Beauty Dates the Beast(4)

A sleek gray wolf lay on the floor, her head between her paws. Sara’s clothes were discarded on the floor, mixed with some fallen files.

“Oh, Sara,” I chided her.

The wolf whined.

I picked up her torn shirt, examining it to see if it was mendable. It wasn’t. With a roll of my eyes, I went back to my desk and opened my bottom drawer, then lifted a big, manila envelope to reveal a stack of emergency shirts. I picked out a pink one and shut the drawer again.

Living with a werewolf meant a lot of torn clothing. In the six years since Sara had been transformed, I’d learned to adapt to her needs.

But it didn’t mean I couldn’t give her crap about it. I went back to the file room and dangled the pink shirt in front of her. “Last one in a normal color,” I teased. “Change one more time, and you’re reduced to those SpongeBob T-shirts we found on the clearance rack.”

She growled at me, her canine lips curling back in a snarl.

I grinned and tossed the shirt down at her. “Just a little added incentive.”


I warred all day with what to wear to my date. Part of me wanted to wear something that was about as sexy as a funeral. Since Mr. Beau Russell was planning on getting laid, I wanted him to understand as soon as he looked at me that he was not scoring tonight. I needed something that screamed off-limits, puritanical, and possibly Amish.



But the feminine part of me rebelled at not looking my best. Beau was probably handsome and confident. I, meanwhile, hadn’t been on a date in six years.

It was the first thing to have changed in my life after Sara had turned, and I’d willingly given it up. Protecting Sara had become my life, and everything I did revolved around her.

And yet … here I was, about to go out on a date. Just me and some guy looking to meet a pretty girl, charm her, and hopefully score. I swallowed. No pressure. To make matters worse, we were going to a fancy restaurant. I needed to look like I belonged there, to be glamorous and confident.

After all, I had to be on my guard around Mr. Russell. I needed to be supremely self-assured, and poised as hell. Balls-to-the-wall, take no prisoners, not-interested-in-you strong female who was human and normal, and didn’t happen to have a werewolf sister.

After work, I spent an hour picking through my closet. Most of my clothes were practical, and nothing seemed quite right for a date. I ended up settling on a sleeveless, swingy A-line dress in black, edged with aqua satin. It was pretty and feminine. The skirt was shorter than I remembered and the neckline deep enough to show generous cleavage, which was probably why it had sat in my closet unworn for so long, the tags still attached. It really wasn’t all that seductive, but for someone like me, there was never an occasion to wear it.

I put on a couple of bracelets and hoop earrings, and pulled my long, straight, superfine blond hair into a bun high atop my head. I didn’t have time to blow-dry it into fluffiness.

After all, I wasn’t really trying to impress Mr. Russell, was I?

And just because I wasn’t trying to impress him, I added a second coat of lip gloss.

Before heading out the door, I gave my clothes a squirt of Febreze and tumbled them in the dryer with a floral-scented dryer sheet just in case Sara’s distinctive werewolf scent lingered on me. I couldn’t smell it because I was human, but just about every shifter had a nose ten times keener than mine, and we’d had several close calls. My black strappy sandals had been airing on the porch for the same reason.

Un Peu de Goût was in the heart of Sundance Square in downtown Fort Worth, where it catered to a business clientele and tourists looking to spend money on dinner. The last restaurant I’d been to was Burger King, so I was nervous.

My sister was at home sleeping off her most recent change. It always took a toll on her, so I left the car with her and took a cab to the restaurant. I stared out the window as we drove, trying not to get too anxious, my purse clutched close to my chest like a football carried into enemy territory.

As I walked into the restaurant, my heels clicked loudly on the marble tile, drawing the attention of the maître d’. This was a big fat mistake. I should have worn something with a longer hemline, or a less plunging neckline. Or just turned the date down. If Giselle found out I was dating one of the clients, even at his request, I’d be out of a job, no matter how important the account.

Humans were a dime a dozen, even the ones who wouldn’t freak out over the weird proclivities of the boss or strange client requests. The Alliance community was an exclusive one, and all of the clients were rich and powerful. Some had tons of money, thanks to long life spans, and some simply had a natural charisma that drew humans to them.

