by Sophie Stern
“You’re a tiger,” she says, and now it’s my turn for my jaw to drop.
“Excuse me?”
Anna rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t roll right out of her head.
“A cat. A shifter. A giant feline. Whatever you want to call yourself is fine. I’m not dumb, though, Mr. Lyon. And I know you aren’t a real lion. You don’t carry yourself like one.”
So the human knows about shifters, does she? Interesting. While the existence of shifters isn’t a secret – after all, we have our own laws and codes of conduct that don’t always intersect with the human world – most people aren’t aware of the innate benefits that come from being an animal.
We can see better.
We can hear better.
We can smell better.
We’re faster, stronger, quicker than humans, and even though I’ve dated non-shifters in the past before, I’ve never had anyone call me out on it the way Anna is. Somehow, she just seemed to know that I’m not entirely man, and something about that excites me.
I walk around to the front of the desk and stand next to her. Leaning against my desk, I cross my own legs. Now she’s got an eye-level view of my dick, and yeah, it’s hard.
“And how does a lion carry himself, Miss Donovan?”
She swallows hard and the scent of her arousal fills my nostrils. She’s a horny little thing, isn’t she? I watch her, wondering what she’s going to do next. I don’t expect her to grab my dick again. Not now. Not now that she knows who I am. I don’t expect her to touch me or play with me or flirt with me. In fact, I half-expect she’ll slap me with a sexual harassment lawsuit. The icing on the cake would be the fact that both of my colleagues would absolutely, totally defend her if she decides to.
“With grace,” she says finally, staring at my cock. She looks up and her eyes lock on mine. “With precision.”
“And a tiger?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” she says, and I notice her voice has gone soft, quiet. We’re all alone, but still, this moment feels too important to be ruined with loud words and voices. “Tigers are big and they’re strong, but they’re more than that. They’re more like cats than lions. Lions…lions remind me of big dogs. They’re wild and lovable, but you don’t have to earn their love like you do a tiger. You have to earn a tiger wanting you. You have to fight for it.”
“Is that what you want to do?” I ask her quietly. “Are you a fighter, Anna?”
I don’t know why I’m asking her this.
I’m not sure why I’m asking her something I don’t even really understand myself.
I don’t do relationships.
They’re messy, and I don’t like them.
I don’t like the idea of having to give myself to one woman or of having to change for her.
I don’t like the idea of being tied down, of being trapped with someone.
Somehow, though, I don’t think it would feel trapped if I was with Anna. Somehow, the idea of being stuck with her doesn’t scare me the way it should. Somehow, I’m more curious than afraid when it comes to her, and that alone should have me running.
Anna looks at me, watching me.
“I’m not afraid,” she whispers. Then she leans her head forward and presses her mouth against the crotch of my pants. I can feel it through my jeans, can feel her lips pressing against my cock, and I swallow hard.
I will not come in my pants like some uncontrolled teenager.
I am a tiger.
I am in control.
I am in charge of this situation.
But then she moves her hands to my legs, too, and runs them up and down my jeans. Then she cups my ass and pulls me closer to her, pressing me deeper against her mouth.
I groan, wishing there was nothing between us. I groan, wishing we were upstairs in my apartment and had all the time in the world. I wish she was naked on top of me, bouncing those big, beautiful breasts. I wish I was making her come apart with pleasure.
I wish we were anywhere but right here because we’re in my office, and no matter how excited I get, I won’t fuck her here.
She’s better than that.
The thought shocks me more than it should. At the end of the day, Anna is just a random client. I should have no problem with sleeping with her in my office and then leaving. I should have no issue with it at all, yet somehow, I do.
Somehow, I think she’s more valuable than a quick fuck.
And somehow, I think she needs my help.
Carefully, gently, I pull her away from me.
“What’s wrong?” She asks, looking up at me in surprise. Her eyes flicker with the tell-tale fear of rejection, and I instantly want to protect her. I don’t want to hurt her.
Not Anna.
“You’re very beautiful,” I say slowly, and she pulls her hands back to herself, placing them carefully in her lap.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I was out of line.”
“Not at all,” I say, and sit on the edge of the desk. Fuck. I know I’m blowing this. She’s getting nervous, embarrassed, and the last thing I want her to feel is humiliated.
Not by me.
Not ever.
“You interest me,” I tell her honestly, deciding to make myself vulnerable, as well. The reality of the situation is that Anna is really putting herself out there and if she sees me doing the same thing, she might not feel as sad or scared or nervous.
“I feel the same way about you, Mr. Lyon.”
“It’s not often a woman catches me off guard the way you did today.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’m glad I could bring a little excitement to your day.”
“You did. Now, why don’t we get into the real reason for your visit?”
Anna sighs and runs her hands nervously through her hair. She twirls the end of her hair with her finger. I don’t move, but I probably should. I should make this a professional visit. Sitting on the edge of my desk with my dick so close to her face isn’t professional.
