Did she seriously just tip me?

The balls on this woman were huge. He couldn’t believe they didn’t drag on the ground they were so massive.

Yet, as frustrating as JF found her attitude, he couldn’t help a grudging admiration. Stacey acted like a princess, and the role suited her.

Despite the fact she’d recently shifted and gone after a shooter, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a salon. Her rich red hair tumbled down over her bared shoulders. Her creamy skin required no artifice to showcase her beauty. The dress she wore accentuated her feminine attributes.

Good enough to eat.

But totally off-limits.

JF didn’t get involved with shifters. Ever. Nor did he cater to them. Ordering him around as if she had a right.

It occurred to him he should ignore her command and leave her shit in the car. He wasn’t some lackey she commanded at will, and yet…much as it pained him, her expectation of gallantry tugged at something in him, tugged at the old JF who used to not think twice about opening a door for a woman or carrying boxes because they were heavy. One betrayal by the fairer sex and he now couldn’t be bothered to even try.

Perhaps it was time he started again. Found those old manners his mother had instilled in him.

He peeked into the trunk, saw the two large suitcases and the one much smaller one.

“Would you hurry up already, sweetcheeks? We have a flight to make.”

Maybe he’d start being a gentleman, with everyone but her. Princess needed a lesson in how to treat people.

JF boarded the plane and sat down, noting Stacey coming out of the washroom at the back, her natural features enhanced by the addition of some lip-gloss and mascara.

She smiled at him, a brilliant beaming grin of satisfaction. He couldn’t wait to smother it.

“Was that so hard to do, sweetcheeks?”

“Not at all. Why, one would say I barely exerted myself.”

“Did you close the baggage compartment?”

“You mean the one I never opened?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Stacey frowned and peeked out the door. “The trunk is still open on my car. Do you mean to say you didn’t bring the bags?”

“Bring them yourself if you’re that keen on having clothes. Given I wasn’t warned about this trip, and didn’t pack a thing for myself, I’d say that would make us even.”

“Would it help if I said I picked up some things for you? After all, if you’re going to play the part of my brother, we should at least look like we’re related.”

“Brother?” The thoughts she invoked were much too carnal for someone that might be related to her. Then again, given her attitude, and her very nature, it shouldn’t take long to destroy any urges he felt toward her.

“Yes, brother. I couldn’t very well make you my boyfriend. I am, after all, going there as bait for the guy who’s been kidnapping women.”

“What are you talking about? Explain yourself, woman.”

“I can’t explain right now because apparently I have to move my own luggage because someone’s mother didn’t love him enough to teach him proper manners.”

The rebuke stung, mostly because his mother had taught him better than this. But surely even his mother would understand why he acted this way after what had happened to him.

Sitting down, he refused to feel guilt. He heard a few thumps as the baggage was stowed. Another thump as the car trunk was closed.

He didn’t stir at all until he heard the rev of several engines and the smash of a chain-link fence getting torn down. A most distinctive sound, as was the screech of tires.

What the fuck? Had that gunman returned? As he went to look out the door, Stacey came flying in, shoving him out of her way. “We need to go,” she announced.

As JF stared out the door, several cars screamed to a halt alongside her convertible.

Whatever happened next he missed because she pulled on the portal and slammed it shut.

“That’s not going to do us much good. The pilot’s not here yet,” he remarked. The cockpit sat empty, the lights on the dash illuminated, the engines humming softly.

“The pilot is on board, sweetcheeks.”

He couldn’t help but utter a horrified, “No,” as she plopped herself in the pilot’s chair. She began to toggle things, and the engines’ quiet purring turned to a rumble as the plane lurched forward.

“You don’t seriously expect me to believe you can drive this thing.”

“The correct term is pilot. And you can believe it or not, up to you. I, though, plan to get us out of here.”

There was still time for him to jump out while the plane picked up speed. He crouched down for a peek out the window in time to see the red sports car ignite.

“I think they just torched your ride.”

“Those jerks! The dealership I borrowed it from is going to be pissed.”

“Can you really fly this thing?” JF pushed into the cockpit, the tight space not meant for his bulk. Sitting in the front meant being close to the maniac woman intent on running over the men standing in the middle of the runway.

Men with guns aimed right at them.

“They’re going to shoot.”

“Possibly.”

“What do you mean possibly?”

“I don’t think they will. Haven’t you ever played chicken before? Or the game where you wait to see who is going to blink first? Rest assured, sweetcheeks, it is not going to be me.” She aimed the plane right at those men.

She was wrong. They didn’t blink.

The muzzles of their weapons flashed as they fired, and yet, while the bullets impacted the windshield, it didn’t crack.

“Gotta love quality pride construction,” Stacey crowed.

