Read Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) for Free Online

chitchat?”
    “Sure.” He followed her, a constant presence at her side. But he wasn’t pushy. Oh no. He glided over the floor a few feet behind her, his free hand in his pocket, the tuxedo coat stretched taut over his impossibly broad shoulders. And damn if those pants didn’t pitch over his obviously impressive groin. “Have you done anything fun since you’ve been in the city?”
    Oh, there were a few fun things she was thinking about doing at the moment. Enjoyable, naughty things that made her girly bits tingle.
    “I’m sorry, what?”
    He smirked, as if he had caught her staring at his package. “What have you been doing to occupy your time?”
    Keep your eyes up. “I haven’t been here long enough to see as much as I would’ve liked. I flew in right before the auction.”
    “And you’re already eager to return?”
    She nodded.
    “Why not stay a few days?” His dark eyes glimmered with something devious. “You can see the city while you’re here and experience all you can. And let me tell you, hotels are so impersonal. You’d be better off seeing the city from a local’s point of view. If you want, you’re welcome to crash at my place.”
    Oh yeah, baby.
    No —wait.
    She was supposed to hate him, wasn’t she? He was a MacGrath, for crying out loud. How easily he could make her forget…
    “You can waggle your eyebrows all you want, Jack, but I wouldn’t go home with you if you had a collection of ten Bella Nolan paintings.”
    He grinned, as if he hid the most delectable secret. “Actually, I—”
    Glasses clinked from the main room, interrupting him. When she met his eyes once more, the dark twinkle in them had vanished. Museum patrons mumbled low, their whispers melting together into an incomprehensible wave of conversation.
    “We should see what that’s about,” she said, watching the crowd form near a large painting on the back wall. “They’re starting some sort of speech.”
    “It’s nothing interesting, believe me. Besides, we haven’t seen all the artwork in here.” Jack brushed by, bumping into her with his shoulder. Gooseflesh pebbled over her arm. “Look at this one.”
    She was still trying to get rid of the chill spreading through her chest when Jack stopped in front of an oil panting of Niagara Falls.
    “I’m blown away by the whole process,” he said, “How an artist can take a blank canvas and turn it into a masterpiece. I don’t know anything about painting, though artwork like this has always fascinated me.“
    Isabelle tore her eyes away from the main group and approached his side. “Maybe you should pick up a brush and give it a go. If you’re so intrigued by it.”
    “It’s not about the process, so to speak, but the people behind the art. You can almost sense what the artist was feeling when he painted this.” Turning slowly, he stared her down with those smoky-brown eyes. And just like that, she was warm again. “I like to collect things by artists I feel connected to. Art, sculptures, valuable books, anything that I can add to my private gallery.”
    “Sounds like you’ve got quite the collection,” she said, traipsing around the hall. She could feel his gaze boring into her back as she turned away. “But you’re focused on acquiring, rather than appreciating. There’s a huge difference.”
    “I disagree. Acquiring is appreciating. If I spend a million and a quarter on a piece, it has more value to me than one I paid three hundred thousand for.”
    She spun and stared. “So the inherent value of something is based on the retail price?”
    “Of course.” He nodded. “Which piece in this museum gets the most attention? The one in the far corner, or the one in the center in the glass case? The one purchased for fifty thousand, or the one the museum newly acquired for half a million?”
    A little piece of her died at the thought of someone buying her paintings solely based on the monetary value.
    “We’re going to have to agree to