Damien's breathing grew harsher as he watched Lady Corinne's sensual movements on stage. The dance called to him on a fundamental level, reaching through the civilized veneer to coax the slumbering cat within him awake. Her lithe, limber form flowed with the music, and Damien's desire to protect her changed to a desire to possess her. His base instincts warred with his mind for control of his body.
In all his thirty-five years, he'd never once reacted to a woman like this. It was more than sexual attraction—though he was as hard as a battering ram—he needed to take her, dominate her, make her his. He wanted to kill the other men in the bar for just daring to look at her.
He couldn't tear his gaze from her form if someone held a gun on him. Childhood stories of his ancestors reared their heads, stories of pagan dances performed by female Tigre that instinctively called to her predestined mate, arousing his instincts and summoning the cat within him. His base response to her dance declared that this exquisite feline woman was his.
She gave the audience a coy look over her shoulder when the tempo changed, segueing into the next song. Her posture changed as she adroitly shifted in sync with the new song. The dance became more salacious than sensual as her trim figure swayed to a tribal beat.
Lady Corinne raised one long, slender hand before her face and began to slowly pull the fingers of the glove she wore free. When she finally peeled the elbow-length garment off Damien's mind caught up with his libido. He realized she was actually going to strip before the assembled throng of horny men.
For the first time since he was a kit, he found himself fighting not to shift. Claws sprang from his fingertips and his incisors lengthened. Damien closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. He had mastered his beast years ago. The beast would not master him tonight.
Slowly, the claws retracted and his canines shortened. With his mouth closed and his hands balled into fists, the small change had not been visible to the surrounding humans. Thank the gods for small blessings.
Unable to resist her call, Damien pushed into the crowd and worked his way up to stand by the stage. Pausing before the stage, he caught the first whiff of her scent. She smelled like summer, a mixture of sunshine and warm rain. All female Tigre carried that scent, blended with a unique scent that was all their own. His newly found mate smelled of vanilla and brown sugar, and his mouth watered for something other than cookies.
His mind arrested and his body went still as a corpse. Mixed in that incredible smell of hers was the unmistakable tang of human blood.
Though his logical mind insisted that Tigre and humans could not mate successfully to produce a child, his instincts—and his nose—were never wrong. The metallic smell of human was as strong as the scent of Tigre telling him that his mate was half-human.
Did she even know she was Tigre? Did she know Tigre existed?
The thoughts staggered him, but it explained so much. She lived openly with humans, choosing a profession that drew attention to her and in no way served the Pride. Had no one taught her about their people? Trained her to use her instincts? Taught her their history and the need to protect their secret at all costs?
Christ! Had she been to a human doctor? Did they have her blood on record?
Damien's stomach clenched in fear and he vowed to protect his mate. They would not take her while he drew breath. Or while any male member of his Pride drew breath.
His mind reeled at the implications, but he couldn't focus on them. Lady Corinne removed the top of her dress, displaying full, ripe breasts that no doctor could have given her. Those breasts swayed seductively as she shimmied her shoulders. Her hands slid up to cup the beautiful globes and tweak her soft mauve nipples.
Fury coursed through his veins, but he managed to get his temper under control. The fact that these men were looking at his mate, at breasts that belonged to him, with lustful thoughts made him crazy.
She ripped the skirt from her body when the song ended, and segued into a slow, enticing number. Long, long legs strutted around the stage, and when she turned, the perfect spheres of her ass were displayed. Her feminine folds remained hidden by a small triangular piece of black cloth. The slow beat allowed her to arrange her body in provocative positions and hold them for several beats, allowing the men to soak up each position with their eyes and burn it into their memory.
Damien braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest. Men bumped into him in their desperation to slide bills into her garter belt, but he made no move to touch her. If his hand came into contact with any part of her body, he would not be able to restrain himself from hauling her off the stage and bustling her away from the prying eyes.
He knew she couldn't see him. The lights of the stage blinded her to the faces of the men clambering to touch her, but that didn't bother Damien. She'd know who he was soon enough, and he'd have all his questions answered. Eventually.
If their mating followed the usual form, up close his pheromones would send her into heat. She wouldn't be able to have a rational conversation until he marked her, and her insides were bathed with her mate's seed. After binding her to him would be soon enough to enlighten her as to what she was—and what he was to her.
He felt no compunction about taking advantage of her ignorance. They were Tigre mates whether she knew it or not, and ultimately, her knowledge changed nothing. The path before them must be walked as the gods decreed.
Chapter Three
Caitlyn raced off the stage like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. She shrugged into a ratty old terry cloth robe. On television and in the movies, strippers paraded around backstage in soft, silken robes that rode high on the thigh, and were designed to tantalize the viewing audience. In reality, strippers opted for robes that were worn and comfortable, light-weight—it got hot on stage and the backstage area wasn't much better—and machine washable. With heavy make-up, hairstyling products, food, drink, and close quarters backstage, machine washable was an absolute must.
Caitlyn had removed her shoes and was applying cold cream to her face to take off the six inches of make-up when Stewart appeared beside her.
