blew through his fur and the light around them began to change, something in him changed, too. He relaxed every muscle in his body. Breathed deeply. Felt the fog as it rolled in and coiled around his paws. And then he turned his head, just a little, enough so he could watch Isabelle as she painted him.

She took her art seriously. Glared at the canvas. Struck it with one brush before tossing it aside and choosing another. She swirled colors together, dabbed and splatted. And other times, when passion blazed in her eyes, her wrist would flick gracefully, and a smile would curl her lips.

She truly loved painting.

And he truly loved her.

He hadn’t fully realized it before, but now…he was mesmerized watching her this way. Mind, body, and soul, she consumed him. She was his fated mate, but he hadn’t realized he could care for her this deeply in such a short amount of time.

“Stop moving,” she said, jarring him. “I don’t know if you realize this, but every time you look at me you bow your head. It’s a tiny movement, but each time it gets lower.”

She was right. He hadn’t realized it, though the move was exactly the way he felt.

He’d bow down reverently to his queen any day.

“I’m almost finished.”

Had the hours really gone by so fast?

Holding still, pretending to howl at the moon, Jack had the realization that this was the last time he’d be with Isabelle for weeks. As soon as she finished the painting, she was taking his private jet back to Ireland. While she painted him, Branson was arranging for all of the artwork to be on board. He was taking her to the airport after this.

Saying good-bye was going to be damn near impossible.

An idea struck. Maybe they didn’t have to say good-bye.

He could go to Ireland with her…

Not wanting to ruin the moment by rushing things, he pocketed the thought for later. He’d ask when the time was right.

“Okay.” She signed what he assumed was her signature on the bottom corner, and then stood back, admiring her work. “It’s finished.”

He bounded over, stood beside her, and froze. It was better than anything he could have imagined. There he was, howling at the moon, his stance strong and full of vitality. He didn’t look like he was knocking on death’s door. No, he looked healthy and solid. Majestic. And behind him rose the two golden towers, their twinkling lights illuminating the night. Between the light and the shadow, the moon and the stars, the strength and the gracefulness…she’d painted her masterpiece.

“I think this is the best one I’ve ever done.” She breathed hard, as if the experience had winded her. “It took so much out of me. More than I thought it would. I feel…invested in it. More than the others.”

Eager to touch her, pull her into his arms, and tug her against him, Jack shifted back to human form. Fur smoothed to golden skin. His muscles shortened. His features shifted. And in a few seconds that blurred into one, he stood in front of her. Buck naked.

Her eyes locked on his manhood, and then she gasped, averting her attention to the painting. “You’re very, ah—the sun’s about to rise—maybe we should go—”

She was beyond adorable when she was nervous.

“Isabelle,” he said, cutting her short. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” She started cleaning up. “We should get out of here as fast as we can. I have a plane to catch. You should take my—your painting. You should take it.”

“Isabelle.” This time he said her name slowly, tasting every sweet sound of her name. “Look at me.”

Nerves spiraled through the air between them. He sensed her hesitation and uncertainty. Although he didn’t pick up any hints of fear, something had changed once he shifted back, and she didn’t have her feelings in check.

“Isabelle, stop for a second.”

This time when he spoke her name, it was a whisper. The softest caress. She finished straightening up, though she stared at the ground and fiddled with her hands.

Why wouldn’t she look him in the eye? Had he spooked her somehow?

Slowly, using two of his fingers, Jack tipped her chin toward him. When her eyes met his, they glossed with tears.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked up at him innocently, and his heart hammered against his ribs.

“It’s only me, Isabelle.”

“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m flummoxed.”

And then she rose up on tiptoe and caught his mouth with hers.

Chapter Twelve

R
oping his arms around her waist, Jack hauled her against him. She made a whimpering sound as her feet lifted off the ground, but lost her breath as he crushed his mouth to hers. Any refusal she might’ve wanted to give him was swallowed by the fierceness of his kiss and the drugging warmth of his body.

