Predator's Refuge (Gemini Island Shifters, Book 3)

by Leo, Rosanna

  He arched a brow at her, looked her up and down, and grabbed the doorknob. Rather than let her go in first, as she’d expected, he pushed the way inside the cabin, scanning the area. It took her a second to realize he was looking for hidden threats in the cabin.

  Where did he think he was? A New York back alley in 1975? “Um, it’s quite safe here,” she said under her breath.

  He turned to her, unfazed by her tone. “I’ve learned from experience to assume nothing is safe. Please, enter,” he said as if he owned the place.

  She walked into the cabin but his guttural accent was so enticing to her ear, she tripped on her heels. He steadied her by grabbing her elbow.

  Her lynx jumped inside her, trying to claw its way out of her throat to get to him. Horrified, Marci yanked her arm away from him.

  Lynx, go away!

  Gaspar’s lips turned up in the closest she’d seen him come to a grin. Her gaze followed the almost imperceptible curve of his lips. They were interesting lips, the top one somewhat fuller than the bottom one, making him appear as if he’d been gnawing on it. Something in their seductive line made her want to beg for a taste of them.

  “To respond to your earlier comment, Ms. Lennox, this cabin may be modest, but it suits me. And for the past two years, I have lived very modestly.”

  “Marci is fine.”

  “Is Marci fine?” he teased through a mirthless face.

  Hell, no. She’d never met a man like him before, and had never met a tiger shifter, period. To say nothing of the fact he was making her lynx misbehave in a way it never had. Damned if she was going to show it. Ryland put her in charge, and by all that was holy, she was not going to let this man under her skin. Her very hot skin. “She’s quite fine, thank you very much.”

  She took up a spot in the corner of the room, away from him, and brushed her finger along the dust-free dresser surface. Struggling for something to say, she clung to what mattered most to her: the resort and how it was run. “So as a staff member, you have unlimited access to the employee buffet and lounge. We also have a staff pool, although it’s closed for the season, and a weight room. Mr. Snow is very generous with his employees and likes to make sure we have whatever we need.” She arched a brow at him. “We expect and reward employee loyalty. Mr. Snow takes great care to make sure he doesn’t hire people who will disappear after three months. I hope you plan to stay, or will your noble duties take you away?”

  “My plan is to stay. There are no downtrodden nations I wish to conquer at this time.” His face held its severe contours, but his celadon eyes almost danced for her.

  Was that a twinkle she glimpsed? She must be seeing things. This was not a man who twinkled.

  “Funny,” she remarked without humor. She reached a discreet hand toward her collar and loosened it. “I’ll take you to payroll to get set up in our system and need to introduce you around. I assume you’d like some time to relax and freshen up first? You must be jet-lagged.”

  He kicked his bags toward the bed and walked over, coming to within uncomfortable inches of her. The small space between them sizzled with an energy she didn’t understand and almost feared. “I am fresh, Ms. Lennox, and have no wish to inconvenience my lady boss. Lead on.”

  His blasé tone made it sound as if he were in charge. He wasn’t, dammit. Marci raised herself to her full height, grateful her pumps added a couple of inches to her frame. “I will lead on, thank you. But wouldn’t you like a nap … or something?”

  His pouty upper lip curled with amusement. “What sort of or somethings do you have on offer?” The moment the words escaped his lips, Gaspar squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, as if he hadn’t meant to say them. As if he regretted them.

  He should regret them. His manner of speaking was inappropriate and unprofessional. Yes, it was also making her heart palpitate, but that was neither here nor there. She looked away from him, forcing down the huge lump in her throat and rolling her shoulders to alleviate the knot at the top of her spine. Swallowing madly, suddenly thirsty enough to drink the contents of an oasis, Marci turned away and led him to payroll.

  Let them deal with him for a while.

  His somber figure followed her like gathering clouds, and her lynx turned inside her, locked on his every move.

