The schedule said I had a charity luncheon to attend with Jack at one. Apparently, Genève had slipped it under my door while I slept. I had yet to meet Genève, and I was beginning to suspect that she was really Jack’s alter ego. His way of indulging his compulsive need to control everything.

Or maybe I was just a late sleeper. Either way.

Alan, Jack’s driver, stopped the car on Fifth Avenue at the entrance to the Central Park Zoo. The park was closed, though a long stream of limos, Mercedes, Rolls-Royces and town cars stopped and started out front letting off wealthy passengers.

My stomach shrank, nerves drying my mouth. This so wasn’t my scene. Jack was supposed to meet me, but peering through the tinted window he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Alan opened my door and I stepped out, scanning the crowd filing into the zoo. I smoothed my new dress, designed by Valentino. The heavy pink organza and floral lace felt good hugging around me despite the warm summer day. I’d had to endure a fitting for the first time in my life, but the result was a sculpted dress that flattered my curves and made me feel like a lady in soft pink.

I slipped into line, eyeing the staff on the other side of the arched entrance. In their white tux jackets, black slacks and white gloves they checked each invitation. I didn’t have one. Crap. I glanced back to the curb, but Alan had already pulled away. Nowhere to escape.

The line shambled forward pushing me along like some horrific conveyer belt on an automated assembly line, where any minute a giant stamp would slam down cookie-cutting me into a mold I couldn’t possibly fit.

Too soon the people in front of me offered their fancy invitation, the couple behind me crowding forward. And then it was my turn.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Welcome to the friends of the Central Park Zoo charity luncheon. May I see your invitation?” The attractive man asked, smile firmly fixed on his face.

“I—”

“We’re together,” Jack said appearing beside me like a gleaming knight to save the day. He offered the invitation to the man, holding a tall glass of champagne in his other hand.

“Jack . . .” I said on an exhale. He looked amazing in his light gray suit with a seafoam green tie and matching pocket square. His white shirt molded against the broad plains of his chest, the buttons of his jacket undone—his only nod to the slightly more casual affair.

He gifted me with a smile, instantly setting my nerves at ease. “You’re late,” he said.

A flutter tickled through my belly. Despite my better judgment, I was happy to see him. “Late is a relative term in my world.”

He slipped his hand to the small of my back. The soft pressure, warm and comforting, sent a throb of heat straight to my core. I resisted the urge to lean into him while his strong arm sheltered around me. He bent down and pressed a kiss to my temple, and for just a half second, I forgot we were constantly being watched.

My breath caught as a thousand photo clicks snapped in secession to our left.

“Ready,” Jack whispered in my ear. Before I could answer he pivoted us in the direction of the jumble of photographers corralled behind a velvet-roped area, confined like every other wild animal in the park.

Show time. I snaked my arm around Jack’s waist, my other hand resting on his chest. We smiled, hugging close, holding the pose for nearly two solid minutes.

The photographers shouted questions. “Is she the one, Jack?”

“Is that an engagement ring?”

“What’s her name?”

“Is she pregnant?”

“Will it be a shotgun wedding?”

Jack didn’t answer. He held his smile—the expression cold, unemotional. It was so different and stiff compared to his real smile, the smile he’d given me the other night in his family room. I wondered how no one seemed to notice.

After several seconds of the constant shutter snaps Jack waved. “Okay, guys. That’s enough. Thanks.”

The gaggle of photographers called to Jack, but he turned us toward the party without looking back.

Visitors to the zoo were immediately met by a large sea lion enclosure at the center of an open plaza edged by tall brick and wood arbors. The dark pool seemed to help cool the summer air. The sea lions lounged on their rock island at the center, unimpressed by the fancy people strolling by in the latest Fendi, Dior or Prada.

The charity had set up big tents around the pool, filling them with soft lights as the day grew long. Hundreds of tables covered in white cloths crowded each tent, flowering centerpieces adding an elegant splash of color.

Jack ushered me from one conversation to another, introducing me to politicians, A-list actors, and business tycoons. Their names and faces became a blur in my brain. I’d never remember them all. But then when this was over, I wouldn’t have to.