“You’re a MacGrath,” she pushed out as he backed her against the nearest tree. “This is crazy.”

“I am a MacGrath.” His hands glided over her body, marking her with their heat. “And it feels crazy because it’s so right.”

Pausing, their eyes met in the dark. Jack’s naked body glistened golden tan in the slivers of moonlight peeking through the trees. Muscles flexing in anticipation, he stared. Waiting for her to respond before pressing her further.

“You shouldn’t feel like this.” She kissed him on a moan, openmouthed and feverish, and clawed her fingers through his hair. “Like your arms belong around my waist…”

He gripped her there, scorching her skin with prickles of desire.

“Like your mouth belongs on mine…”

He kissed her, slow and fierce, urging her lips apart. Drawing her tongue into a dance with his. And then his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue diving deep. She could sense his hunger and rising need as if they were her own. She was lost in the swirling of his tongue as it explored her mouth. In the wild and honeyed taste of him. In his rich scent as it wafted around them.

“You belong to me,” he panted, coming up for air. “And I to you.”

She smiled into another kiss, drawing his mouth down over hers with brutal force. Sucking at his bottom lip, she infused him with the smoldering heat burning inside her. Every heightened nerve in her body wanted him. Craved him like no other.

He was everything she shouldn’t want.

And everything she needed.

“Take this off”—he licked along her jaw and sucked on her neck—“before I”—he gripped her sweater in his fists and tugged at the bottom—“rip it to shreds.”

God, please. Do it.

As if he heard her silent, desperate plea, he yanked off her sweater and flung it to the ground. Reaching around her, he unsnapped her bra and guided it down her quivering arms.

Flesh against burning flesh, he tightened his grip around her waist and moaned. She leaned back, resting on the tree. If it weren’t for his hand protecting her, the bark might’ve scraped her skin. He was cautious and aware, in tune with exactly what she needed.

An unselfish lover.

He kissed her again and went to work on her jeans. Chills scampered down her stomach as her will snapped with the button.

“I have to touch you.” He jerked the zipper down. “Now.”

Pleasure speared through her as his hands dipped beneath the ridge of her pants and touched tender flesh. He swallowed her soft cries of pleasure with his mouth and stroked her clit. She tugged her against him tighter, craving pressure, needing him closer.

With a gentle nudge, he shoved her pants down around her ankles and widened her stance. She gave him everything he asked, her breath hitching as his hand found her warmth once more.

Lust and insatiable need rippled over his expression as he worked his fingers through her slick folds. As if he knew exactly how to unwind her. He claimed her mouth. Feasted on her lips. Rubbed her where she craved pressure. Sent shock waves of desire undulating through her core.

And then, when he drove a finger inside her, she cried out his name.

“God, Isabelle,” he said, his dark eyes blazing with need. “You’re so tight.”

Stroking her closer and closer to the peak of ecstasy, he held her against him to support her weight. She squirmed in his arms, her legs going weak. And then, when he thrust his tongue into her mouth in time with his fingers, she surrendered. Bucked against his hand. Nipped at his bottom lip. And screamed so loud, her voice echoed into the night.

On a satisfied groan, he withdrew his hand from between her legs and sucked on his fingers. “I’m so hungry for you.”

Her legs quivered as the waning pulses of the orgasm lingered in her center. “What about you?”

“We’ll get to that.” Grinning slyly, he arranged the clothes on the ground into a makeshift bed. And then taking her hand, he laid her down and helped take her pants off the rest of the way. “But I’m not finished with you yet.”

Good God.

How much more could she take?

Hovering over her, he supported his weight with his hands planted on either side of her shoulders, creating a cage with his body. His gaze roved over her, though this time it was filled with admiration and awe. He swept a few loose strands of hair out of her face. Brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. And shook his head slowly.