“My father died a few years ago,” Anna says. “He was in a car accident and didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. I’m all right. It was hard, but, you know…I managed. Anyway, that’s not the point. My father…he had a trust drawn up for me. My mother was in charge of it until my 25th birthday, but she recently passed away, as well. Cancer, for her. Now my stepfather is in charge of the trust.”
“And he won’t let you access it?”
Sometimes the new executor of a trust isn’t always the best person for the job. Sometimes the person can be a complete asshole on a power trip. Is that what’s happening with Anna’s stepfather?
“No, he won’t, but that’s not the problem. The problem is that I just found out there’s a tiger clause in it.”
“What the hell?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She pulls out a stack of papers from her bag and hands them to me. Quickly, I start looking through them. “I had no idea it was in there. My mother never mentioned it and I never had any reason to look at the paperwork myself. I figured that when I turned 25, I’d have access to the money and the land that my dad left me.”
“Why the fuck would he put a tiger clause in here?”
Anna shrugs, but looks sad. Pained. “I was dating a shifter at the time. Maybe he thought it would be like a sort of wedding gift. I don’t know.”
“Were things serious?” I find myself jealous of this unknown man. It’s not a feeling I’m comfortable with.
“I was 16 when we were together. We both thought we were in love.”
“What happened?”
“Life happened. He met someone. I met someone. We drifted apart. Classes were hard and homework took up a lot of time. We both got jobs. Typical story.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago,” she waves her hand like it’s nothing, but I’d bet anything that breaku
p still hurts her, haunts her. “I went to talk to my father’s attorney, the one who drew up the will. He’s good friends with my stepfather. I assumed he would help me, but he was firm in saying that my father wanted me to be married to a shifter by the time I’m 25. Otherwise, everything goes to my mother. Since she’s dead now, everything goes to Carl.”
“Carl is your stepfather.”
“Bingo. He already has big plans, so this is obviously something he’s been aware of for awhile. He’s in real estate. He wants to build condos on the land.”
I look at the clause. It’s rarely used in contracts anymore. I know about it from law school, but I’ve never seen anyone write this type of clause into a trust before. In today’s modern age, such things are considered fairly barbaric. After all, women aren’t considered property anymore, and they aren’t considered useless without a husband.
Still, Anna’s father’s wishes are clear: she needs to marry a shifter by her 25th birthday or she’s ineligible to receive her inheritance.
I look at the little human sitting in my office and I wonder how I’m going to break her heart by telling her.
Chapter 3
Anna
He’s going to say there’s nothing he can do.
It’s written all over his face.
While just a few minutes ago, Oliver was excited and passionate and aroused, now he seems almost regretful. He seems almost sad. For me? Is he feeling sad for me?
Because it’s hopeless, I know. I went and talked to Allen yesterday, and he made it perfectly clear there is no way around the clause.
Your father wanted you to share this land with a family, he told me. It’s for your own good. A woman of your age can’t be living on a farm by herself. She shouldn’t be burdened with the responsibility of managing this much money.
Yeah, right.
I’m not stupid.
I know Allen and Carl, my stepfather, are golf buddies. I know they talk. I know perfectly well that they’re friends and they both know if I don’t find someone to marry, Carl gets everything.
Carl has never liked me. I’m convinced he was sleeping with my mother long before my father passed away. As a teenager, I hated him. He made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t like the way he looked at either one of my parents and after my father passed away, Carl wasted no time moving in with Mom. He was living with us two months later, and I’ve always found that really, really strange. I’m not saying he was responsible for my dad’s car accident. I’m just saying the guy is a dick.
Part of me wonders if my trust fund paperwork is fake, if it’s something my mom and Carl cooked up later and had Allen add to the trust as a form of insurance, quietly guaranteeing I wouldn’t get the farm. He’ll never talk, of course. There’s no way to tell if it’s really real or fake. As far as the paperwork goes, everything looks legitimate and that’s the important thing as far as the courts are concerned.
“Can we contest it?” I ask quietly. Oliver is quiet for a long minute as he reads and rereads the page.
“Yes,” he says, but he sets the paperwork down on his desk and sighs. “But the problem is that there’s a huge court case happening in Bradshaw right now.”
“Right. The Miller Road incident.”
“Exactly.”
Two months ago, there was a hit-and-run. The car hit what he thought was a deer and kept on driving. The problem is that it wasn’t a deer at all. It was a shifter who claims he was in lion form when the car hit him and sped off. He shifted back to his human form almost immediately and almost died from the injuries he sustained. Now he’s suing the man for leaving him on the side of the road.
It’s humans against shifters in Bradshaw right now, and the whole thing is messy.
“How does that affect me being able to contest this?” I motion to the pile of papers that have way too much of an impact on my future. They have way too much of an impact on my ability to be a person, to have a future, to be able to reach my dreams.
“Everyone’s busy. We only have one judge in this town and he’s only doing routine paperwork and cases on Fridays. This means the rest of the week, he’s in court all fucking day. And getting a slot on his Friday mornings isn’t easy. It’s nearly impossible.”