"I need you to do another set,” he announced.
Caitlyn's strokes with the washcloth didn't slow. “We've been over this. It's Thursday. I only do one set on Thursday."
Stewart put his hands on his hips and tried to look intimidating. The skinny man in the cheap suit with the wimpy mustache actually appeared quite comical. He reminded her of the villain in old black and white movies that was always tying some hapless buxom blonde to a set of railroad tracks. She'd always found those villains funny. It was hard to be intimidated by someone threatening death-by-train.
"I don't need you to tell me what day it is. I need you to do another set,” Stewart ground out. “We have a big crowd out there and they are spending a lot of money. I want to keep them spending and that means keeping my best girls on stage."
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. Of course, her eyes were closed because she was in the process of removing mascara, but the sentiment was the same.
"I have an early class tomorrow,” she told him. They went through this every Thursday. “I have to leave."
"Maybe I should fill your job with another dancer,” Stewart threatened. “One who'd appreciate all I do for her."
Unimpressed, Caitlyn turned her attention to scrubbing the dye from her lips. “Maybe you should,” she agreed, knowing full well he never would. She was the most popular dancer at The Tiger's Eye. Her page on the Web site racked up nearly as many hits as the home page and three times as many hits as any other dancer."
"Don't think I won't remember this,” Stewart snarled and stomped away.
Actually it was more of a flounce. It was hard to stomp when you had all the musculature of a ten year-old boy.
With Stewart gone, Caitlyn let the nonchalant look fade from her face. She ran a brush through her hair, pulled it up in a loose ponytail, and dressed with lightening speed. She had to get out of there. She
couldn't explain it. She couldn't rationalize it, and she couldn't understand it, but there was a sense of desperation compelling her to run. To get out of the club.
Tonight on stage, something had been different. Though she took off her clothes for money, tonight was the first time she'd felt naked.
Stripped. Exposed. Hunted.
Like prey ensnared in the mesmerizing gaze of a predator.
Caitlyn slammed her locker shut and all but bolted for the back door. She didn't bother trying to find Mickey to escort her to her car. With Stewart being pissy, he'd make up work for Mickey just to inconvenience Caitlyn.
Caitlyn darted out into the night and made a beeline to her car. She stood fumbling for her keys beneath the spill of the streetlight, when a shadow fell across her hands. Her skin tightened, and she looked up into the hooded face of a stranger who leaned against her car.
The man stood as tall as Andre, but was whipcord lean. Though not as imposing as Andre's Incredible Hulk frame, this man's body seemed to hold power coiled in his taut muscles. For all Andre's brawn, Caitlyn knew instinctively that this man was far more dangerous. Deadly, even.
Though his face was shadowed, she could make out handsome features. He had a slender nose, strong jaw, and high-cheekbones that a model would kill for. The darkness prevented her from seeing his eyes, and she wondered what color they were. His black hair flowed to his shoulders with a sleek shine that made her guess he had some Asian ancestry.
The smell of cinnamon and sandalwood assaulted her, and she stood still, drinking in his intoxicating scent. Her body reacted as if its sensitive nerve endings had been touched with electricity. Pleasant chills chased themselves along her skin, and she felt her breasts swell with desire and her nipples harden into little peaks.
The man hadn't moved. He just reclined against her car, watching her with those shrouded eyes, but somehow she knew he wasn't as nonchalant as he appeared. His tight muscles indicated he was waiting to spring into action.
She licked her lips, her breath coming faster. The thrill-seeking part of her wanted him to spring into action, while self-preservation screamed at her to run. But she couldn't. The draw she felt towards this man overpowered her good sense, and she realized she swayed unconsciously towards him.
With effort, she stopped herself from leaning closer to him, but could not seem to pull back. Her heart pounded hard in her throat and echoed loudly in her ears. It seemed they stayed that way for hours, staring into each other's eyes, but logically Caitlyn knew only a few moments had gone by.
"Hello,” Caitlyn finally croaked in dried whisper. She almost winced at the inane comment. Way to be a great conversationalist, she thought.
He smiled. At least she assumed he smiled. One side of his mouth kicked up, giving a devil-may-care look to an already too handsome rogue.
"Hello,” he replied in a voice as thick and rich as brocade.
Caitlyn wanted to wrap herself in the dark fabric of his voice and couldn't hold herself back any further. She leaned closer to him and her pulse began a triple beat when he stood to his full height. He stood several inches taller than her, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. His body was lean and sculpted with a classic swimmer's build. Caitlyn wanted to hurl herself against that well-built chest.
A large, male hand came up to clasp her around her neck, and she needed no encouragement to let him draw her close for a kiss. His mouth touched hers with the gentle brush of a dragonfly's wing. She marveled at how soft and smooth his lips felt against hers, even while the hot press of his mouth to hers scorched her lips.
She moaned and let him pull her body flush against his, her breasts pressed against his chest, one of his legs between hers. Caitlyn barely registered the feel of his body against hers, of his sturdy arms holding her to him, before his tongue traced a searing path across her bottom lip. Her lips parted on a gasp and his tongue swept inside her mouth.