More than an hour later, I was sure we’d met everyone and we finally had a moment alone to breathe.

“We don’t have to stay,” Jack said, his hand still resting low on my back.

“I don’t mind.” I looked up at him. “I mean, if you don’t. I love zoos.”

“I could give you a private tour,” he said.

“You?” I knew I looked doubtful.

“Yes, me,” he said, teasingly offended. “I happen to know a lot about different animals. I bet I could tell you things even the employees don’t know. Things only the animals themselves know.”

“You have the inside scoop on all the zoo animal gossip or something?” I asked.

His smile hitched higher. “In a way.”

“Okay, then yeah. Lead the way. Unless . . .” I looked around to see if anyone was guarding the paths to the rest of the zoo. “Are we allowed?”

He shrugged. “Paid five hundred a plate to come to this thing. Should buy us a private viewing at the very least. Follow me,” Jack said, slyly peering around, snagging my hand and heading us toward the farthest tent.

We cut through, zigzagging around tables, only stopping long enough at a tray of champagne flutes to replace our empties. He clasped my hand again, pulling me through the greenery behind the tent—finding the brick path that led deeper into the zoo.

We looked behind us, making sure no one would flag us down, warn us not to leave the front plaza. When it was clear no one would try to herd us back to the party, Jack let my hand slip from his.

No big deal. Besides, I had plenty of champagne to swallow any disappointment. The sweet bubbles tickled down my throat and I licked my lips. “So you really know about all these animals?”

Jack slipped his hand into the front pocket of his slacks, taking a quick sip from his glass. He shrugged. “It’s not that hard. They only have about twenty different kinds of animals and reptiles in the whole park.”

A clamor of squeaks and squeals echoed off trees just as we passed the snow monkey exhibit. Jack’s attention snapped across the moat to the furry animals swinging and jumping around their enclosure in a panic.

“Must be close to feeding time,” I said.

“Right.” Jack nodded, though the frown pressing a little dent between his brows deepened.

“What’s your favorite?” I asked.

“Hm?” Jack dragged his attention to me as we turned away from the frantic monkeys toward the polar bears. “Oh, um, the snow leopards, I guess. Beautiful animals. Amazing predators.”

“Where—” A chest-quaking roar interrupted my question and I turned, staring at the pair of polar bears pacing back and forth, agitated. “Wow, these animals don’t seem to like you all that much. That’s so weird.”

Jack took my elbow. “Let’s keep moving.”

He ushered me down the path toward the snow leopard enclosure, both of us glancing back at the polar bears watching us.

“Jack?”

“We need to talk,” he said.

The path curved around to the right putting the bears out of sight. The snow leopards were further down the path but already we could hear their loud hissing and growls.

“Oh my God, what’s with all of them?”

“Damn it. I guess this was inevitable. Now is as good a time as any.” Jack sighed then gulped the rest of his champagne, shoving the empty glass into a nearby garbage can.

He let go of my elbow and walked ahead. I followed him to the snow leopards, the big cats growing even more agitated once Jack neared the observation wall of their habitat.

“What are you going to do? Do you know what’s wrong with them?”

“Yes.” He glanced my way, studied me as if weighing some decision. Then he turned back to the leopards. “They sense a more dominant predator.”

“Where? Who?” I asked.

“Me.” Two seconds after he said it a low rumbling noise rolled between us, growing louder, radiating out.

I looked up as Jack’s hands braced on the thick metal railing, his eyes bright almost glowing. Was he . . . was he growling? Weird. But not judging.

The sound wasn’t human. I mean, it didn’t sound like something that could come from a human voice box. If I closed my eyes, I’d swear it was some sort of huge animal standing beside me. I could almost feel the rumbling growl inside my body, vibrating through me—triggering instincts that made me want to shrink away in submission.

The sound seemed to have a similar effect on the leopards, telling them to be still, be quiet until the danger had passed. The two cats hissed at Jack, but backed away, snarling a few times before finding a dark hiding spot under a cleverly stacked pile of boulders and a hollowed half tree-trunk.

