Young Brothers - My Sister Is A Werewolf Part 22

She regarded him, getting the feeling he was asking her more than the question revealed. But it could be her own guilt.

"Did I mention to you how gorgeous you look?" he murmured again when she didn't respond, looking at

her from under dark lashes.

"Well, you could again," she said with a smile. She picked out the fitted black dress with him in mind.

Him and his reaction.

He leaned in and kissed her. Yep, that was the reaction she'd hoped for, and suddenly thoughts of possible werewolves fled her mind. Jensen had a way of making her forget a lot of things.

He tasted her slowly until she was curled against him, tasting him back with the same lazy thoroughness.

"We don't have to go," she told him again.

"We do," he said with regretful smile. "You haven't met Molly yet. She'd never forgive me."

She smiled, loving the fact that he was so concerned with his receptionist's feelings. But Jensen was that way. Just... good.

Again, she felt like a complete liar and fraud for being what she was. But she pushed the thought away.

She did deserve this time with him. She did deserve a little taste of the life she once thought she'd have.

"Not to mention," he added, straightening up, "my grandfather is going to be there, and I want to keep an eye on him."

"Your grandfather will be there? Does he know-you're bringing a date?"

"Actually, no. He will be thrilled."

"I don't know... "

Jensen straightened even further. "What?"

"I'm just afraid that I'm not what your grandfather would want for you."

His frown deepened for a fraction of a second, then he smiled. "Are you kidding? Granddad will love

you."

She raised an eyebrow to that.

"Oh, believe me. He will."

She wasn't convinced, so instead of meeting his gaze, she looked down at her hands.

Jensen reached forward and caught her chin, raising her face to his. He leaned forward and kissed her.

Just a quick, sweet brush of his lips against hers.

"You are nervous about this, aren't you?"

She nodded just slightly. "I'm not exactly the girl next door."

She sensed, rather than saw, his stillness.

"Why would you think that I want that, anyway?" he finally asked.

She shrugged. She didn't know what he wanted. Well, no, she did believe he wanted her, but she just

knew he wouldn't if he knew the whole truth.

"I don't want the girl next door," he said, his voice just a tad more adamant than it needed to be. "I want

you. And I want to show up at this party with you on my arm."

She smiled, although she was sure the gesture was rather lame.

"Besides," he added, "I've already met your brothers. I have the scars to prove it. Now it's your turn to

meet my family."

"Well, your grandfather can't be any more scary than that."

"See."

Chapter 17.

Elizabeth seriously started to doubt her prediction as soon as they pulled up to the party. The inn where the party was being held was beautiful. An old Victorian with a huge veranda, nestled on the edge of a lake. It was truly gorgeous, and the kind of place that she had not stepped foot into for two hundred years. Her time with the pack had been spent at much less reputable establishments. And even during her time away from them, she hadn't gone to such cla.s.sy places.

Now she wondered if she'd avoided them because she didn't know how to handle herself any longer. But she didn't reveal her fears, at least not when Jensen came around to her side of the truck and helped her down.

"Nice, isn't it?" he said as he followed her stare.

She nodded. "It's beautiful."

They started up the flagstone path to the veranda, and with each step she felt like weights were tied to her new high heels.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, even as she found it hard to pull in a breath. She didn't know how to handle this. This wasn't where she fit in any longer. She wanted to, but she could tell this was going to be a disaster.

Jensen held the door open for her; warmth and the smells of wonderfully prepared food, along with the sound of voices and laughter, bombarded her.

She stopped, feeling like she was so close to her old life. So close, yet so far, and so painfully inept. She stood there, unable to make her feet move.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

She didn't respond immediately-it was as if too many memories she thought long dead were barraging her just as the sounds and smells had.

"Elizabeth?"

She blinked at him, seeing his green eyes first, then the worry there. She tried to focus on him, knowing her behavior was more than a little strange.

"I-umm-it's-"

"Jensen!" A voice beside them caused both of them to look in that direction. A woman in her fifties with short, bright red hair and gla.s.ses several shades darker beamed at him.

"Molly," Jensen greeted the older woman, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "You look lovely."

"As do you," the woman said, hugging Jensen with a fondness evident in their brief embrace. "I'm so glad you came. And," she turned her eyes to Elizabeth, "I'm so glad you brought a date."

The older woman extended her hand.

"I'm Molly George, Jensen's receptionist. And," she lowered her voice, "his grandfather's before him.

But don't tell anyone. It will give away my age."

Elizabeth accepted her extended hand, just as a tall man, slightly balding with a very warm smile, appeared beside Molly. "I think the fact that this is your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary hints at your age, darling." Molly elbowed the man, then smiled. "I could have gotten married at twelve, thank you very much." "True," the man agreed. "Jensen. I'm so glad you made it." "Wouldn't have missed it," Jensen said. "Herb, this is Elizabeth."

Jensen watched as Elizabeth smiled warmly at the Georges. She congratulated them on their anniversary and thanked them for the invitation via him.

Within seconds, her nervousness disappeared. Molly and Herb were absolutely charmed.

He gazed at her, studying her genuinely sweet smile and her elegance and her warmth, and he certainly understood why his friends were reacting the way they were. He was charmed by her, too. Besotted, really.

When Molly and Herb left to greet other guests, Jensen caught her hand, pulling her closer.

"I thought you were nervous," he said.

"I was," she admitted. "Then I remembered how much I love parties."

He smiled at that. And as he moved around the room, he realized he'd discovered another facet to

Elizabeth, yet another one he wouldn't have guessed. She was a natural-born hostess. She could charm

even the most antisocial person within a matter of seconds. But as he stood back and watched her chat with the stodgy old Bob Turner, he couldn't blame any person in the room for being drawn to her. She had a vivaciousness, a verve that couldn't be ignored.

Hadn't he seen all of that simply by looking into her eyes from across a dark, crowded bar.

"So, Molly says you actually brought a date to this s.h.i.+ndig."

Jensen turned to see his grandfather clad in his seersucker suit that he only dragged out for ritzy events.

"Yes. I did actually bring a date."

"Where is she?"

Jensen gestured toward where Elizabeth stood. "Right there."

Granddad's eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. "Holy smokes."

Jensen laughed. "Yeah. I have to admit I've had that same reaction several times since meeting her."

"Well, let's go rescue her from Bob. That old codger has got to be boring her to tears."

They walked up to Elizabeth, then waited for Bob, who rarely strung more than four words together, to