  * * * *

  Marci left Anton in the payroll office, where no fewer than three female staff members were vying for his attentions, and stood outside. She glared at him through the glass door, turning quickly when he glanced at her. Winded and raw for some bizarre reason, as if she’d swum across Lake Gemini’s cold expanse on a late autumn morning, she leaned on a nearby accent table for support. Though she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help staring. At the way he held the pen. At the way his long fingers moved. At the way he grinned and nodded at the smitten payroll clerks.

  His every motion intrigued her lynx to no end. His every movement seemed programmed to distract the animal. He could have blown his nose into a tissue and the stupid beast would have been fascinated by the exact volume and velocity of his blow.

  “Sheesh,” she muttered.

  “What’s up?”

  She looked up and noticed her friend Charlotte Moffatt walking over. She offered her pal a weak smile. “Nothing.”

  Charlotte, cute in her chambermaid uniform, took one look through the payroll door and her silver-gray eyes grew to twice their size. “Holy shit! Is that him? The new guy?”

  Marci swallowed past the boulder in her throat and pulled herself to her full height. “Yup.”

  “Jesus-Fuck-Me-Murphy,” Charlotte whispered. “That can’t be one man. Surely someone stapled two men together to make him. He’s fucking enormous.”

  “Language,” she warned on a soft laugh.

  Her pal waved off the comment. “Don’t worry. When the customers are around, I’m all charm and grace. But right now, I really need to do some major cussing.”

  Marci listened, grimacing, as her friend turned the air blue. An educated woman, Charlotte worked as a maid while completing her master’s in religious studies, but nothing in her vocabulary resembled anything remotely religious. She could swear like a drunken trucker with a grudge against humanity.

  “Damn, Marce,” she said. “How are you not getting all gooey in front of that man? You know, in your condition?”

  “My condition? I’m not sick, I’m just…” She lowered her voice. “In heat. And I’m managing it. I may be a shape-shifter, but I’m not a complete animal.”

  Charlotte’s shoulders lifted as she scoffed in a silent laugh. “Right. You just keep telling yourself that. You may think you have it under control, but girlfriend, if you don’t spread those legs again soon, we’ll end up with another Pompeii on our hands.” She waved her hands in front of her. “Ka-boom!”

  “The issue is not up for discussion. I’m at work. When Ryland put me in ch—”

  “Oh, Ryland, Ryland.” Charlotte elbowed her. “Your beloved boss isn’t here, in case you hadn’t noticed. He’s fucking his mate on a Fiji beach right now. Oh, and don’t think for a moment I haven’t imagined that sight in lurid detail, because I have. The man is off the charts hot.” She shook her head, no doubt picturing the lodge owner in his skivvies. “Anyway, boss man wouldn’t expect you to remain celibate. You need to relinquish your precious control a little bit.” She gave Anton another slow once-over and let out a long breath. “I would let that man control me any day. He looks like the sort of dude to get all Alpha in the bedroom. My favorite type.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Marci admonished. “I have way too much to do around here to think about sleeping around.”

  Charlotte’s lips spread in a wolfish grin. Hell, the wolf in her was always ready for action. “So you won’t mind if I take a crack at Anton then?”

  What? She forced a smile onto her face, as calm as a placid sea. One about to begin roiling under the threat of an impending hurricane. “Go crazy. Help yourself,” she managed to squeak.

 
Horrible pain in her belly made her lurch as her lynx raged forward, aiming its claws at Charlotte’s wolf. The animal let out a fearful wail. Marci squeezed her eyes shut and forced the frenzied animal back into a corner.

  “Hey, you okay?” Charlotte asked, a hand on her shoulder. “I’m just kidding. I won’t make him my fuck buddy.”

  Footsteps sounded behind them and a couple of male laughs. “Did we hear you ladies need fuck buddies? Because we’re at your service.”

  Marci put a hand to her moist forehead and grinned at the newcomers. Bart Cairo from security, one of Ryland’s right-hand men, ambled over with her friend, Killian Moon. They were a handsome pair, but couldn’t quite distract her from Anton as he signed more documents in payroll. How many things were those harpies making him sign? She suspected the payroll clerks were now handing him blank sheets to initial, just to keep him in their lair. She dragged her gaze away from him and smiled at the other men. “Hey, Bart. Hey, Killian.”

