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 whine.”
She hesitated, as if debating whether to get into it. Then she groaned and covered her face with both hands. “It’s my big brother, although right now I feel years older than him.”
“So what’s he doing?” Jake felt a pang of envy that she had a brother to be upset with. He had no siblings and would have loved having them, but he was his parents’ only offspring. That fact made him doubly determined to carry on the legacy of his mother’s pack as best he could.
Giselle sighed and settled back in her chair. “Bryce is going crazy, apparently. He’s in line to be the next Landry alpha, but last week he ran off to Vegas and has no immediate plans to come back.”
“But he will eventually, right?”
“Who knows? He texts every day so we know he’s alive, but he’s not talking—not to me, or my parents, or Miranda, who’d agreed to become his mate within the next year. She’s announced that she’s free again, which only makes sense considering how he’s behaving.”
“What about his friends? Can’t they get through to him?”
Giselle shook her head. “He’s cut them off, too. The only clue I have is that he’d started reading Duncan MacDowell’s blog, because he mentioned it to me and wondered what I thought about Duncan’s ideas on Were-human mating.”
Jake cursed softly under his breath. The Scottish Were had organized WOOF—Werewolves Optimizing Our Future—the previous year to promote MacDowell’s belief that Were-human mating was inevitable and should be encouraged. He’d made serious inroads with that agenda during WereCon2012.
His popular blog continued to rally support for Were-human mating, and it looked as if he might have another well-placed convert. The heir apparent to the Landry pack would be a feather in Duncan’s cap.
“I’m sure hearing that doesn’t make you happy.”
“Nope.”
“I haven’t told my parents about my suspicions because they’d hit the roof if they thought Bryce might consider a human mate. I hope his Vegas adventure is nothing more than sowing some wild oats and he’ll come back ready to mate with Miranda and assume his responsibilities. But I don’t know if he will or not.”
“I’m sorry, Giselle. I wish there was something I could do.”
“If I thought you could talk him into coming home, I’d beg you to go down there. But he has a stubborn streak, and he’d dig in his heels if he thinks we’re coercing him in any way. I—” She paused as the waitress approached. “Good. We have wine.”
“I didn’t realize how much we might need that tonight.”
Giselle chuckled. “I realized it. I’m really glad you suggested this, Jake. I’ve wanted someone to talk to. You were at that conference. You saw how charismatic Duncan MacDowell is.”