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

San Francisco was a blur. Had he dozed off? Stared into space? Gawked at Isabelle’s legs the whole time? He couldn’t say.
    And it spooked the hell out of him.
    Shakes, seizures, and blackouts. That was the order of things the medicine man had discussed. He’d yet to have a blackout, but couldn’t explain what had just happened.
    He had to do something before it was too late.
    As the plane taxied to where Branson was waiting with the limo, Jack leaned over and tapped Isabelle on the shoulder. She turned to him with more attitude than he’d expected.
    She’d probably tried to talk to him during the flight, and he’d probably tuned out.
    Perfect.
    “I’m sorry about the way things ended tonight,” he said, though he fumbled the last words. Jumbled them together a bit. “I’m going to take a cab home, and have Branson take you back to your hotel. I don’t know how long you plan to stay, but there’s something else I’d like to show you. Would you wait? Another day, at least?”
    He needed a stiff burn of adrenaline rocketing through his veins, like now. Maybe after he did that, he’d surprise Isabelle at her hotel. He’d have Branson get her number before dropping her off.
    Her mouth downturned. “Why would we part ways here? At the airport? And why wouldn’t Branson just take you home?”
    Too many questions.
    And he simply didn’t want her to see him this way, at his worst and weakest.
    Damn it, why’d he have to be borderline blackout now?
    “I’m sorry,” he said, and kissed her hand before rushing down the back stairs.

Chapter Seven
    I sabelle had everything she needed. Werewolf in Venice. Werewolf in Manhattan . A limousine ride at her disposal, on Jack’s dime.
    But for some reason, she couldn’t make up her mind where to go.
    Okay, okay, so her mind was totally made up. It was a tiny tug in the pit of her stomach that kept her stuck in IndecisionLand.
    “Where to, miss?” Branson asked for the second time. Glancing at her through the rearview mirror, Jack’s butler raised his bushy eyebrows in expectation. “Where would you like me to drop you off?”
    “Does he do this often?”
    He frowned. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I understand.”
    Adjusting the painting beside her on the leather seat, Isabelle stared out the window at his private jet in the distance. Jack had already taken off, darting into one of the terminals to “take a cab home.”
    Ridiculous.
    As if she’d believe that line of crap.
    He was probably waiting for her to leave so he could fly back to Jasmine’s.
    “Does he take women on day trips with his jet, and then run off unexpectedly before the night’s over?”
    Branson stared, giving nothing away with those flat gray eyes. The guy was handsome, but looked like a dolt when he just sat there.
    She slid forward on the seat. “How many women have you given rides home this way?”
    “Just you, miss.” Branson started the engine. “Where to?”
    Isabelle slouched into the seat with a huff.
    She was the only woman he’d left this way?
    Well, that stung.
    “Is he flying anywhere else tonight?” she asked . To Jasmine’s, she meant.
    “No, miss. They’re taking the jet back to the hangar now.” He pointed out the window. “Take a look.”
    He was right. So what the hell? What had she done wrong?
    “Jack isn’t going home, is he?” she asked, tapping her fingers against her mouth.
    A long, drawn-out pause, and then, “No, miss.”
    “I knew it. Where’d he go?” She slid to the edge of her seat. “Please, Branson. Tell me where I can find him.”
    “He enjoys a good boxing match every now and again.” Finally, Branson glanced over his shoulder. And winked. “I believe there’s an open ring on Judah Street that he likes to frequent.”
    “Thanks, Branson,” she said, and held on for the ride.
    A good forty minutes later, they turned on Judah Street. When he stopped in front of a gym that looked perfectly normal—and closed—she exhaled