by Diana Seere
He couldn’t help it.
Tigers are made for lunging. No sane person could blame him.
Lars was, after all, just giving in to instinct.
Chapter 5
Knocked off balance, Kara didn’t have the coordination to push him away. Lars seemed to be here, there, everywhere, his clever hands catching her shoulder, her hip, sliding down one thigh over the skirt of her dress and then up the bare skin of the other. When she gasped, his mouth closed over hers, swallowing her fear, her protests, her consciousness.
Oh, he felt so good, he felt so right. The sharp graze of a fingernail behind her ear aroused her, reminding her of his animal side, the same as hers and so, so much more like her than the alienating all-human men she’d settled for in the past. She and he shared something that a Josh or Jake or Ethan never could. They were shifters, unlike the majority cultures of the world who could live loud and open, oblivious to the strange creatures walking amongst them.
Lars was strange like her, a waitress who could smell the lingering hint of oregano in the omelette the driver had had for breakfast or the perfume his girlfriend had worn when he’d made love to her the night before. What normal woman would be able to hear the laughter of the man in the passing bus and even smell the sexual interest of the woman sitting in the seat behind him—as well as what she had eaten for lunch? Even after the limo turned and began cruising in the opposite direction?
No normal man would be happy with such a mate for long, certainly not forever. And she was a forever kind of girl, even more now that she was a mother.
“Kara,” he moaned against her cheek, then licked the seam of her lips, demanding she open to him.
Hot, steamy need flooded her body. It had been so damn long since she’d touched a man. This man, as it happened. The ridiculousness of it, and her nerves, made her giggle.
“Yes, darling,” Lars whispered, “enjoy yourself, and I’ll enjoy you.”
The hand that had slid up her leg was now pushing between the fullness of her thighs to the juncture above, where she ached for him. If those clever fingers reached her panties, he’d know how much.
“Wait,” she said, her voice hoarse. She wiggled on the seat, twisting away from the strong, warm hand between her thighs. “You said you were taking me to dinner.”
“The restaurant is not, as it happens, in this neighborhood,” he growled, following her and replacing his hand. He flicked a tongue over her earlobe. “We have time to reacquaint ourselves a little.”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist to stop its ascent up her legs. As a shifter, her strength was at least twice that of most women, even in human form, but her power was no match for his. His hand settled over her damp panties and pressed into her mound. Sucking in a breath, she leaned against him for a moment, so tempted to let her knees fall open and recline onto her back right there in the limo. The window between the back seat and the driver was closed, smoky black, opaque. She would’ve bet her tiny savings account that the barrier was soundproof as well.
It would be so good.
So bad. Deliciously bad.
No. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t bring another life into the world without a father or the peace and security of a financially independent mother. Lars would be happy to knock her up again—oh God, that sent tingles up and down her spine and poured more electric heat between her legs—but she couldn’t afford another baby. How could she bring another child into poverty? Not now. Not yet. And not with…
“Lars,” she said firmly. “Is this all you want from me?”
She knew it was, of course it had to be, but asking him the question would force him to behave like a gentleman—at least for a few minutes, during which she could regain her composure. Perhaps by then they’d be at the restaurant.
If there really was a restaurant. What if this whole thing was a ruse to fuck her brains out in the limo?
Mmm, that got her hot again.
Damn it!
She’d expected him to grin at her question and kiss her again, assuring her sweetly that of course he wanted more, much more, and she wouldn’t believe him because he would hook his fingers under her panties and stroke her to confuse her while whispering his sweet, tempting lies.
But to her shock, he removed his hand and withdrew, putting more than a few inches between them on the leather seat. And he actually looked chagrined. Head down, he balled his hands into fists in his lap and said, “Forgive me, Kara. I don’t know what’s come over me.”
And his tone was sincere.
She laughed nervously. “Me either.” And then added, “I mean me. I’m really not like this. You must have the totally wrong idea about me.”
His head turned, and he locked his stunning blue gaze on hers. “I don’t think so,” he said softly. “If fact, I think I have the perfectly right idea about you.”
Although that idea was probably how she was a slut who frequently had quickies with strange men, she found herself feeling that he meant something deep, soulful, romantic.
Just as a shiver swept over every inch of her skin, the limo came to a halt, and a voice came over the speaker. “We’re here, Mr. Jensen.”
Lars didn’t break his gaze. “Sixty seconds,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the voice replied.
Why did this man have so much power over her? She felt a stabbing ache in her chest, on her left breast, and wondered if she was having a heart attack. At that moment, nothing on earth could’ve made her look away from him.
She needed to break the spell somehow. She couldn’t let herself pretend this was more than a dream.
She needed him to stop looking at her like a very large, hungry cat with a bowl of cream.
Like a lifeline, her conversation with Eva replayed in her mind. Something about his mother…
“I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing,” she blurted.
As she’d hoped, a shadow came over his eyes, giving her a much-needed release from the powerful gaze. “Yes,” he said and then inhaled deeply. “My father has had a difficult year. They were very happy together.”
