Chapter 8
On his flight to San Francisco two days later, Jake vowed to put the incident with Rachel behind him. Talking about it might have helped, but he couldn’t confide in any of his Were friends. He’d built a reputation as a crusader against Were-human mating, so how could he admit that a human had tempted him so much he’d almost blown his cover?
Besides, it wouldn’t happen again. This trip away from Polecat and Rachel would allow him to refocus. Meeting with Giselle Landry, who shared his objections to Were-human mating, would help, too.
His plane touched down a few minutes past eight in the evening. As it taxied toward the gate, he called Giselle, even though their appointment wasn’t until the next morning. “Is it too late to meet for a drink?” He hoped not. He’d been alone with his thoughts far too much in the past forty-eight hours, and he needed to get his mind off his problems.
“It’s not too late.” She sounded frazzled. “But I should warn you I’m not good company right now.”
“Hey, if you’d rather not, that’s okay.” He tamped down his disappointment. “I’ll be at your office at ten tomorrow and we can talk then.”
“Actually, the idea of relaxing over a glass of vino sounds wonderful. I just can’t promise I won’t start whining.”
“You can whine all you want, Giselle. I’ll catch a cab to the Fairmont and meet you in the bar.”
“Meet me in the lobby instead, okay? I know a great little Were-owned place down by Fisherman’s Wharf.”
“Perfect.” Jake’s spirits lifted. Listening to Giselle’s troubles, whatever they might be, would take his mind off his own. He also looked forward to a night surrounded by his own kind. His preference for being a lone wolf had its drawbacks and probably made him more vulnerable to temptation of the Rachel variety.
“Okay,” Giselle said. “See you in about an hour.”
“If you’ll tell me what you’re driving, I can wait outside for you.”
“A Harley.”
He laughed. “Excellent.” Riding behind Giselle while she navigated San Francisco’s hills on her motorcycle sounded like exactly what he needed. “See you soon.” As he disconnected, he once again wondered if someday Giselle could be more than a friend. He made a promise to himself to keep his mind open to the possibility.
An hour later, he stood outside the Fairmont as the fog rolled in. Great night for a couple of werewolves. He scanned the area for a motorcycle, and here she came, materializing out of the mist. She’d gone with all black— jacket, pants, boots, and bike. He wouldn’t have known for sure it was her until he noticed a stray lock of dark red hair that had escaped from under her black helmet.
She spotted him and veered in his direction. “Hi there, Jake!” She put down a booted foot but left the motor running as she reached behind her and came up with a second helmet and goggles to match hers. “Put these on.”
“Thanks.” Knowing he’d be a passenger on her Harley, he’d worn jeans and a sweatshirt over his T-shirt. After putting on the helmet and goggles, he climbed onto the cushioned seat behind her.
“All set?” she called over her shoulder.
“Go for it.”
She took off with a roar, and he steadied himself by holding on to her waist. The ride sent a welcome surge of adrenaline through him. He tried to convince himself that touching Giselle had something to do with it, too.
But when he compared his reaction to Giselle with what he’d felt with Rachel . . . damn it! Was he doomed to constantly reference Rachel whenever he came in contact with another female? That would suck.
Well, even if he didn’t feel any sparks with Giselle, he loved riding on her motorcycle. She turned the streets of San Francisco into her own personal roller coaster, something she obviously relished doing. She’d mentioned having problems, so this wild race through the foggy night might be helping her release some tension, too.
Jake was almost sorry when they reached the harbor and she parked the Harley. “That was great,” he said as he climbed off.
“I took the long way. Hope you didn’t mind.”
“Nope. Loved it.” After taking off his goggles and helmet, he glanced at the bar she’d brought him to, a cozy-looking place with a wooden sign announcing it was the Den. He smiled. “Clever name. No one would guess.”
“No, they don’t.” She removed her helmet and shook out her wavy red hair. “They think it’s just another bar. But even so, humans don’t tend to stick around after they’ve wandered in. On some level they must realize these aren’t their peeps.”
“I appreciate you bringing me here. It’s exactly what I need right now. I’m pretty isolated in Polecat.”
She tucked her goggles inside her helmet and started toward the bar. “What about the Hunter pack?”
“It’s based in Idaho.”
“I guess I didn’t realize that. Most Weres live where their pack lives, so I naturally thought you—”
“I like Alaska better.” He opened the bar’s wooden door and held it for her.
“So you really are a lone wolf.”
“I suppose I am.” He hadn’t evaluated that in terms of taking a mate, either. As he followed Giselle into the dimly lit bar, he acknowledged that his isolation could pose a problem for most females. Werewolves were pack animals, and most of them preferred it that way.
A female often moved to her mate’s pack, but sometimes it worked the other way and a male switched locations. Jake hadn’t thought about it before, but how many Were females would willingly spend the rest of their lives as he did, distanced from any pack? He thought the spectacular setting created a decent trade-off, but would she? Maybe not.
The bar was fragrant with the scent of fine liquor, expensive cigars, and expertly prepared food. The Den’s humble exterior disguised a venue that would satisfy the most discerning customer. Jake realized he was starving.
Giselle was obviously known here. Customers called out greetings and she stopped to introduce Jake as they made their way to an empty table in a far corner. When they reached it, he held her chair.
“Thanks.” She gave him a smile. “Call me old-fashioned, but I love chivalrous gestures.”
“Me, too.” As he sat down opposite her, he wished to hell he found her wildly sexy. Objectively speaking, she was extremely attractive—tall, graceful, classic features, pretty hair. Logically he should want her, except he didn’t.
And unless he’d lost all perspective, she didn’t want him, either. She gazed at him with friendly interest but not a trace of smoldering lust. Well, good. If she’d shown any signs of being attracted, he’d have an awkward situation on his hands.
A waitress approached the table to take their order for drinks.
Jake glanced over at Giselle. “If you don’t mind, I’m ordering food. I know I asked you to meet me for a drink, but—”
“I’m ordering food, too.” She opened the menu and snapped it shut again before gazing up at the waitress. “Surf and turf for me.” She looked at Jake. “It’s outstanding here, and I haven’t stopped long enough to eat a decent meal in days.”
“Then let’s make that two.”
Giselle lifted her eyebrows. “Wine?”
“Let’s order a bottle of red. I’m ready to stay awhile, but if you need to get back, just say the word.”
“The Landry pack can do without me for a few hours.” She pulled a cell phone from a pocket of her leather jacket. “In fact, I’m turning this off.”
Jake checked the wine offerings.
“May I suggest the Paradigm Shift pinot noir?” the waitress said. “It’s local.”
“Sounds great.” Jake handed back the wine list. The evening had all the trappings of a romantic interlude, except that it lacked the necessary chemistry. Once the waitress had left, he turned to Giselle. “You’re now free to