The cats were quiet, and slowly the screeches and roars in the rest of the zoo subsided.

Hairs on the back of my neck bristled. “Jack? What was that?”

He didn’t answer at first, his concentration was elsewhere. Finally, he exhaled, dropped his head. “There’s something I have to tell you. Something I should’ve told you before you agreed to be my wife.”

“You’re Doctor Doolittle? You can talk to animals?” I guessed.

“I’m a werewolf.” He looked at me and he wasn’t smiling.

“Right. That was my next guess.” I chuckled but something about the way he stared at me—the heat in his eyes, the leashed power stiffening his shoulders—made my stomach twist. “There’s no such thing.”

He glanced at the leopards still cowering in their shelters then back to me. “They don’t seem to agree.”

I followed his gaze to the big cats then looked to him. “Seriously? A werewolf. Like in the movies and storybooks? Hairy bodies, howling at the moon . . . Grandma, what big ears and teeth you have?”

“No,” he said, then shrugged. “And . . . yes. Hollywood has sensationalized our species some, but—”

“Species? You’re not really a different species, right? I mean, you’re still human. You were just bitten or found some freaky moon rock . . .” Was I seriously asking? It was crazy. But I was trying to make sense of what he was telling me.

Finally, a smile broke his stern expression. “No. No freaky moon rocks. I was born a werewolf, as were my parents and their parents and . . . most of my extended family.”

“You mean your pack,” I said, testing my knowledge. Not that I’d bought into the idea at all. I mean, werewolves? Really? How did someone as smart and successful as Jack Pensione function under such a bizarre delusion? He has to be messing with me.

“Yes. We use the term.” He leaned his backside against the railing, slipping his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “Despite our best efforts to go undiscovered by humans, a great many secrets about us have been speculated and dramatized in books and movies.”

“So Hollywood got it right?” Hollywood never gets it right.

“Some of it. Yes,” he said.

“Like what?” I asked, going along with this crazy story. Maybe he was into role-playing. Who was I to judge? “Do you have alphas? Do you mate for life? Can you really shift forms?”

“Yes,” he said. I raised my brows, wanting more and Jack thankfully decided to elaborate. “Yes, we have a hierarchy—alpha, beta, omega. And as I told you, my family doesn’t believe in divorce. Once married—mated—it’s for life regardless of what the human courts rule.”

“And you can really turn yourself into a wolf,” I said, keeping a straight face. “Or is it more of a wolf-man kind of . . . creature?”

“Both,” he said. “Depending on the circumstances. Normally, however, we prefer a full shift to wolf-form. Retaining human aspects is difficult and . . . painful.”

I stared at him a half-minute then snorted. “Are you messin’ with me?”

He looked away with a loud exhale then turned back. “I need you to wrap your brain around this, Kate. I need you to accept it. You’re meeting my family this weekend and things could get . . . awkward if you’re still in denial about our existence.”

I blinked at him. I’d gotten the week’s schedule, so I knew about this weekend. “You’re serious. You really believe you’re a werewolf?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes widening with emphasis.

“But . . . it’s not possible,” I said. “There’s no proof, no science, no remains of a half-human, half-wolf species. Something like that would’ve made the news.”

“The only proof is in our blood,” Jack said. “When we pass, we appear as human as you. We have our own doctors and plenty of our kind hold positions in different fields that make keeping our privacy possible.”

“Isn’t there some rule or something that you’re not allowed to tell humans about your existence?” I asked, hoping his delusion didn’t include some—I’ve told you, now I’ve got to kill you-clause.

“Yes. But we make exceptions for trusted humans and those who we’re taking as mates,” he said. “I’m trusting that when this is all over you’ll keep what you’ve learned to yourself.”

“You bet. Sanitarium green isn’t really my color,” I said. “So, how long . . . I mean . . . Where did you come from?”

“We have our creation myths, just like humans,” he said. “But as near as any of us can tell, we evolved right alongside humans. I can’t say with absolute certainty when the first of us came into being, but there are stories and anecdotal evidence about our origins that stretch back as far 750 BC. We’re a very tight-knit people, normally only socializing, dating, and marrying among our own kind. Occasionally, though, an outsider is bitten, either by accident or for love.”

