From the Blurb:
Unmated werewolves don’t normally live past three hundred years old...and billionaire Jack MacGrath is cutting it close. Sure, he has almost everything—the respect of his peers, a mansion in San Francisco, a private jet, and fast cars. But without a mate, Jack's in trouble. Then he sees her. Gorgeous, proud...and his enemy.
Isabelle Connelly is good at hiding things from her father. Like her success as a painter, or the incredibly intense attraction she has to Jack MacGrath. After all, she's royalty and falling for anyone lesser—to say nothing of a rival pack—would be, er, unseemly. Now she must choose between her duty to her family and her pack...or her perfect fated mate.
Excerpt:
“Tell Mr. MacGrath that Isabelle Connelly is here to see him.” She spoke loudly into the intercom. “I’d like to make an offer on his newest piece of acquired art: Werewolf in Venice.”
Silence followed after a deafeningly loud crackling sound.
Five minutes dragged by. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and refused to move. Stared at the intricate ironwork on the gate.
“I’m not leaving,” she mumbled to herself. “Not until I get my painting.”
Nothing else mattered.
Billionaire or not, everything had a price.
She’d simply have to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Hell if she knew what that was, though.
Without warning, the gates let out a groan, startling her. She jumped in her seat and watched them open slowly, revealing a winding stone-paved driveway. She put the Camry in gear and drove toward a towering fountain erected in the middle of the driveway.
But the closer she got to the fountain, the slower she drove.
She gawked, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
Good God, the fountain was hideously phallic. Like a giant penis standing ramrod-straight in the middle of a gravel bed. Water bubbled up from the tip, making her throw up a little in her mouth.
Craning her neck around, Isabelle shook her head and scoffed.
It was a disgustingly perfect fountain for a guy like Jack MacGrath.
As she turned, veering away from the fountain—out of pure instinct—she realized she was now parked facing the stairs to his mansion. And took up the width of the driveway, hood to rear end.
Damn it.
She should’ve just parked next to the damn thing.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she reversed carefully. As she inched closer to the penis monolith, the unmistakable whop-whop-whop of a helicopter sounded in the distance. The racket increased.
Was a helicopter landing on the damn house?
She bent, craning to look beneath the doorframe. She searched the sky. One way, and then the other.
There it was.
A freaking helicopter swooped over his house, making a low dive over her car.
She squealed, ducking low in her seat.
The thunderous flac-flac-flac of the blades drowned out everything—the rumble of the Camry’s engine and the drumming of her own heart—as it dropped out of the sky and hovered above the large lawn on the opposite end of the estate. The chopper was massive. Menacing. A door on the side slid open. A rope was flung out, hitting the grass.
What the hell?
With a jolt, the tires of her car ran over something crackly. Her car bumbled. Shook. And then backed into something solid.
“Oh, shit!” Isabelle gripped the wheel tight and slammed on the brakes. Whipping around, she glared out the back window…and caught the breath in her throat. She must’ve been inching back without realizing it. She’d rear-ended the giant penis. It wobbled, shook. The tip seemed loose, teetering on the thick base. “No, no, no, don’t—”
And then it fell. Dropped right to the ground with a thud.
Cue mortification.
***
Beauty and the Werewolf by Kristin Miller is a fantasy romance, released by Entangled on August 24, 2015.
Find this Book: Amazon | Amazon UK | B&N | Kobo | iBooks
Excerpt:
“Tell Mr. MacGrath that Isabelle Connelly is here to see him.” She spoke loudly into the intercom. “I’d like to make an offer on his newest piece of acquired art: Werewolf in Venice.”
Silence followed after a deafeningly loud crackling sound.
Five minutes dragged by. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and refused to move. Stared at the intricate ironwork on the gate.
“I’m not leaving,” she mumbled to herself. “Not until I get my painting.”
Nothing else mattered.
Billionaire or not, everything had a price.
She’d simply have to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Hell if she knew what that was, though.
Without warning, the gates let out a groan, startling her. She jumped in her seat and watched them open slowly, revealing a winding stone-paved driveway. She put the Camry in gear and drove toward a towering fountain erected in the middle of the driveway.
But the closer she got to the fountain, the slower she drove.
She gawked, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
Good God, the fountain was hideously phallic. Like a giant penis standing ramrod-straight in the middle of a gravel bed. Water bubbled up from the tip, making her throw up a little in her mouth.
Craning her neck around, Isabelle shook her head and scoffed.
It was a disgustingly perfect fountain for a guy like Jack MacGrath.
As she turned, veering away from the fountain—out of pure instinct—she realized she was now parked facing the stairs to his mansion. And took up the width of the driveway, hood to rear end.
Damn it.
She should’ve just parked next to the damn thing.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she reversed carefully. As she inched closer to the penis monolith, the unmistakable whop-whop-whop of a helicopter sounded in the distance. The racket increased.
Was a helicopter landing on the damn house?
She bent, craning to look beneath the doorframe. She searched the sky. One way, and then the other.
There it was.
A freaking helicopter swooped over his house, making a low dive over her car.
She squealed, ducking low in her seat.
The thunderous flac-flac-flac of the blades drowned out everything—the rumble of the Camry’s engine and the drumming of her own heart—as it dropped out of the sky and hovered above the large lawn on the opposite end of the estate. The chopper was massive. Menacing. A door on the side slid open. A rope was flung out, hitting the grass.
What the hell?
With a jolt, the tires of her car ran over something crackly. Her car bumbled. Shook. And then backed into something solid.
“Oh, shit!” Isabelle gripped the wheel tight and slammed on the brakes. Whipping around, she glared out the back window…and caught the breath in her throat. She must’ve been inching back without realizing it. She’d rear-ended the giant penis. It wobbled, shook. The tip seemed loose, teetering on the thick base. “No, no, no, don’t—”
And then it fell. Dropped right to the ground with a thud.
Cue mortification.
***
Beauty and the Werewolf by Kristin Miller is a fantasy romance, released by Entangled on August 24, 2015.
Find this Book: Amazon | Amazon UK | B&N | Kobo | iBooks
Beauty and the Werewolf is Book 2 in the San Francisco Wolf Pack series. You can start at the beginning with The Werewolf Wears Prada:
From the Blurb:
Melina Rosenthal worships at the altar of all things fashion. Her dream is to work for the crème de la crème fashion magazine, Eclipse, and she'll do much anything to get there. Even fixing up the image of a gorgeous, sexy public figure who's all playboy, all the time. Even if he's the guy who broke her heart a year ago...
Find this Book: Amazon | Amazon UK | B&N | Kobo | iBooks
About the Author:
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Kristin Miller writes sweet and sassy contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and paranormal romance of all varieties. Kristin has degrees in psychology, English, and education, and taught high school and middle school English before crossing over to a career in writing. She lives in Northern California with her alpha male husband and their two children. She loves chocolate way more than she should and the gym less. You can usually find her in the corner of a coffee shop, laptop in front of her and mocha in hand, using the guests around her as fuel for her next book.