“You’re glorious,” he said, breathless. “An angel…
my
angel. You might not know it yet, but you came to save me from the dark.”

There were no thoughts of correcting him. She
was
his. Something deep in her heart told her so.

As he lowered his head to possess her mouth once more, the heat from his body radiated through hers, burning her up. Primal instincts reared up inside her as his hands glided down her body. Cupped her breasts, and ghosted over her waist. Dipped lower…

This time, his mouth followed the trail of his hands down her body. She went damp as his tongue flicked out over her nipples. First one, then the other.

“I love to hear the little sounds you make when I touch you.” He stroked a finger through her heat and groaned. “Will you make the same sounds when I kiss you?”

She shivered as he dived between her legs. He spread them wide with his hands. Gripped her thighs tight. He blew softly over her center, driving her wild. She shook with want. Trembled with deep-rooted desire.

“How bad do you want it?” He swirled his fingers over her thighs, imitating the motions he’d used moments before. And then he pressed a kiss to the dent where her legs met her hips. It was close enough—a taste of what was to come. “Tell me, Isabelle.”

She writhed, desperation piercing through her, and grasped his shoulders. “Put your mouth on me.”

On a throaty moan, he did as she commanded, dragging his tongue through her heat. She cried out in soul-searing pleasure, her voice strangled as she clawed at his shoulders. He continued his sensual assault, swirling his tongue. Pressing his mouth against her, giving her the pressure she craved. Keeping his lips on her core, his hands slid up her body and kneaded her breasts.

It was too much. Sensation overload.

Without warning, his tongue plunged into her heat. In and out again. She exploded against his mouth, her hips rearing up as the most intense orgasm of her life tore through her. When the blissful convulsions finally ebbed, she went limp. Her vision blurred. Her arms fell to her sides. And when he rose over her, he wore nothing but a sly grin and the largest erection she’d ever seen in her life.

“You’re radiant.” He planted the softest of kisses on her lips. “Do you know how much I love that I’m the one who gave you that glow?”

How had she been resisting this? They’d wasted the entire weekend at the museum and in Napa when they could’ve been in his bed. Doing this. Over and over again. And again.

“What are you thinking?” He lay beside her, the evidence of his arousal pressing against her hip. “You frowned just now.”

“Nothing.” She stroked her hands up and down the ripples of muscle on his stomach, and then gripped the head of his shaft. “I want to pleasure you, too.”

“But that wasn’t why you frowned.” He moaned, laying his head back. “If you were worried about this ending, it doesn’t have to, you know.”

Yes it did.

She was leaving. Going back to Ireland soon…

And Jack was weakening. He didn’t have long left. He’d said so himself. Sure, he looked fine now, full of vigor and stamina, but she’d seen firsthand how his spells could knock him out.

If only she had more time. If only her father weren’t sick.

She’d stay in San Francisco for a while. They’d hide out from the world, and cherish the time spent together behind closed doors. She’d help him find his Luminary so that he could live another—

She cut the thought short and worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

The thought of Jack bonding with someone else didn’t mesh in her head. It was like trying to argue with herself that the sky was red. Still, if it saved his life, she’d help him find her.

In the distance, the scent of non-shifters hit her nostrils. They both turned in the direction of the aroma—he must’ve picked it up, too. Down one of the paths leading deeper into the park, a couple strode through the shadows. They were drunk, from the smell of them.

“Come on, we better get out of here. San Francisco has rules about public indecency.” Smirking, he helped her off the ground. “Let me take you home, and I’ll show you what it could be like if you stayed with me.”

If she only had today—a few precious hours—to spend in San Francisco, she wanted nothing more than to be with Jack.

Whatever that meant.

“Lead the way,” she said.

J
ack shut his bedroom door and walked Isabelle toward his bed. Disrobing in two seconds flat, he kicked off his shoes. Clothes flew to the corners of the room. Coming at her fast, he peeled the clothes off her body, kissing her silky-soft skin as he went. When she was beautifully nude, standing before him unabashedly, he sucked in a clipped breath. Lush breasts. Soft curves. Milky-white skin, and freckles decorating her cheeks.

