Page 11 of The Wolf and his Witch

I’ve arranged for you to meet Gabriel and Stefanie for dinner to discuss our plans. You have a reservation at The Lounge at the Ritz-Carlton at 7pm.

Shit.Face Gabriel again so soon? At least she wouldn’t be alone. They’d be in a public place, and he was unlikely to follow her into the bathroom at the Ritz-Carlton. And Dutton wouldn’t be there.Bonus.

She sighed. There was no help for it. If she wanted this mission, she had to go. She had no choice but to deal with Gabriel.

Wrapped in a towel, she padded out to the living room. Isobella sat on the couch absently flicking through the TV channels, the half-decorated Christmas tree abandoned. Did she seem paler than usual? More…defeated?

Despite the similarities in their names, Isobella was the yin to Annabelle’s yang. Where she was fair-haired and blue-eyed, Isobella was all Latino, with long dark hair, dark eyes and that beautiful skin Annabelle had always admired. Where Annabelle was in-your-face outspoken and adventurous, Isobella was more introverted and softly spoken. But Isobella’s life hadn’t been easy, and there was a thread of steel beneath her quiet exterior that few people ever saw. Annabelle had thought she’d been bouncing back, smiling more. Taking a leaf out of Annabelle’s play book, speaking up for herself more and demanding the respect and consideration she deserved. Maybe not.

“Hey.”

Isobella looked up at her from her random scrolling.

“Just got a text from Aunt Marjory. Pizza is off the menu for me tonight. Sorry. I have a meeting at the Ritz-Carlton with our wolf shifters.”

The sag of Isobella’s shoulders tugged at Annabelle. Maybe she should call and cancel tonight. “Are you okay?”

Isobella shrugged. “Just a little tired.” Her gaze flicked to the Christmas tree, and she sank further into the couch.

Fucking Douglas.Sometimes men were more trouble than they were worth. “I can cancel. Make it tomorrow night. The tenth century isn’t going anywhere.”

“And miss out on a fancy dinner at the Ritz-Carlton? You should go.”

“I don’t know…”

Isobella waved her off. “Cheese toasties and an early night suit me fine. I’ll finish this”—she jabbed her thumb at the mess of Christmas ornaments—“and I know you’re not a hugeDie Hardfan, so I’ll watch that tonight. It’s the only Christmas movie I think I can stomach right now. Douglas hated it. I think he was jealous of my crush on Bruce Willis.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Honestly, I’ll probably fall asleep halfway through the movie. Go. Enjoy.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure about enjoying it, but Isobella wasn’t wrong about fancy. The Ritz-Carlton. Annabelle was going to order the most expensive damn thing on the menu. Gabriel would pay for ditching her, one way or another.

Chapter Six

Annabelle navigated the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, nerves fluttering in her stomach. Her heels clicked across the floor as she passed the marble columns and walked beneath the ornate chandelier and past the faux-gold candelabras. She skirted the stunning Christmas tree, decorated in gold and silver, that almost touched the towering roof. Aunt Marjory had once tried to broker a deal to sell the penthouse here. The deal had fallen through, but given her aunt’s clients wouldn’t have been interested in anything under four million, it would have gone for a hefty price. Were Gabriel and Stefanie actually staying here, or did they want the coven to think they were?

She’d never found out where Gabriel had stayed in Paris. Something she’d only realized after he’d gone. For all she knew, he could be a millionaire or a beggar. He’d said he worked in security, but as he’d given her a false name, was that true or another lie? She hadn’t even known he was a shifter. Did she know the man at all?

Obviously not.

Annabelle took a deep, steadying breath, squared her shoulders and, with purpose in her step, made her way to The Lounge. She’d spent too much time, and too much emotional energy, boxing up Gabriel and shoving him firmly to the back of her linen closet with the Christmas ornaments to let him back into her life now. No matter how good that orgasm in her great aunt’s downstairs bathroom had been.

The maître d’ smiled at her as he took her coat and scarf, and she smoothed her hands down the soft fabric of her dress. She’d dressed to kill—a woolen midnight blue sheath dress that hugged her figure, contrasted nicely with her hair and made her eyes pop. She’d paired it with heeled knee-high leather boots that not only made her look taller than her five feet seven, but accentuated the swing of her hips as she walked. Gabriel would see what he’d let go, perhaps regret it, and then Annabelle would have the victory of turninghimdown. Of walking away fromhim.Shewouldwalk away from him. Even if it meant she had to go to the damn tenth century to do it.

She shoved down the memories of another dinner, of another restaurant adorned to celebrate the festive season, as the maître d’ led her across plush carpet, past elegant wingback chairs, to a cozy corner by the windows overlooking the San Francisco city lights. But when she set eyes on the table, her steps faltered. There was only one person waiting for her. Gabriel. Was Stefanie in the ladies’ room? No. The table had only two chairs, and two place settings.

Gabriel stood. She swallowed. Blinked. A black, buttoned shirt fit snugly across his broad shoulders, and black pants hugged his hips and muscular thighs. He looked divine in black.Who am I kidding?The man would look like a god in a hessian sack.

“Gabriel.” Annabelle gritted her teeth, plastered a smile on her face and slid into the chair the maître d’ had pulled out for her.

“Annabelle.”

A server appeared with a bottle of wine. A Bordeaux. He’d remembered. She’d developed a taste for it in Paris, cultivated by him. She glanced at the label.Château Talbot, St. Julien 1996. Probably not the most expensive wine on the list, but it would set him back at least a couple of hundred dollars. Would it be crass to scull a whole glass of it? She fidgeted in her seat. She needed something to bolster her courage.

With the wine uncorked and tasted, and a nod of approval from Gabriel, the server poured two glasses. Annabelle snatched hers up, tempering herself and taking a sip. Flavor burst on her tongue, velvety smooth, and before she could stop it a moan slipped out. It’d been a long time since she’d enjoyed a wine this good. Over the rim of her glass, she caught the heat in Gabriel’s eyes.

Annabelle set her glass down with studied calm. “Where’s Stefanie? Should we be discussing our plans without her?”

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