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Maiden and the Lion
ISBN # 978-1-78184-174-7
©Copyright Lizzie Lynn Lee 2012
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2012
Edited by Rebecca Douglas
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 1.
This story contains 76 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 9 pages.
Lions of Manhattan
MAIDEN AND THE LION
Lizzie Lynn Lee
Some lions in town aren’t locked in the zoo…
Twenty-one-year-old receptionist Beatrice Summer has the hots for her new boss, Alexandre Larousse. But Alex never seems to notice her. Bea understands. He’s too handsome, too rich, and a tad too mature for someone like her. But it doesn’t stop Bea from wanting him in secret.
One night, Bea witnesses a man being shot from a bridge. She swims after him and drags him to safety. She is shocked to find the victim is the boss she’s enamoured with. What makes it even more shocking, the unconscious Alex turns into a lion before her eyes.
Bea doesn’t think shape-shifters are real. Seriously. Werelions? They are nothing but a myth, right? Feeling more curious than a fickle cat, Bea is hell-bent on spying on Alex, especially when Alex tells her not to. Then Bea discovers the reason why Mr Hot Boss pretends he’s never interested in getting into her panties. Bea had never thought playing detective could be so thrilling, sexy…and deadly.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
’96 Plymouth Voyager: Chrysler Group LLC
Hello Kitty: Sanrio Co., Ltd.
Incredible Hulk: Marvel Comics
Transformers: Hasbro
Gucci: The House of Gucci, PPR S.A.
Mack truck: Mack Trucks, Inc.
Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation
Blue Cross: Blue Cross and Blue Shield Association
JC Penney: J.C. Penney Company, Inc.
Birkin: Hermès International S.A.
Brooks Brothers: Brooks Brothers, Retail Brand Alliance
Four Seasons: Four Seasons Hotels Inc.
Audi: AUDI Aktiengesellschaft
Camry: Toyota Motor Corporation
Cadillac: General Motors Company
NASCAR: National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, Inc.
Post-it: 3M Company
Prologue
Alexandre Larousse stared at the contents of the box with a sinking feeling.
The box itself, a small, ten-by-ten white and blue postal-issued cardboard package, was plain and nondescript. Alex’s name and address had been typed on an old-fashioned typewriter and covered with a piece of clear tape, stuck neatly over the addressee area. No return information was available. The box contained a stack of six-by-nine glossy photos.
He took them out, hands trembling.
The photos were a series of snapshots of a woman leaving a building during the busy Manhattan lunch hour. She was a pretty young thing, dressed in a cheap department store, mauve summer suit that was too large for her. Her hair was brown and glossy with the fringe cut an inch above her eyebrows and the rest of the locks were knotted in a tight bun at the back of her head, to give an impression that she was more mature than she looked. A pair of librarian glasses framed her oval face. She was twenty-one. Her birthday had only been last week. Her name was Beatrice Summer. She was one of his employees.
Alex had been attracted to her ever since she’d been hired as a mail clerk in the firm five months ago. He could have asked her out for date if he’d wanted to, but he had hesitated. He wasn’t sure if she would go out with a man that was ten years older. One time, he’d snapped her picture through the CCTV camera when she had been making her round of delivering mail, and had downloaded it to his smart phone. As the Chief of Security of the firm, he had such access. Or perks. It had been a silly thing to do. But Alex liked to see her cute smile from time to time.
Now, someone in the firm knew about his fondness for her and was using it against him. Alex had no idea how the hell that person had even found out. His true identity, and that of his brothers, was a closely guarded secret. Werelions like him rarely displayed genuine interest in a woman unless they were serious enough to claim her as a mate.
For the last few months, Alex had been pondering if this was the direction he wanted to go in. He hadn’t even spoken more than a few sentences to her. The interaction between them had been nothing but polite nods and ‘Good Morning’ or ‘How Are You’ type of exchanges. But his lion turned wild when it came into contact with Bea. His beast turned frisky under his skin, threatening to claw out at the very whiff of her scent. It was hard to control himself whenever she was within his reach. That was why he preferred to keep everything businesslike. After all, he was her boss.
Along with the stack of photos, there was a message, typed on the same old-fashioned typewriter on a piece of white paper.
‘She’s pretty, isn’t she? It would be too bad if we deliver her to you in pieces the next time you decide not to pay the silence money.’
Alex ground his teeth. He had received two other blackmail letters this week. The first one was about a threat to leak the secret of the true nature of him and his brothers. The second was about the Veron heir’s slaughter in South Africa that he and his security team had carried out in an attempt to save Gabriel’s mate.
Those two he could handle.
The third hit his nerves.
Alex rose from his seat to pour himself some bourbon from the minibar. His hands were still trembling
Fuck.
Deliver her in pieces.
As he drained the amber liquid into his throat, he couldn’t help but wonder how the blackmailer had found out about Bea.