He tasted better than he smelled, like cinnamon and spice. The velvet stroke of his tongue sent her world spinning away. Nothing existed but this man and his incredible mouth. He wove a web of sensual delight with his talented tongue, both teasing and tantalizing with the promise of making all her erotic dreams come true.
The stranger lifted his head and she tried to follow his mouth with hers, unwilling to give up the exotic taste of him.
"Easy, little wildcat,” he told her in that voice that did things to her body that her last boyfriend hadn't managed with his hands. “We have plenty of time."
Caitlyn realized she had been grinding herself shamelessly against the masculine thigh he had insinuated between her legs. With great effort, she managed to stop her gyrations, but couldn't pull herself from the warmth of the stranger's embrace. Her breathing came in ragged gasps and she wanted nothing more than to strip him down and have her wicked way with him. The last fragile thread of reason warned that her reaction to him was dangerous, but he shifted the leg between hers and the bright sparks of pleasure clipped the thread.
"Come home with me,” he suggested in a tone that was more order than invitation.
Caitlyn could have wept with relief at not being separated from this man. “Yes,” she blurted, hearing the desperation in her voice and not caring.
The man swept her up into his arms, startling her. She burrowed against his chest, trying to get closer to him, to keep that exhilarating scent in her nostrils.
He turned towards the customer parking lot, and Caitlyn caught a glimpse of the glow of a cigarette. Sela dropped the butt on the ground and stamped it out before opening the door and shooting Caitlyn a triumphant smile in the spill of backstage light.
Stewart fired any girl he caught sleeping with a customer. He viewed such an action as prostitution, even if no money changed hands. Caitlyn knew that Sela would waste no time telling Stewart about her being carried off by some man to the customer parking lot. Though it meant the end of her job, Caitlyn couldn't bring herself to care about anything other than the body of the man that held her.
She heard the pop of a car door being unlocked with a remote and realized that the man had his keys in the hand of the arm supporting her legs. Without losing his grip on her, he shifted her in his arms and bent to open the car door. He sat her gently in a bucket seat and then buckled the seatbelt around her as though she were someone he cherished. She distantly heard the door close and her inner muscles spasmed in fear of being left in such need.
He slid into the driver's seat and immediately started the engine. Caitlyn grabbed the seat on either side of her thighs with her hands to stop herself from grabbing him. Soft, buttery leather caressed her palms, and she wanted to rub her naked body against the rich material.
"I'm Damien,” the man said over the quiet purr of the engine.
"Caitlyn,” she replied, forcing her mind to function. The quiet sound of the engine, the soft leather in her hands, and the cockpit like feel of the car told her this was a very expensive vehicle.
"Caitlyn,” he rolled the name around his mouth and she shivered in response. “It's a thirty minute drive. If you'd like to take a nap you can."
For a moment, she wondered where they were going, but realized she didn't care. Her curiosity flitted away with the rest of her common sense. She needed to be wherever this man was like a junkie needing a fix. The thought of sleeping in her current state of need was so ludicrous it almost made her smile.
She considered reaching between her legs to ease some of the need that seared her, but the thought of anything but him touching her intimately was strangely repellant.
She turned her head towards him, hoping to distract herself from her aching desires. Her plan backfired. A glance at the chiseled profile beside her caused the muscles between her legs to ripple with longing. She'd never before known sexual desire could be painful.
As though he sensed the desperation welling inside her, Damien placed a hand on her thigh without taking his eyes from the road. He gave her leg a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
At his touch, some of the anxiety Caitlyn felt melted away, but the desire intensified. She could feel the heat of his hand through the coarse material of her jeans like a brand.
It seemed hours passed before Damien finally turned the car into a long, winding driveway. Despite the interminable drive, Caitlyn could not remember any part of the trip or anything they passed. She had no idea where this stranger had taken her, but couldn't bring herself to care. All she wanted was to feel his naked body pressed against hers. At this point, she'd trade her soul for a night in the man's bed.
Somewhere in the back of her mind lurked the thought that she'd lost control of her faculties. A woman who hadn't had a decent date in two years didn't fall into a passionate embrace with a stranger and then let him take her home. The thought struggled to rise to the forefront, but the sensory overload the man caused made it impossible.
Chapter Four
He pulled into a multi-car garage, easing their vehicle into its bay. Caitlyn fumbled for her seatbelt before he turned the engine off, but her hands shook with such force the task proved difficult. She finally heard the satisfying click as the belt released. Before she could reach for the door handle, the door swung open.
An extended hand appeared in her line of vision and she raised her eyes to meet Damien's. She took his hand, letting him help her out of the low-sitting car. In the dim light of the garage, she could tell his eyes were a strange shade of brown, almost an amber color.
Her legs wobbled and Damien slid a supporting arm around her waist, helping her navigate the close confines of the garage. “It's okay, my wildcat. It's not much further."
She clung to him tightly, as though he were her only means of salvation. He guided her through a house she barely noticed.
"This isn't like me,” Caitlyn finally managed to get out.
The Tiger's Eye Page 2