“So I can contest it, but not really, because the judge won’t be able to meet with me until it’s too late?”
“Basically,” Oliver sighs and rubs his temples. “Why would your dad do this? Why would he put you in this position?”
“I don’t know,” I tell Oliver honestly. My heart falls as I realize what he means. If I don’t find someone to marry me within the next two months, I’m basically screwed.
“This says you have to get married to a shifter and stay married for 12 months. Then you’ll be able to access the trust.”
“Right.”
I’ve read the document a million times trying to figure out a way around this. I’ve met with Allen, who drafted the terms of the trust, and I’ve spent hours looking this up online.
I’m basically screwed.
“I don’t know why my dad would do this to me, either. I figure my mom was already sleeping with Carl and they figured it was a clever way to make sure I didn’t see a dime. My mom never really liked me.” Oliver gives me a sharp, disbelieving look, and I shrug. “I took care of her throughout her cancer treatments, but she resented me anyway. She always did. I don’t know why.”
“So they talked your dad into adding this clause, convincing him it was for your own benefit?”
“Either that or they faked his will and his signature. It wouldn’t be hard to do. Allen – the lawyer my dad used – is a close friend of Carl, my stepfather.”
“What a clusterfuck.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Do you have any proof?” Oliver looks up hopefully. “Recorded conversations, emails, texts? Anything that could prove the attorney and your stepfather are in cahoots?”
Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Cahoots?”
Oliver shrugs.
“I don’t have any proof. I don’t wear a wire when I’m talking to Carl and honestly, he rarely talked to me at all when I lived at home. I moved out for college and never looked back. When Mom got sick, I was at their place a lot to take care of her, but I never slept there. Carl made it very clear he didn’t want me there. After the funeral, we haven’t talked at all.”
“What made you decide to look at a copy of the trust? What made you decide to have a little peek?”
“Actually, Joyce and I were talking at wine club and she was the one who warned me to check the trust for myself. She said sometimes bad lawyers will write in terrible clauses that completely screw the person over. Sometimes the person signing doesn’t even realize the clause is there.”
“That could be what happened with your dad,” Oliver sighs. He sets the papers on the desk. “Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Anyone you’re in a relationship with that would be open to speeding things up?”
“You mean is there someone I can marry immediately?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Shit.” He glares at the papers. “All right. I’m going to call in a couple of favors and see if we can get this before the judge. When’s your birthday?”
“Two months and four days.”
“Then we’d better move fast,” he says. “I’m going to be honest with you, though. If you believe in love at first sight, now’s the time to download a dating app. I’ve heard good things about Turntable.”
“You want me to find a mate on Turntable?”
“Anna, I’m going to be honest with you. If you want your daddy’s money and his land, if you want your rightful inheritance from your father, you’re going to have to start looking at this from all angles. I’m going to do everything I can to get this before a judge, but if I can’t, then your only other option is going to be to get married, and fast.”
“Right, because getting married fast is a great long-term option.”
“You can get divorced after twelve months,” he motions to the paperwork. “That much is clear.”
“There’s something you need to understand about me, Oliver.” I stand, grabbing my purse. “Marriage isn’t some game. It’s not some tool I want to use and abuse to get the things I need. If I mate someone, especially a fucking shifter, I want it to be someone I love, and I want it to be forever. No backing out.”
“I admire your tenacity.”
“Well, I was admiring your cock a little while ago,” I spit out, blushing when I say it. Why the hell am I behaving like a horny schoolgirl around Oliver? It doesn’t make any damn sense. I’ve always had a high sex drive, but I’ve kept it carefully under control. I’ll sleep with someone when I’m in love, sure, but a random stranger? A lawyer? Never.
I never sleep with strangers or people who don’t love me.
“Have you stopped? It’s the same dick it was when you first arrived.”
“Now I know better.”
“Do you?”
“You’re taking my case, right? We’re going to be working together.”
“And you can’t like the cock of someone you know?”
“That’s not the way this works.”
“It could be.”
“It’s not,” I’m breathless, tired from the banter. I need to go home and take a bath. I need to drown my sorrows with a hot, candlelit bath and a big, big glass of whiskey. Forget wine. That’s for bad days at the office. That’s not for days where you realize you’re not getting the last thing your father left you and that the one person you really, really want to sleep with is totally, completely off limits.
“Suit yourself,” Oliver says, but he doesn’t move. He’s still standing next to his desk, looking casual. He looks like this whole meeting hasn’t been a complete mind-fuck. I need to leave. I need to get out of here. Suddenly, the whole office feels hot.
“Is it hot in here?” I pull at my shirt. “It feels really hot in here. It’s autumn, you know. You shouldn’t have the heater on yet.”
“The only thing hot in here, Anna, is you,” Oliver places a hand on my waist and pulls me close. “Although, if your nipples are any indication, I’d say you’re more cold than hot.”