She was his secret.
Alex slammed the shot glass down. Clearly, this matter required delicate handling. At this point, he wasn’t sure if he should inform Gabriel and Ren about it. Yet. Gabriel, his older brother, had just come back from his honeymoon and had slowly started shifting some of the company’s responsibility to him, as Gabriel wanted to be involved in working with his bride, Cat, in her detective agency. Ren was busy taking over as the new CFO. His younger brother always went to meetings and had been overseas for the past couple of weeks.
His gaze settled on the sum that the blackmailer had demanded.
Ten million dollars.
It was a petty amount for him or the company to pay. Bu
t Alex didn’t negotiate with any type of blackmail. Ever. He always took care of the problem right at the source. Damage control was his speciality.
He tapped his fingers on the minibar.
Clearly, the security in his office had been tampered with. His computer could have been hacked. Or the surveillance could have been jacked. And the worst part was he couldn’t trust his own security team.
He had to make a decision.
Starting with putting Bea under his direct supervision.
Alex reached for the phone and dialled their executive secretary, Sarah Krueger, to make the necessary arrangements.
Chapter One
The gunshot woke her up from her dream.
Beatrice Summer had been half asleep in the backseat of her ’96 Plymouth Voyager. She was startled, feeling groggy at first. When she realised where she was, her heart plummeted. Had she picked the wrong place to park for the night? She had chosen it because it was near the gym she had a membership with—where she took showers and did her bathroom business. She had been living in her minivan for the past two weeks, ever since she had left her drunken, abusive father’s house. She didn’t have enough money to rent an apartment, especially after her father had swindled her out of her savings. She only had forty-five bucks in her purse to tide her over until her next pay cheque. Then, maybe, she could afford a cheap motel room. But until then, the backseat of her car would have to do.
Bea sat up, peering into the rear-view mirror.
Nothing. Nothing but gloominess.
She had parked on a clearing at the base of the bridge, near a railroad track, where nobody—including police patrol—could harass her for illegal parking and sleeping in her own car. The Harlem River gleamed in the darkness beyond the windshield. A sliver of moonlight squeezed between the dark, cloudy sky, illuminating the surroundings. The scenery at this time of the year was quite picturesque. Leaves started to turn yellow in early fall. Temperatures cooled down. But having been homeless for the past two weeks, Bea found nothing thrilling about the outdoors. She would happily trade the uncomfortable seat of her car for a nice warm bed, if she could.
A second gunshot jolted her from the remnants of her sleepiness.
There it was again.
Bea cringed. She craned her neck past the driver’s seat. The sound had come from up front—the bridge.
Then, she saw it. A figure fell from the bridge and plunged into a river.
Sweet Jesus Cheese Crackers.
She’d just witnessed someone falling. Or an attempted suicide. Assault?
She caught herself when she slid open the van’s door. Did she really want to do this? Involve herself in something dangerous? She should call nine-one-one and let the police sort it out.
But that person could still be alive.
Shit. What should I do?
Bea decided to poke around a bit. If she was careful, nobody would see her. Yeah, Bea, you’re a big girl. You’re brave enough to walk out from that drunken monster of a father, so you can face this type of situation.
She tucked away her glasses in safety and slipped into her flip-flops. She climbed down from the van. After the gunshots and the big splash of water, all she could hear was near-silence. Not even a car passed by on the bridge. She crept towards a low-growing thicket and crouched. She eyed the bridge. Didn’t see anyone. Or a car. Or the person who had fired the gun.
Bea dared herself to crawl farther into the river bank. There was a gravely spot where she could get into the water without having to jump and make unnecessary noise. She squinted, trying to distinguish between the reflections from the water and if there was a body floating.
Nothing.
She looked up to the bridge again.
It was pretty damn high. If that person had survived the bullet, there was only a slim chance he or she would still be alive after diving from such a height. The impact alone would crush that person’s lungs the moment the body hit the water.
Did people float after they plunge into a river? Like dead bodies on TV?
Bea got restless.
She should call nine-one-one and report what she’d seen.
Like, now.
There was no way…
Her breath stalled in her throat.
Holy shit.
She narrowed her eyes. At first, it was rather hard to spot, but it was there. A body slowly drifted along the current. The man was wearing dark clothes. Suit. Dark hair. His face was obscured by the water. Would he still be alive? Or was he dead already?
Her stomach lurched at her thought of touching a dead body.
But there was a chance he could still be saved.
Shit. What the hell…
Bea ditched her flip-flops and tiptoed into the water. She shivered. It was freaking cold. She crushed the last wave of hesitance and finally decided to swim silently into the river. Luckily, she was a pretty decent swimmer. She’d been part of the swimming team when she was in high school. A few dozen strokes and Bea was able to snatch the man’s collar. She pedalled back towards the bank. The man weighed a ton. Chills seeped into her bones. By the time she had reached the river bank, she felt as if she had competed for a marathon. Her lungs were burning.