“So, a bite can turn a human into a werewolf? That part’s true, too?” I asked as though any of this was real.

“Yes. But it’s rare,” he said.

“Why? Because it’s dangerous? The human doesn’t always survive? And because people running around barking, growling and biting other people is, I dunno, weird?”

“Kate, Listen to me. This is real. The truth is most of us just aren’t attracted to humans in that way,” he said totally oblivious to how I might take offense to that.

Not that I had a reason to be offended. I knew our coming marriage had nothing to do with attraction . . . and there was no such thing as werewolves. This had to be a test. I could play along if that’s what it took.

I casually sipped my champagne and then asked in a totally nonchalant, indifferent way, “So, um . . . What’s so special about werewolf women?”

He rolled a shoulder. “I don’t know exactly. They’re just . . . different. More aware, sensitive to their surroundings, stronger, more amorous . . . It’s just easier to relate to someone who shares your physical and cultural traits, I guess.”

“More amorous?” Yeah, I’d caught that one.

“Yes.” A smile pulled up one corner of his mouth and his cheeks flushed. He looked away. Adorable.

“In what way . . . exactly?” I asked.

He laughed under his breath, still not looking at me. “C’mon, I’m sure you’ve heard stories about the passion of werewolves. And how we possess supernatural mojo or something like that.”

“Yeah.”

His gaze shifted to mine, his expression frozen, reading me. Then his smile flashed wide. “It’s all true. We’re unbelievable lovers. Just crazy beasts in the sack. Insatiable some might say,” he said, and I started to think he might be exaggerating a bit.

“Oh, really? You know, I’ve been told I’m kind of a hellcat myself.” Totally not true. I’d had two lovers in my life. One never mentioned anything about our lovemaking and the other was way more interested in his performance critique than mine. “You almost sound like a challenge.”

“No!” He snapped straight, every muscle in his body going tight and stiff.

“Whoa. Relax, stud. It’s not like I was planning to jump your bones right here.” My tone was sarcastic but inside a dagger pierced my chest. God, was the idea of sex with me really that appalling?

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” he sighed and leaned back against the railing again. “It’s just that I wasn’t exaggerating about our strength. Humans are fragile. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

Too late. “Whatever,” I said. “So, all those women in the tabloids with you. They’re all werewolves too?”

“No. I don’t date werewolves,” he said. “Mostly because werewolf women don’t really date. Not the way human women do. They’re more . . . selective. They’re not interested in casual relationships—they’re interested in finding a mate. And because of our culture of hierarchy, their criteria for a good mate has little to do with compatibility and everything to do with pack rank. As the son of the current alpha, the odds are good that I will rise to take my father’s position.”

“You’re going to be the next alpha?”

“If I present the pack with an acceptable mate,” he said.

That’s what this was about. Not CEO of his family’s company, but alpha of his pack. Although, I still wasn’t buying that any of this was real. “So you’re like raw meat on a stick to werewolf women,” I said.

“Something like that.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And since I have no interest in being stuck in a marriage to someone who’s only interested in pack rank, it’s just easier to avoid it all together.”

“And instead you date only beautiful, willowy, model-type human women,” I said.

He rolled a shoulder. “My family’s money and power provide me a similar kind of allure to human women. Models, socialites, and starlets are attracted to those criteria. Plus they tend to socialize in similar circles.”

“The fact that they’re thin and beautiful doesn’t hurt either.” I smiled, but I wasn’t feeling it.

“No. It doesn’t hurt.” His smile warmed. “Although they tend to be even more delicate than most humans.”

“Then how do you manage, y’know, sex?”

“I don’t,” he said. “I mean, there have been one or two that I’ve . . . but I can’t really . . . enjoy myself.”

“Maybe you should start dating outside your social circles and find human women with a little more muscle and meat on their bones,” I said, taking another long swig of champagne. “We’re not all made of glass.”

His eyes met mine. “Maybe I should.”