The BBW and the Beast: A Shifter Retelling of Beauty and the Beast (A BBW Shifter Fairy Tale Retelling Book 1) by Sylvia Frost Page A

you doing?” Bel said through her laughter.
    He stroked her hair and kicked in the door to his house with a bang. On the other side were Rex and Luther. Luther was midway through a pull-up using the doorframe; he dropped to the floor, landing in a predatory crouch.
    Rex was on his cellphone, speaking with some New York investing firm, more than likely, and gave only the fringe of a smile and a knowing nod.
    Bel waved at them all tentatively, but Samson wasn’t going to give her time to say hello. She wasn’t there for them. She was his now.
    Forever.

Cinder’s Wolf
    C ynthia was no private detective , but as an aspiring fashion designer, she knew her shoes, and a half mile down the trail back to camp, she spotted a pair of tracks that were definitely from Bel’s discount-store sneakers. Unfortunately, the footprints had wandered right off the path.
    Following them instead of going to get help from a more experienced counselor had been almost as stupid as expecting her father to remember her birthday. On the bright side, at least the sun hadn’t gone down completely. Although the light hadn’t stopped her from accidentally stepping in every puddle known to man.
    Her flip-flops squelched as she landed in the latest one. A few rhinestones were left on the thongs of her shoes, but the rest sparkled behind her in a trail like the Upper East Side version of Hansel and Gretel.
    “Ugh!” Cynthia kicked the air, trying to get the slime out from between her toes, and sent her blue flip-flop flying through the forest end over end in the process.
    It went almost fifteen yards. Impressive. Even more impressive, it didn’t snag on any of the low-hanging leafy branches. Most impressive of all was where it landed. In a man’s hand. He plucked it from midair as easily as if time had stopped before leaning back on a nearby oak.
    “Nice kick,” he drawled in an accent that was all old-money prep school. He was so not from Michigan.
    Cynthia’s eyes widened. “Nice catch.”
    He gave her a too-charming grin. “Thank you.”
    The first thing that struck her about him was his clothes.
    Any self-respecting aspiring fashion designer would recognize the sharp silhouette of a deep blue Zachary Prell sports jacket or the gleam of bespoke cobbled oxfords. His silk navy tie had to have been custom made to match the coat. That alone was enough to grab her interest.
    Then there was the matter of his face. While his clean-shaven jaw should’ve looked non-threatening, it was male-model square, and his cheekbones were high and sharp enough to cut glass. Only his hair was slightly messy. Its sandy locks rebelled against his attempt to slick it back. The hair was the thing that gave him away as just another grade-A douchebag.
    But damn it if she didn’t want to run her fingers through it.
    Cynthia frowned and crossed her arms.
    The man pushed off the tree and began to stroll toward her, sizing up her as he went. “So what are you doing in the woods?”
    Cynthia refrained from rolling her eyes at his obvious interest. She pointed at her T-shirt.
    “Camp Kick-A-Canoe?” he read, staring openly at her chest while not going completely slack-jawed. It was a feat most guys rarely managed.
    “Camp Ki-Ka-Noo.” Her hand traced over the each syllable like the bouncy ball on a musical sing-along. “I’m a counselor.”
    “Lost your campers?” He stopped about a foot away from her. It was still too close.
    “Campers left yesterday. Now I’ve just lost my friend. Brown hair, glasses—seen her?” Cynthia gestured to the forest around her vaguely, as if she and Bel were playing a game of hide-and-seek and she was just asking for a friendly tip.
    “Can’t say I have. Although I do wonder why you went on a search and rescue mission in these?” He raised an eyebrow and held up her shoe, glancing dolefully at the one remaining rhinestone that glinted in the dying light.
    “I’m not the one going on a hike in a sport coat that hasn’t even