Bea panted. She inspected the man.
He wasn’t breathing.
Damn. She didn’t know how to perform CPR. But she’d seen people do it on TV. Pump the chest. Pinch his nose and give him mouth-to-mouth.
Oh, man. Mouth-to-mouth on a stranger?
Bea cleared some stray hair from the man’s face. Her heart stopped beating for a second.
Christ on Crackers.
Mr Larousse? Mr Alexandre Larousse?
“Oh, no,” she muttered. She tried to wake him. There was no mistake. It was really him. Her boss. Her hot boss. The man she had been secretly fantasising over since she had started working for the firm. What were the odds of meeting him like this? Or under these circumstances?
For a moment, Bea didn’t know what she should do.
Oh, yeah. CPR. Pump his chest.
Bea put her palms on Alex’s chest. One. Two. Three. She pinched his nose and plastered her mouth on his, blowing as much air as she could manage into his lungs. It didn’t work. Bea tried to pump his chest again then repeated the process.
Under the moonlight, Alex’s handsome face looked frighteningly pale. Not good. Her gaze skated down. Her wet hands felt oddly sticky. Blood. Alex had been shot. On his upper chest. Bea frantically yanked off his tie and opened the front of his jacket suit and shirt. God, no. The entrance wound welled with blood.
She should call nine-one-one. Her cell was in the van.
But he wasn’t breathing.
CPR first, then call for help, she reasoned. Right.
Again, Bea pumped his chest, pinched his nose and gave him mouth-to-mouth. Alex still didn’t respond. Bea did it over and over until a deep exasperation convinced her that Alex was beyond help. He was dead. The jarred thought scared the shit out of her. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t! He hadn’t been her boss for even a month. It wasn’t fair.
Wake up, you bastard! Bea pounded his chest with her fist. You ignore me at work and now you ignore me when I try to save your life? Wake up, damn it! Breathe!
To her astonishment Alex coughed. Water spewed from his mouth.
Bea quickly helped him lean onto his side so he could clear all the river water from his lungs.
“Mr Larousse, are you okay?”
That was a dumb question. Of course he wasn’t okay. The man hadn’t even been breathing a few seconds ago.
Alex coughed and coughed, sounding as if he were trying to expel his lungs from out of his throat. He gasped and slumped against the muddy, gravely bank. His eyes opened to the sky.
“Mr Larousse?”
His gaze cut to her, bearing recognition. “Beatrice?”
She hadn’t expected him to remember her name, considering the way he acted in the office. He always called her ‘Miss’, as if he didn’t want
to bother learning her full name.
“I’ll call for help. Just hang in there, Mr Larousse.”
Unexpectedly he grabbed her arm. “No.”
“What do you mean, no? You’ve been shot.”
“I said no!”
Jesus. The man was bossy at work, and now he was still annoyingly bossy as she was trying to save his ass. “But you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding.”
Alex closed his eyes tiredly.
“Mr Larousse?”
His eyes snapped open. “Don’t call the police.”
“Why?” Had he done something illegal that he didn’t want the police involved in?
“Just…” Alex inhaled a deep breath. “Don’t call anyone. Just…drive me home.”
But he was bleeding all over the place. He could die from losing too much blood.
“But, Mr Larousse…”
“If you want to keep your job, Bea, do as I say.”
Ugh. He had been like this ever since she had started working for him directly. Bea hadn’t been able to believe her luck when she’d got the inter-department transfer job. She had been promoted from a clerk in the mail room to Alex’s personal receptionist. She manned Alex’s office and his calls, working closely with Sarah Krueger, the Larousse brothers’ executive secretary.
Her supervisor, Jada—one of the few genuinely nice human beings in the firm—thought Bea deserved room to grow. So when Jada had heard Alex’s receptionist had suddenly quit, Jada had championed Bea with high recommendations to Ms Krueger. To Bea’s surprise, Ms Krueger had picked her among several candidates, many of whom had been prettier and more qualified than Bea. Ms Krueger had said she liked her style. Bea still didn’t quite understand what Ms Krueger had meant. She didn’t dress flashy or put too much makeup on like the other girls in the office. Nor could she afford to dress in expensive clothes. Not as she’d supported her alcoholic father since she had been sixteen.
Bea had had a crush on Alex since she’d first seen him in the elevator of the firm’s building. She’d had an interview for the mail clerk job and had been nervous. At that time, she hadn’t known who Alex really was. He had been a handsome stranger who had been kind enough to direct her to the human resource’s office and had wished her good luck. Later, Bea had found out the man was one of the firm’s owners. Whoa. Working for Alex had been a dream come true. Even though as her direct boss, Alex had turned out to be an arrogant and snappish jerk.
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