She was the perfect combination of sweet and sin. Innocence and irresistible sex appeal.

“Your bed is ginormous.” Blushing, she smacked him playfully. “How many women did you plan to have in here at one time?”

“It’s not about the number of women I can fit in here”—gripping her waist tight, he hiked her legs around his waist and drove her back, dropping her onto the silk-covered bed—“but what you can do with one woman in it.”

Her eyes went wild with excitement as he flipped her over and pulled her down on top of him
.
Her hair cascaded around her face in a dark, silky waterfall…and he lost his breath.

If he were the artist, he’d paint this moment. Right here.

He pressed a long and languid kiss on her lips, drawing an erotic moan from the back of her throat. It fueled his desire. Reaching up, he cupped her gloriously full breasts in his hands.

“I swear your body was made for me,” he said on a groan. “You’re so perfect.”

She tilted her head to the side and grinned sweetly. “I don’t know how you do it, but you make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Like I’m the only one for you.”

“You are.”

She planted her lips on his and kissed him openmouthed. With passion and promise. As she began to move her hips over his groin—tiny little rocking movements back and forth, back and forth—tendrils of white-hot tension gathered into a ball at the base of his spine.

If he waited another second to feel her heat clench around him, he’d burst.

Thanking God for the fact that werewolves could only get pregnant when the female was in heat, Jack let out a throaty moan. Gripping her hips, he positioned her perfectly over his shaft. He shook. Hovered on the brink of drowning in her slick heat and losing himself completely.

“Jack,” she said as she moved over his thick length. “I ache for you.”

It was all he needed to hear.

On a hiss, he edged his throbbing tip inside. Wet heat engulfed him, welcoming him deeper. Thrusting slowly, he inched inside her clenching depths. She threw her head back and groaned in pleasure as he finally buried himself to the hilt.

“Isabelle, you feel so”—gripping need pulsed through him as the scent of her arousal hit him—“fucking good. So soft. Tight.”

Lifting her hips over him, he guided her in a steady rhythm. Rocking her back and forth. Slowly. And then, when a jolt of lust hit him hard, he flipped her over, pinning her to the mattress. She shrieked in delight, exhilaration and happiness spearing through her. Crossing her arms over her head, he held her in place with one hand and used the other to tease her nipples.

“Oh, Jack…”

He licked and nipped at her lower lip. Drove into her again and again. Passion rising fast, he slid all the way out, and then drove back inside. Pushed back, and plunged in. And then, as he thrust into her core and feasted on the sweetness of her mouth, she cried out. Her depths pulsed, milking him to the brink of his release.

Mine.

“J
ack.” She moaned in sheer bliss as he pinned her with his body. He was close—his entire body taut, fighting against the release. “Come inside me.”

He rolled his hips against her in a sensual rhythm. Slow slide out. Deep push in. Grinding against her, he penetrated as far as he could go and demanded more.

Her instincts flared as a fiery current surged inside her.

Mine.

She stilled beneath him.

He matched her, his thrust slowing. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, she urged him down over her again. “I will be when you finally give me what I want.”

“There is something so erotic”—he pushed into her, and she arched up. Lowering his head, he sucked her nipple into his mouth—“about a woman who knows how to ask for what she wants.”

He sank deeper, stretching her to the fullest. And when she thought he couldn’t possibly please her any more, he dipped his hand between their bodies and rubbed her gently. She bucked against him, her head falling back and her mouth dropping open.

Mine.

There was that word again. Echoing in her head. Tugging on something deep in her belly.

“Isabelle, I want to make you mine.” He swirled his fingers lightly, right where she craved the pressure. He angled his thrusts so they were shallow…just right…like…that. “Say I can treasure you this way, every day for the rest of our lives.”