At the moment, JF loved it very much, too, since it meant he didn’t hear any hissing that would have indicated a breach.

Since their initial plan failed, the men aimed lower.

“Ooh, those jerks. They’re shooting at the wheels.” She tugged on the controls, and the plane lurched to the side then veered back, still picking up speed.

The men on the tarmac moved out of the way rather than try and stop it with their bodies. JF craned to see them running back to the pile of cars. One of the vehicles began to chase them down the runway.

“They’re going to cut you off,” he declared.

“No, they’re not,” she replied with a fierce smile. “Hold on tight.”

Hold on to what? He’d already left his sanity behind, apparently.

His body flattened into his seat as the plane pulled, the front part of it leaving the ground. He swallowed hard, especially as a car at the top of the runway executed a sharp turn and aimed at them.

It began barreling at the airplane. Too late to do any damage. The little aircraft kept pulling into the air, the ascent sharp. The plane left the ground with enough altitude that they skimmed over the car.

But that wasn’t why he white-knuckled the seat.

Stacey noticed and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I hate flying,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“That makes no sense. Whampyrs have wings. Your kind can fly.”

“Different thing. When I’m in my whampyr shape, I’m flying, me and only me, not trusting some lunatic cat driving some oversized coffin with wings and propellers.”

“Pussy.”

“I am not a pussy.”

“So you won’t freak out if I do this?” By this she meant take her hands off the controls.

The plane didn’t suddenly go into a sharp dive, but he still yelled, “Drive the fucking plane, woman!”

“Calm down, sweetcheeks. This baby isn’t going to crash.” His shoulders dropped a little in relief at her confident tone. “Unless they hit something vital with their bullets.”

The tension came back with friends. “You are not funny.”

“Depends on who you ask. My biatches think I’m awesome. My enemies on the other hand…they know I mean business.”

Looking at her profile, the snub nose, the fine features, the sweet lilt of her lips, he couldn’t help but scoff. “Exactly how many enemies can you really have?”

“Too many to count. I am the scourge of the rodent population. The elegant death to those who might harm the pride. A soul crusher to those that would adore me and yet not meet my high standards.”

“And what are your standards?” He blamed the tension still riding him for asking. He had no interest. Who cared about this woman and what she liked in a man?

I sure as hell don’t. Yet, for some reason, he listened intently to her reply.

“I like a well-groomed man, suit and tie especially. Business oriented, the white collar, pencil-pushing kind. I am partial to smooth fingers.” She purred the words. “I want a gentleman, the kind who knows how to treat a lady in and out of the bedroom.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Only because you’re obviously not the type of man I’m looking for.”

“Good, because you’re not my type either.” Barked out at her mostly because, and surely this was wrong, he felt offended. Offended at her rejection? It was only rejection if he gave a fuck, which he didn’t. Not one bit.

“What kind of woman do you like?” she asked.

“The kind that doesn’t talk.”

“A guy into necrophilia. I guess with your boss being a necromancer that’s not too much of a stretch.”

“I don’t fuck the dead.”

“The mute?”

“No. I meant I don’t like women who yap all the time and waste the air around them.”

“So, in other words, just another guy who gets in and out as quick as he can, with no finesse.”

“I have plenty of finesse.” Again, why did he feel a need to reply?

“Says you, sweetcheeks. I’m going to need proof of that.”

Show her. Drag her out of that seat and shut her up.

No.

And not just because she was driving the plane. No getting involved with shifters. Especially not this one.

The very fact that she drew him was a warning sign to stay away.

The plane leveled off, and she clapped her hands. “Next stop, Caribbean destination. You may unbuckle and move around the cabin if you like.”

He did like. The interior of the cockpit was too small to avoid her. Her scent. Her smile. The fact that he knew under that dress she didn’t wear a single extra stitch. How easy it would be to slide his hand under the skirt of her dress and touch the pink folds she’d so brazenly displayed to him before.

I wouldn’t mind a lick…

He bolted from the front into the more comfortable passenger section with its leather couch and captain-style seats. JF sat down, closed his eyes, and sighed.

“Homesick already?” she asked, following him.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get back in there and drive the plane.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the cockpit.

“Relax, sweetcheeks. I’ve got it on autopilot. We’re fine. If anything weird crops up, something will beep. Usually.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“There’s a parachute around here somewhere, I’m sure.”

“The right answer is nothing is going to happen.”

“Then where would the fun be? Lighten up.”

“I’ll lighten up when people aren’t trying to make me into bloody Swiss cheese. Who was that shooting at you back at the airstrip?” Because when he’d told Gaston about it, Gaston had sounded surprised at the attack.

“Good question.” She shrugged. “Could be any number of people, but it’s most likely my ex-boyfriend. He’s got a bit of a temper.”