“I know,” she said.
His eyebrows arched. “You did?”
“The Jensen family is famous, even to nobodies like me.” She smiled to show she accepted her lowly position in the shifter diaspora with good humor. Although the Stantons were the most powerful shifters in North America, the Jensens were famous—not just Lars and his rock band but his mother, too. Hilda Jensen had been a rich, powerful woman in fashion who had dominated the style pages in New York and in LA. Her control over her handsome sons was also famous. Any woman who got involved with her precious boys was ruthlessly screened, threatened, or bought off. And everyone knew she was always on the lookout for a suitable wife for each of them—so she could be a grandmother. A very fashionable one.
Hilda Jensen’s reputation was why Kara had been so quick to flee. A woman like that would never accept Kara and would have all the means to take Jamie.
Except now she was dead.
The thought struck her like a bullet, shutting down further thought.
And then the door opened, and the driver reached inside for her hand.
Lars had chosen the restaurant for dinner based on one singular goal: privacy. While the quality of the food was important, the quality of the company tonight was far superior. He needed to keep her away from the prying eyes of other men, away from crowds or overbearing fans seeking a photo op with him, away from any distraction that might make her second-guess their relationship.
Relationship.
When she’d expressed her condolences about his mother, he’d reeled, the unexpected empathy making the world tilt slightly. That simple, polite gesture was everything, triggering an unpredictable anger in him.
She’d known who he was. She knew who his mother was.
She’d known and never sought him out.
Why? He had to know.
The desire for other women faded like the
blush on her cheeks as they settled in at a secluded booth in the old downtown steak house, known for two centuries of serving food to Boston blue bloods. While his blood was decidedly more shifter than blue, a table had been made ready instantly when his assistant had called.
“This place is amazing,” Kara murmured, taking in the arts-and-crafts feel, the stone walls, the uneven flooring as she moved toward the middle of the booth.
He sat next to her, surprise evident in her features as she moved that round, firm ass further toward the wall.
“You’re amazing, Kara.”
“Aren’t you, um, going to sit across from me?”
He answered with his palm, turning it from the top of her thigh, moving toward the sweet warmth that pulled him in like a magnet.
“I’ll take that as a no.” She gasped, clearing her throat to mask the desire he heard, her voice going high and light as if his touch made her float.
A gentleman, he knew, would never be so obvious.
But Lars Jensen wasn’t known for being a gentleman.
A faceless waiter delivered wine and took their orders, flawless service that made him seem invisible. Good. Lars wanted Kara to see only him. To feel only him. And for him to exist only for her.
Fingertips achingly close to her sweet clit, he paused, not wanting to scare her off. Chin tipped down, she looked up at him with a coquettish, flirty manner. “Is this,” she asked, her hand closing over his under her dress, “how you start all your first dates?”
He wanted to smile but settled for locking eyes with her, emotion overpowering him.
“No, Kara. This is how I start my last date.”
“You… you don’t want to see me again?”
“I don’t want to date anyone but you. Ever. And I don’t want to just date you.”
“Don’t hold back, Lars,” she said with a nervous laugh, eyes widening, clearly unnerved. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Don’t joke. I’m not. I’m telling you the truth, Kara. All of the truth. We’ve wasted nearly three years apart. I won’t settle for a single second more.”
“You come on strong.” Those beautiful hazel eyes watched him, wary yet challenging, an intoxicating blend of shyness and confidence that mesmerized him.
Kara reached for her wineglass, twirled the stem, and as if second-guessing herself, took a large gulp, the long, elegant line of her neck begging for his mouth.
As he watched her, she formed an aura, a strange glow no other woman had ever possessed. It throbbed, much like his cock now, and a dawning hunger took over as he realized her glow and his need were in sync.
“There’s no other way for me to be when I’m with you,” he said. The words came out low and needy, like a warning growl. His hand touched hers, a spark fusing them, the beat clear and all consuming.
“Now you’re just using pickup lines.” Her words teased him, but he saw the thin vein at the base of her throat begin to gallop, pounding against her translucent skin, moving at double time as her chest rose and fell faster, a rush of red desire creeping up from her breasts.
“And you’re just stalling, my dear.” The kiss was inevitable, the taste of her sealing the beat, a searing sense of closure that felt like an ending and a beginning all at once, joined in a circle of looping, blind want.
She returned his eagerness with full power, her hand sliding behind his back, fingers scrambling to unearth his skin, the not-so-gentle drag of her manicure against his spine like a stroke of his shaft. He groaned, his tongue tangled with hers, their breath coming together like their blood. Memory took him, swiftly, back to their first time together.
Kara broke the kiss, the sound of her breath rasping against his cheek like church bells in the distance, a song of happiness and hope. “I think you should know that I don’t act like this on all my dates with men. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Her gaze was focused on him, her eyes hooded with lust. He knew if he reached between her legs he would find her wet. Pleasure was his goal. Giving her ecstasy, watching her relax and yield, giving him the tortured honor of touching her until she clung to him, then let him come inside her, their joining complete. Hot dreams had tormented him for so long, all that was left of their short time together, that he felt surreal in these unfolding seconds, as if he’d conjured her from a place of half-conscious desperation.
