Jenelle is stranded and alone in the south of France, after giving up her successful life in Seattle to move in with her boyfriend, Gilles. After she gets into trouble and a mystery guy comes to her rescue, Jenelle is prompted to take a reckless chance that will change her life for ever. Warning: This 7,000-word short story features one smoking French wolf shifter and very graphic sexual content More
Jenelle is stranded and alone in the south of France, after giving up her successful life in Seattle to move in with her boyfriend, Gilles. After her romance turns sour, she is sitting outside a cafe trying to figure out how to make a go of her new life alone in Europe, when she spots a stranger watching her. After she gets into trouble and the mystery guy comes to her rescue, Jenelle is prompted to take a reckless chance that will change her life for ever.
This is the first installment of the For the Love of the Pack series
Warning: This 7,000-word erotic romance short story features one smoking hot French wolf shifter and some extremely graphic sexual content. Not suitable for readers under 18.
The sun was hazy but climbing higher in the sky, so I put on my shades and relaxed for a while, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. I slipped off the thin gray cardigan I was wearing over my sleeveless summer dress - my favorite, with its huge blue tea roses on a white cotton background - and ignored the lecherous glance that provoked from the two vagrants standing around nearby drinking cheap wine from the bottle.
Mamans with small children strolled by, mingling easily with the groups of unemployed youths who loitered in small knots, shouting and joking. I pulled my notebook out of my canvas bag, ready to jot down some thoughts - and then I noticed him.
I don't know how long he had been standing there. The sunlight that dappled the greenery had almost camouflaged him. I'm sure he hadn't followed me to the park: it must have been a coincidence. But again, he was staring at me, and this time I felt even uneasier, without the protection afforded by the crowds sitting outside the cafe.
I decided to ignore him and to get on with what I was doing, but as I began to write down some ideas, I could feel his eyes on me and my heart racing.
He was no more than twenty yards away, standing there motionless, with his cellphone in his hand. One minute passed, then two. I looked up. He was still there, still fixing me in his eye, almost like an animal stalking its prey.
The old me might have gathered up my things in confusion and headed back to the relative safety of my hotel room. But the new me was not going to let some guy intimidate me into changing my plans, however hot he was.
My heart pounding, I deliberately rose to my feet and walked over to where he stood. I was angry with him for making me feel uncomfortable, but I was also intrigued.
He made no move to leave as I approached him. As I got closer, I noticed details that had escaped me before: the tautness of his muscular arms, the fullness of his lips and - when I was almost upon him - the musky smell of him. I felt almost faint.
"Pourquoi me suivez-vous?" I rehearsed the words in my head and, to my surprise, they came out perfectly. I was justified at least in asking him why he was following me.
"Je ne sais pas." It was not the answer I was expecting - and, in fact, I had not even expected him to answer in French.
I stared at him.
"I don't want to play games," I said softly but firmly. "I don't know if you speak English, but my French is not good enough to say this. I know you are following me, and it is making me feel uncomfortable."
I expected him to come back with some kind of smartass answer, or to throw a string of unintelligible French at me, but to my surprise, I saw nothing but hurt in his beautiful green eyes.
His voice was low and melodious and had a slight growly quality to it. He spoke haltingly in English, and I realized that he was every bit as French as Gilles.
"I am sorry," he stammered. "I did not mean to scare you. I don't know why..."
And then he turned and was gone, walking so fast that he almost broke into a run before he disappeared from view into the underpass.