A couple of sorry humans like Sara and me—well, maybe just me—were outclassed. If she had to choose between loyal human employees and clients, Giselle would always pick clients.

“Yes, mademoiselle?”

I smiled at the maître d’, hoping he couldn’t sense my nervousness. “I’m here to meet Mr. Beau Russell,” I said breathlessly. “We have a dinner reservation.”

The maître d’ didn’t even look down at his list. He gave me a tight, knowing smile. “Mr. Russell will be here shortly, mademoiselle. You may wait at the bar.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit surprised that my date wasn’t here yet. “Certainly.” I let him lead me in.

When I approached the bar, I started to feel a little irritated at the absent Mr. Russell, who couldn’t bother to show up on time. If this was some sort of passive-aggressive move to put the little human in her place, I wasn’t amused. With a small frown, I ordered a mojito and sat down on my barstool to wait.

The mojito was expensive but tasty and did wonderful things to relax my frazzled nerves. I’d sucked down half of my drink before I forced myself to slow down. I didn’t want to be plastered by the time the man got to the restaurant.

Ten minutes passed, and I played with the lime on the edge of my glass. Where was he? Maybe he wouldn’t show up. Maybe he’d called the agency back and told Sara that he wasn’t going to meet me. I knew what the Alliance went for in a woman, especially the shifters. All their dating profiles read the same—muscular, lean, aggressive. Gorgeous. Enthusiastic. Morally ambiguous. Most shifter women pursued the men as hotly as they were pursued back. Even the vampire women were elegant, delicate creatures.

Me? I was a desk jockey for the glamorous. A mousy blonde encased in power panty hose that were going to cut off her circulation. He’d take a look at me, laugh, and ask to meet the harpy after all. Twitchy at the thought, I took a bite out of my lime and sucked on it. After ten more minutes, this guy could consider himself out of a date. I wasn’t going to wait here all night like some pathetic loser. I put my lime rind on a napkin and tossed back the rest of my drink.

By the time seven more minutes passed, I’d had it. Enough was enough. Mr. Russell wasn’t coming to our impromptu date. Part of me breathed a sigh of relief. At least Giselle wouldn’t have anything to be upset over, and I’d fulfilled all my obligations. I left a couple of dollars for the bartender, tucked my bag under my arm, then stepped away from the bar—and saw him.

He lounged nearby, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place. He was turned toward me, a half-full beer on the bar beside him. It was obvious he’d been there some time, and just as obvious that he’d been watching me without bothering to introduce himself. The jerk.

A slow smile curved his lips, and my heart stuttered. I’d seen beautiful men, and I’d seen sexy men. But I’d never seen a man who was as powerfully masculine as this one.

I was finding it hard to breathe.

It wasn’t the sleepy, sexy eyes with the dark lashes. It wasn’t the piercing gray irises that assessed me as if they could see me naked. It wasn’t the impressive spread of his shoulders or the narrow waist, or the thick fall of tousled brown hair over his tanned forehead. None of that caused my breath to evaporate quite like the confidence that poured from him. It was there from the easy way he carried his big frame to the crooked smile that tugged at his lips and emphasized his amazing cheekbones.

This man was going to be trouble.

The room grew fuzzy at the edges, and black stars flashed in front of my eyes as he crossed the floor to meet me. Everything about him was effortless, graceful motion, like a predator stalking its prey.

He leaned in close to me, and I could smell his musky clean scent. “You need to breathe, Bathsheba.”

Breathe. Right. I sucked in a breath and my vision cleared.

He smiled at me again, that soft, lazy smile. “That’s better.”

I fought the urge to wipe it off his face, annoyed that he’d made me wait while he’d been here all along.

He gestured at the sea of white-linen-covered tables. “Shall we sit?”

That depended on his answer. “How long have you been here watching me?”

The smile widened into a grin. “You caught me,” he admitted. “I wanted to watch you for a few minutes. Is that so wrong?”