Tiger Magic

“What?” Carly demanded, her voice rising. “I sent your stupid car back to you without a scratch.”

“And those Shifters sprayed in it. It smells like cat piss. I’ll have to have it detailed.”

“Sean and Spike?” Ellison asked in surprise. “They couldn’t have. Shifters don’t spray. Must have been a regular cat that got inside it. A tomcat pissed off about something.”

“What are you talking about?” Ethan snapped. “That guy with all the tattoos ruined my car!”

“Nah.” Ellison, who still had Ethan’s wrist, leaned close. “You know how Spike marks his territory? He doesn’t spray. He kills his enemies and grinds their bones and blood into the soil. He leaves just enough scent to explain to everyone else not to cross the line with him.”

Ethan’s face was gray, his pupils pinpricks. He’d pass out any second. “Spike? Tiger? What kind of names do you people have?”

“Yeah, I know, Ellison is a real strange one. What was my mom thinking? Carly, even though it’s a crime to cover you up, you’re going to have to put something on before we leave. If you get arrested for driving around like that, Liam will kill me.”

“No problem,” Carly said, folding her arms over her br**sts. “I have a bunch of stuff here that I bet he was going to burn. Be right down.” She turned away, then looked back at Ethan over her shoulder. “Sorry, Ethan. The panties are mine.”

CHAPTER TEN

Carly skimmed up the spiral staircase, fuming, not letting herself think. She’d grab her stuff and get the hell out of this house. She might even burn the clothes she’d left here, because she didn’t want any reminders of Ethan the Asshole.

Tiger, of course, followed her.

Carly went, not to the room she’d slept in with Ethan whenever she’d stayed over, but to the dressing room off his bedroom that also opened into the hall. I mean, who the hell has a dressing room?

Ethan did, and it looked like the best-fitted dressing room from GQ. Walnut paneling covered the walls that were filled with drawers and shelves. He had a separate armoire for his suits, a sofa with a side table, and a little wet bar where Ethan could mix himself a drink while he dressed for his night on the town.

The dressing room was like a walk-in closet on steroids. Carly had thought it the coolest thing when she’d first seen it. Now it looked overdone and ostentatious, like the rest of Ethan’s life.

Ethan had condescended to let Carly have an empty drawer in a corner near the sofa. She went to it and started yanking out her stuff, pausing to slide a T-shirt over her nudity.

Tiger’s arms came around her from behind, his hands on the wall pinning her in place. Carly turned around, his warmth like a shelter. Tiger lowered his head to her T-shirt and sniffed.

“This reeks of him.”

“Yes, I know.” Carly heaved a small sigh. “But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I have a backup dress at the gallery, but even so, I’m going to be late, again.”

Tiger didn’t let her go. He brushed his nose from her neck across her shoulder, nuzzling her as he had earlier this morning, the absolute strength of him fixing her in place.

He raised his head and looked into her eyes. Carly had the sensation of being studied, thoroughly, much more so even than when Dylan had looked at her. Tiger might not know how to kiss, but he could look into a person and see everything.

His T-shirt stretched over a body that had stopped Carly in her tracks when she’d first seen it. And the second time, and the third. Tiger was made of muscle, but that didn’t stop him from moving so quietly his prey never knew he was on it until too late.

“You really are a tiger,” Carly said softly.

Tiger’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t answer. Stupid thing to say. Of course he knew what he was. More than Carly knew what she was.

Tiger cupped her face in his big hand, thumb tracing her cheekbone. The tenderness in the touch made her heart squeeze.

Carly moved closer to him, wanting his warmth. She was in only a T-shirt, panties, and heels, no match for the frigid breeze of Ethan’s air-conditioning.

Tiger seemed to know what she needed. He pressed her back into the wall, his body over hers but never crushing. His warm weight stopped her shivering, and his hand moved from the curve of her waist to her breast, heating, soothing.

Carly tugged him down and kissed him. As before, he didn’t move his mouth in response, but that didn’t matter. Carly seamed his lips with her tongue, feeling his jerk of surprise when her tongue touched his.

His hands moved on her then, molding to her waist, her back, her bu**ocks. Tiger licked her lips in return, copying her movements. They played like that, a kiss and not a kiss, while Tiger ran his hands along her body, learning her.

Carly caressed his back, finding every plane of it, the solidity of his shoulders, the strength of his spine, the compact mound of his bu**ocks. At the same time, Tiger touched her mouth with little licks, tasting her while she tasted the bite of him.

Tiger rumbled in his throat, for all the world as if he was purring. He was a wild thing, containing himself for her. The incredible power he’d shown breaking apart the hospital bed, shredding Walker’s gun, surviving wounds that would kill any other man in seconds, was dampened down so he wouldn’t hurt Carly.

The sweetness of that made her ache.

Tiger opened her mouth more with his exploring, until the kiss turned real, Carly hungrily imbibing him. His hands were everywhere, on her hips, br**sts, bu**ocks, moving down her waist, around to her front, between her legs to cup her. The thin panties did nothing to keep out the hardness of his hand, and heat knifed through her.