Cupping her breast, his fingers found her nipple, stroking it until her response was unquestioning.
No. She was real.
Her hand found his hard thigh, moving up with a growing sense of ownership that made his chest burst. Maddening. The woman was maddening.
Just then, the waiter appeared with the first course. Tablecloths and napkins obscured their hands, though Kara quickly brought hers up, grabbing the wineglass and downing its contents as if she were a desert wanderer, parched and needy. Lars followed her lead, legs tense, answers to the waiter’s questions coming out in monosyllabic requirements until they were alone again.
“This looks good,” Kara said, taking a bite of some salad meant to resemble a modern art painting, with geometrically carved slices of heirloom beets arranged around gold-colored slivers of root vegetables and rosemary sprigs.
As he realized she really planned to actually eat her meal, he pivoted, taking a deep breath through his nose, reaching for his salad fork. Four bites later, he was done.
And still hungry.
For her.
“You look good.”
“Is that all we’re going to talk about? How much you want me?”
“It’s a captivating topic.”
“Pick a different one.”
“Let’s talk about how you disappeared that morning nearly three years ago.” The anger in him flared, indignation at years lost a layer of gasoline thrown onto the bonfire.
“Let’s go back to the old topic.”
“Too late.” He poured them both a second glass of wine and moved away from her, giving them just enough room so he could face her. Body heat diminished, her scent changing to something tinged with fear and reluctance.
Aha. He was right. Had been right all along. She’d stayed away all these years for a reason.
Chapter 6
Kara trembled to see the challenge in his eyes. He was upset she’d disappeared after a one-night stand, but he didn’t know the half of it. Or the half of one percent of it. She’d hidden her name, and she’d hidden herself, but she’d also hidden his baby.
If he found out about Jamie now… he’d hate her, really hate her. And she couldn’t blame him.
But a man like him had received everything on a silver platter his entire life—family, fame, fortune, wealth, power, and good looks. He was free. He had no idea what it was like for people like her. She’d had nothing she hadn’t grabbed and taken without asking permission. And in Jamie’s case, hidden so that others—who already had everything—couldn’t take him from her.
She could explain part of the truth, however; she owed him that.
“It never occurred to me you’d want to see me again,” she said. “I thought you’d be glad I saved us both an awkward goodbye.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?” His tone was sharp as the blades cutting root vegetables into sculpture in the restaurant’s kitchen.
“Come on, Lars,” she said, forcing a laugh. She gestured at him—taking in the broad shoulders and long legs and photogenic cheekbones, the thousand-dollar trousers and priceless diamond earring, the confident bearing, the air of entitlement so quickly confirmed by everyone he met. “You’re a rich and famous rock star from a powerful family. And I’m…”
He waited, eyes narrowing. “Yes?” he asked, a low purr. “Who are you?”
“I’m none of those things.” Anger came to her rescue this time, rushing through her veins and strengthening her spine. “I’m a nobody, which must be obvious to you. A tiger shifter wouldn’t be serving drinks if she were part of your world. She would’ve gone to all the be
st boarding schools in Europe, vacationed in the same exotic places like Fiji and I don’t know where, partied together at Hollywood charity balls so often we’d be like brother and sister—”
“Then how lucky for both of us that is not the case,” he growled, reaching out and capturing her wrist. A fingertip caressed her racing pulse. “But it doesn’t answer my question. Why hide? Why run? Is wealth and pleasure that repulsive to you?”
She let him hold her wrist for a moment, knowing she could make him release her with a few painful, well-aimed words.
He pulled her against his side. “Or is it me who you find so disgusting?”
Oh, as if. Even now she was fighting the urge to climb into his lap and lick him from head to toe. “You aren’t known for your long-term relationships, Lars.”
He didn’t flinch. “Only because I hadn’t met the right woman yet.” He lifted her hand, turned it over, and dropped a featherlight kiss on the tender skin on the underside of her wrist.
It was what she wanted to hear, but how could she believe it? They were the words that men had dished out since the dawn of time to get reluctant women to have sex with them.
“Your family has a different idea about what the right woman is. And so do your friends and everyone you know, probably. I was just being realistic. I had to protect myself.” And my son.
“You mention my family,” he said in a low voice. “But I think we both know who you mean. My mother was a very forceful, very… determined… woman who was eager for me and my brothers to find successful mates. She and my father were very happy together, you see. And keeping her opinions to herself and living quietly were never appealing to her. As painful as it is for me to admit this, she may have developed a reputation that could have reached even—” Here he cut himself off and kissed her wrist again.
“Even women like me.” She pulled her arm free, reclaimed her wineglass, and brought it to her lips, hoping he didn’t notice the way her hand shook. “You made my point for me. You know we could never be together.”
“On the contrary. We’ve already proven that we’re fantastic together.” He grinned in a way that made her toes curl.