Page 5 of Mismatched Mates (Special Bear Protectors)

GRANT

T he evening just got interesting.

The air between us crackled with an energy I couldn't quite name. Rivalry? Intrigue? The age-old tension between our kinds hung heavy, an invisible barrier neither of us seemed willing to breach first.

"Shall we?" I gestured towards table. “Might as well eat now that you’re here, love.”

She stayed standing, arms crossing. “I’m not your love.”

Combative. The challenge curled deliciously around me. This was no docile bear, ready to roll over at the first sign of wolfish charm. No, Jane was all spit and vinegar, wrapped in a package that was becoming more intriguing by the second.

“Dinner’s paid for,” I said, taking my seat again. “And I figure if you came all this way, you don’t have anything better to do.” I glanced at her through my lashes. “Unless you were planning on hand-folding party napkins.”

A flush spread down her neck, but after glancing towards the exit, she sat opposite me and picked up the menu.

“My best friend helped me with my application. She decided it was a ‘fun fact’ about me.”

“What are friends for if not to embarrass us?”

She sent me a short, frank look. “I’m not embarrassed. It’s relaxing. Like origami, but useful.”

I spread my hands. “Consider me educated. Do you do it often?”

“Not usually.” This time, she glanced away. “Mostly for family events.”

Well that was a hobby not many people could boast. But it was oddly endearing.

She set down her water glass harder than necessary, “So, how come you’re using a matchmaking service? Run out of models and debutantes to terrorize? And now ambushing women in the woods is your new strategy? ”

Grant leaned back in his chair, never taking his eyes off me. "Only the interesting ones."

“Interesting? Little ole me? I’m flattered.”

I chuckled, leaning back in my seat. "Don't sell yourself short. It's not every day I meet a woman who can hold her own against three wolves, let alone one who runs her own business while raising twins."

Her eyes widened slightly, and I caught a flicker of something – pride, maybe? – before she schooled her features. "Well, aren't you the thorough one; doing your homework and reading my file before our date.”

"Time spent learning about you is hardly wasted," I countered, enjoying our verbal sparring. It was refreshing, this back-and-forth. Most women I dated were either too intimidated by my family or too eager to please. Jane, though... she was different.

A waiter approached, and we paused to order drinks. As he walked away, I found myself studying Jane more closely. The way she held herself, alert yet relaxed, spoke volumes about her strength. It was... attractive, in a way I hadn't expected.

“Surely you don't lack for admirers…”.

I held up a hand, stopping her before she could get any further. “This isn’t about that.”

“No?”

“I’m not here to hook up. I’m after a different kind of girl.”

"Is that your way of saying I'm not your usual arm candy?"

I laughed. "Definitely not. You're... challenging. In a good way."

She raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Elston. That almost sounded like a compliment."

Actually, it wasn’t far off one. There was a sameness to the kind of plastic beauty I’d been courting for the past few years, and while I wasn’t one to discriminate, there was something fresh about the honesty of her face. The barest of makeup, not trying to hide, letting her features do all the talking.

Deep brown eyes, framed by lashes that didn’t need any cosmetic help. A strong nose and chin, soft lips. But it was more than that. I'd been with countless beautiful women before, but something about Jane was different. It wasn't just her looks—it was the fire in her eyes, the sharp wit in her words, the strength in her presence.

Quietly confident. I liked that—and so did my wolf.

Easy, boy.

“What about you? I can't imagine you have trouble finding dates either?—"

“Let’s just cut to the chase. You’re a wolf,” she continued, gesturing at her chest. “I’m a bear. We both know this isn’t going to work.”

Maybe not as a romantic prospect, although I couldn’t deny the flare of attraction.

I sipped my Jack. “What’s your deal, then, Jane? Why are you still here?” I pressed.

She chewed on her lip, and I glanced down at the movement—the way her teeth pressed into her skin, the flush of blood when she released it. Such a tempting woman stuck in such a tightly controlled package. It wasn’t right.

Cool it. This isn’t what you came here for.