  Killian stood next to her, his golden-green eyes shining. The jaguar shifter tucked a stray hair behind her ear and leaned into her, allowing his body to brush against her from hip to shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered, offering him what she hoped was a proper smile and not a grimace. God bless Killian. He’d always had a protective streak where she was concerned. Kind of like a best friend’s brother … the type to whom you lost your virginity.

  “Of course, she’s okay,” Bart yapped, winking. “I’m here.”

  Marci rolled her eyes. Bart talked a big talk but secretly idolized Charlotte. Not that he’d ever confessed it to her. Like most shape-shifter males, he remained a frustratingly closed book. Still, there was no mistaking his feelings. Even as he stood there, his wolf-like gaze landed on Charlotte’s face and roved over her uniform-clad body. He had it bad.

  He came to within inches of Charlotte, winked at her, and lowered his already deep voice. “Charles, how’s it hanging?”

  Charlotte didn’t even look at him, but her breathing became shallower. “Um, nothing on me is hanging. And if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times, Bartholomew, it’s Charlotte, not Charles. Do I look like a boy?” She ran a hand over her very feminine hip.

  Bart’s gaze plummeted to her friend’s lower half, and Marci watched him swallow. “Whatever you say, Charles.”

  Marci shook her head. Charlotte might lecture her on getting her rocks off, but the sexual tension between her and Bart was so palpable, it was practically opaque. Their vibe was so intense, it had a personality.

  She sneaked another peek at Anton through the payroll door, just to see if he was done, of course, and found him staring at her. His gaze turned contemplative, narrowed eyes over a slightly wrinkled broken nose. He looked at Bart and Killian, and his eyes narrowed farther.

  Killian, who boasted the heightened senses of a jaguar, must have felt the weirdly hostile gaze from inside payroll. He looked at Anton and grunted. “That the new guy?”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte answered, sighing, once again in her own lust-filled world. “Isn’t he fuck-a-licious? I would so hit that.”

  Bart whipped his head around to frown at her, and the expression on his face was as close to dark-eyed thunder as Marci had ever seen. She knew for a fact Bart hated how Charlotte flaunted her sexuality, but this new comment put him into a lip-quivering rage. He glared at her some more and then turned his dagger eyes upon the new employee.

  “Bart,” Marci said with a sweet tone of warning in her voice. “Be nice. The man’s a long way from home.”

  His lip curled so much, Marci wondered if he was trying to do a Billy Idol impersonation. “I am the epitome of nice, Marci. We’ll make sure he gets the welcome he deserves, won’t we, Killian?”

  Killian gave him a look. “Don’t look at me. I’m a mentor. I’m paid to fix problems. I don’t create them.” Even still, he aimed another look of clear mistrust at Anton. At the same time, he reached a discreet hand toward hers, smoothing his thumb over her palm, but she pulled it away.

  She sighed. “Come on, guys. There will be no crap on my watch. I have enough to think about.”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte chimed in. “Like spreading your l—”

  “Charlotte. Don’t you have some rooms to clean?” Marci glared at her.

  “Whatever,” her friend said on a moan. “I’m outta here.” She wiggled her way down the hallway, Bart’s gaze trained on her ass.

  Without even a word of good-bye, Bart followed her down the hall and disappeared.

  Marci stared after her friends and silently thanked the Lord she wasn’t such a prey to her animal desires.

  Come again? Her lynx threatened, clawing in Anton’s direction.

  She couldn’t help wondering why the lynx wasn’t getting a little more excited with Killian standing right there. After all, he was the one who’d popped a certain cherry for her. She darted a glance at her old pal. Drop-dead gorgeous, with his golden hair and muscles, her stupid cat should have been all over him but didn’t seem to notice him anymore. Oh, the lynx had been pretty excited on the occasion of Marci’s deflowering, submitting to Killian with ease and gratitude, but the mangy cat seemed to have forgotten that minor detail.