“Nice taste in guys. What happened to dating pencil-pushing pansies?”

“A mistake, I’ll admit. Michael wasn’t who he said he was. He told me he was into imports and exports. Except what he forgot to say was those involved drugs. I don’t approve of drugs, and I hate liars. So I had him arrested and put in jail.”

“You put a drug dealer you were dating in jail?” He gaped at her.

“Him and a good chunk of his crew. I hear a judge let him out early for good behavior.”

“And now he’s trying to kill you.”

“Can you blame him? Because he chose a life of crime, he lost out on this.” She referred to her curves.

Don’t look.

He couldn’t help himself. She was like some evil idol carved to perfection, made to force a man to lust after something he didn’t want.

Lie. I want her. Want to grab her by the hair, bend her over, and do things to her that would feel so fucking good. But he wouldn’t. Because bestiality was against the law.

“I need a drink,” she stated. “I don’t suppose you’d fetch me one.”

“Not a chance, princess.”

“Figures,” she muttered as she headed to the back, only she didn’t make it far.

Did she intentionally trip on his lap? What happened to felines having exceptional balance and grace?

Whatever the case, she fell, right on top of him.

JF caught her but not before her bottom squished onto his lap.

“Oops. How clumsy of me. I hope I didn’t hurt you.” She smiled at him coyly.

He recognized the game. “You can stop trying.”

“Trying what?” She batted her lashes.

“To goad me. To flirt. I’ve been assigned to you as a guard. No more. I’m not your toy, nor am I at all interested in your charms.”

“Not even a little?” She squirmed on his lap, and he quickly set her away from him.

“Behave yourself, woman.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because ladies don’t throw themselves at virtual strangers.”

“Lighten up, sweetcheeks.”

“No. We should be discussing those men who were shooting at you and what to do in case they try again.” Not thinking of how easily he could pull her close and nuzzle her mound.

“What makes you think they were shooting at me?”

“You just told me it was your ex-convict ex-boyfriend.”

“No, I said it was a possibility. But that doesn’t mean it was him. After all, Michael really did enjoy himself with me. Why would he kill me when he could kidnap me and make me his sex slave?”

“You’d seriously go back to a drug dealer?”

“Of course not, but it would be romantic if he tried. As to shooting, who’s to say those guys weren’t after you? You are, after all, working for a necromancer. Which is seriously cool. Do you have an idea how many jealous biatches there are in the pride? Reba scored huge when she snared Gaston. Who doesn’t want a boyfriend who could raise the undead?”

“They weren’t shooting at me,” he growled. Surely not jealous that Stacey showed such admiration for Gaston. She’d obviously never seen the man’s taste in music.

“How can you be sure?” she asked.

“For one thing, no one knew I would be at the airstrip.”

“And what makes you think anyone knew I was? We lions are stealthy creatures.”

“You are not stealthy. People for miles around probably see you coming in that little red sports car.”

“You have a point. The attention that baby draws is totally worth the chunk off my paycheck.”

“It blew up.”

“No, it sacrificed itself that I might get a newer model courtesy of my insurance company. She smiled quite happily.

“Perhaps the shooters are related to whatever business you’ve got planned in the Caribbean.”

“That would be exciting if they were related.”

Much as he wanted to show disinterest, even JF knew when he was taking stubbornness too far. “What exactly are you going to this island for?”

“Ever watch The X-Files?”

“Isn’t that a fictional show with aliens?”

“Yes. About a duo of investigators, Mulder and Scully, hunting for clues to solve supernatural mysteries.”

“Did this Mulder solve crimes with the help of his cat?”

She gaped. “I thought you saw this show.”

“No.”

“There is no cat. I’m Scully in this scenario, the brains of the operation, and you’re Mulder, off doing his own thing. In this case, just stay out of my way so you don’t cramp my style.”

“Because God forbid anyone introduce rationality and a cautious approach to a situation.”

“See, already you’re trying to bring a level of boring to this. You’re just along for the ride because Arik said I couldn’t go alone. Some sort of concern I’d disappear like the other broads did.”

“What other broads?”

“I don’t know about all of them. But Shania was apparently kidnapped by a lion-headed man.”

He blinked at her. “Did you drug me?” Because surely he’d misunderstood.

“Why would you think I drugged you? Unless”—her expression brightened—“my very attractive pheromones are affecting you.”

“They’re not. But something must be in the air making me hear things because I could have sworn you said a woman was kidnapped by a lion-headed man.” Which made no sense.

“You heard me right. I’m supposed to find out what the deal is with the liotaur. Which is kind of like a minotaur but with a lion’s head.”

JF pressed his lips together rather than say anything about the made-up name. What the fuck had Gaston sent him into?

And why did a part of him look forward to the adventure—with her?