“My ex-husband hates wolves,” she said. “And you’re a wolf.”

“I take it there's a story there?"

"Oh, you know," Jane waved her hand dismissively, but I caught a flash of hurt in her eyes. "The usual. Husband decides the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. Turns out, it was just spray-painted."

I'm sorry," I said softly.

She shrugged, "Don't be. I'm not looking for pity. I'm looking for..." she paused, searching for the right word.

"Revenge?" I supplied.

"Justice," she corrected with a grin. "With a side of making him regret ever letting me go. And I need a date for my brother’s wedding.”

As I watched her, an idea began to form in my mind. "You know," I said slowly, "I might be able to help with that."

Jane tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "Oh? And how's that?"

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Well, as it happens, I could use a bit of help myself. My family's been on my case about settling down, improving my image. And I need a date to our company gala."

“ You … need a date?” she repeated, voice doubtful.

“More specifically, he instructed me to go on this date and make an effort with you so I could have a steady, healthy-looking relationship for the gala.”

“Because of all your affairs,” she concluded, nodding.

“You really shouldn’t be throwing that word around.” I leaned forward, clasping my hands on the white tablecloth. “But yes, because for some reason the Herald has been running stories about my dating habits.”

“Prolific dating habits,” she amended, with another nod.

“Healthy.”

“You’re a serial dater. Admit it.”

“Nothing to deny, Miss Ex Avenger.” A spark of challenge leapt into her eyes. “But fine. I’ve enjoyed my time in the past. None of those women expected me to settle down and none of them wanted to settle down themselves. My father however, has decided that era needs to come to an end, and so now we’re here. Satisfied?”

“But he won’t like the fact I’m a bear, I’m guessing.”

I smiled wider. “Precisely.”

“Ah.”

“Sounds like we both want the same things.”

She brought the wine to her lips and sipped. “Sounds like we do,” she murmured, her voice lowering into an timber entirely too sensual for a public place. But before I could reply in kind, the server returned with our orders. Steak for us both. This wasn’t an only-order-salad-on-a-date kind of woman.

I respected it.

“So,” she said as she cut into her t-bone. “We need rules.”

Of course. She thrived on following strict rules, and despite myself, I found it delicious. “Such as?”

“We need to let people see us together. Before the gala and wedding. When’s your gala, by the way?”

“Two weeks. When’s the wedding?”

“A month.”

A month. I could handle a fake relationship for a month. Especially if there were only a handful of events we needed to be seen at.

“We’ll need to be seen together before the wedding,” she went on, toying with the words as she said them, as though wondering about their necessity. “Not loads, but enough that the relationship feels authentic. My ex still lives in Pine River, and he’ll hear everything that’s going on. If we were to meet him…” She pursed her lips but her eyes brimmed with sudden mischief that made me like her more. “Well, you’d just have to pretend to be madly in love with me.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“He’ll be so mad, this entire farce would be worth it for that alone.”

“Charming. Happy to deliver so much value,” I said.

“Anything you want to put on the contract?”

“Contract?”

“You don’t think I’m going to enter into a fake relationship without a contract, do you?” She snorted like this should’ve been obvious. “We need defined terms and acceptable conduct, an established end date, and we both need to sign it.”

“This sounds like you’ve done this before.”

Rolling those expressive doe-eyes, she took a napkin from the table and dug in her bag for a pen. “Any business woman knows never to commit to something without a contract,” she said, cursing when the napkin—unsurprisingly—proved to be awkward to write on. “Any other necessary sightings on your end?”

“Just one where someone takes a photo of me.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. So long as they sell it and someone prints it.”

“Right. Physical contact?”

“Up to you.”

She chewed the lid of her pen as she thought. “We have to make it believable. A kiss should be adequate to sell the relationship.”

“Works for me,” I agreed, and my wolf hummed with pleasure. Kissing her would not be a problem.

“There,” she said, shoving the napkin toward me. “I’ve signed it.”

I printed and signed my name beside hers. She’d put the end date as the day after the wedding, I presumed. “Done.”