  Maybe that was the problem. She felt grateful to Killian, but wasn’t passionate about him. He had treated her with patience and consideration when they’d had sex the one time, helping her feel unlike a virgin, but their spirit animals hadn’t connected in any way. And despite his obvious sexual knowledge, he hadn’t managed to make her body sing with lust.

  Anton shifted his stance inside the payroll office and a strange chorus built in her core, as ominous and demanding as a Beethoven symphony.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Killian asked, disturbing her bizarre train of thought. He ran a hand over her head and pulled her in for a hug, kissing the top of her head. “You look pale, Marce.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He cocked a brow at her and offered her a grin that would make most women’s panties fall of their own accord. “Is it your lynx? Because if you need me to scratch another itch, I’m always available. I enjoyed our last itch-scratching session.”

  She pulled away. “No, all my itches have been scratched quite sufficiently, thank you.”

  He gazed at her, eyes hooded, glowing with something less than total understanding. “Well, I’m here if you need me. For anything. Day or night. You know I care about you, Marci.”

  Killian threw a look toward Anton, frowned, and walked away.

  As he left, Marci’s insides roiled with confusion. A sexy man had just propositioned her. Why hadn’t she accepted? It might have shut her lynx up for a while.

  She was so out of her league here, so inexperienced it wasn’t even funny. And she just knew it was because she’d waited longer than many to become sexual. Hell, she might only be twenty-three, but she felt like fifty some days as a result of her repression. It wore her down.

  Of course, it wasn’t as if anyone had ever expressed an inkling of desire for her before her lynx came into its own. And frankly, she’d been too caught up with work and school for so many years to care. But since her lynx made its belated appearance, all hell had broken loose in Marci’s nether regions. Before sleeping with Killian, the pressure in her womb had played havoc with her mind. The need to open her legs to a man had had her clenching them so hard she’d gotten bruises on her knees. Thank God things were better now.

  At least, they had been until the prince of freaking Hungary had shown up.

  She’d managed to put a harness on her lynx, but with Anton’s appearance, the animal was determined to free itself of its flimsy bonds.

  No. It was better to concentrate on her job, show Ryland she could run the resort, and deal with any animal urges later. Her assistant manager role was at stake, and she wasn’t giving it up for anybody.

  Anton finally escaped the vipers in payroll and stalked toward her. Her lynx mewed and rolled onto its back, showing its b
elly, begging to be stroked by him. Marci bit her lip hard to punish the satyr-like cat.

  He glanced at her bottom lip. “Stop gnawing, Ms. Lennox. You have made yourself bleed.”

  And then, as she stood by, helpless to react with anything other than gobsmacked lust, Anton reached a hand toward her face. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and showed her the drop of blood there. And then his eyes grew dark, and he brought his thumb to his mouth. While she watched, he sucked it in and licked off the blood.

  Oh. As much as she tried to paint an evil picture in her head of Anton being a bloodthirsty vampire, the strangely intimate act really just made her want to jump his blood-sucking bones. He’d licked at one of her bodily fluids…

  Anton released his thumb with a soft pop and licked his lips. His pupils dilated, making his eyes appear black. He grew paler than before, gritted his teeth but then seemed to snap out of his momentary funk. He stood up straight. “Who was that man with you? The blond one.”

  “Killian Moon. One of the mentors. You’ll be working with him.” Why did her voice sound so strange and high?

  “And what is he to you, cicuskám?”

  Okay, that brought her back to reality. “Uh, with all due respect, none of your business.” She swallowed, hoping the drop of saliva in her throat would quench her debilitating thirst. “Killian’s an employee here, and a friend.” Damn, why had she added that last part?

  This Hungarian beast had scrambled her normally reasonable brain.

  She turned and launched herself down the hall. As much as she tried to achieve a straitlaced, almost mannish gait, she very much worried her lynx was forcing a swing into her hips. “We have work to do, Anton. First thing tomorrow, I’d like to spend a few minutes going over resort policies and procedures.”