A Tiger's Bride (A Lion's Pride Book 4) (2 page)

The stare between her shoulder blades burned. Tingled. It roused her curious cat. It made Teena want to turn around and peek. Yet, she knew it would look odd if she did. She was, after all, on display as maid of honor.

Still, though, she really wanted to know who the hell watched her so intently.

She’d felt the weight of the stare almost the instant she walked down the aisle. Even odder, the awareness someone watched her avidly didn’t frighten her. On the contrary, it roused awareness, a molten warmth that fired through her veins awakening all her senses.

This hyper awareness was what she blamed on her somewhat less-than-graceful trip—that and the muttered, but clearly understood, “Here comes trouble.”

They were quite right in their assessment. Teena certainly proved over and over again that she was a magnet for it, especially when in the spotlight, like now.

The red carpet, placed atop manicured lawn, held one tiny wrinkle and, along with her high heel shoes, conspired against her.

If a lioness falls at the wedding, everyone hears—and comments.

“Oooh,” uttered from a watching crowd. Crunch as she hit. Then the panicky wail of her aunt, “Someone pull her off, she’s crushing poor Uncle George.”

He wasn’t the only one who broke her fall.

Whee, look at me, I managed to take out three wedding guests at once.

Cheeks hot—a habit she hadn’t managed to shake over the years, despite her numerous mishaps—she’d regained her feet with some helping hands. However, forget taking a step in her heels. One wobbled precariously, thus, with a red face surely rivaling that of a ripe tomato, she slipped off her heels and, with them dangling from her fingers, finished her less-than-noble walk down the carpeted aisle.

As she stood at the head of the attending guests, in her place as maid of honor, she had a chance to scan the crowd. It took only a moment to discover the culprit behind the stare. It belonged to a man in the very back, dressed elegantly in a dark gray suit that fitted his wide shoulders to perfection. His long legs were stretched to the side, his feet dangling in the aisle. A tall man. A sensuously sexy male with black hair, touched with a hint of red-gold, and eyes that riveted her in place.

Her tummy fluttered, and the heat flooding her cheeks this time had nothing to do with embarrassment.

We are admired.
Her inner lioness preened before the evident visual praise.

Teena wanted to cringe. Wouldn’t it figure that this most handsome of men would see her stumble? Then again, was she really surprised? Her track record with men wasn’t very good, and her propensity for trouble didn’t help. For a girl who believed in happily ever afters, she seemed to encounter a lot of zeros instead of heroes.

But hey, if Meena can find a man, so can I.

Her twin sister, with her bold nature and less-than-ladylike ways, had been voted in high school most likely to get stranded on a desert island or killed by one of her victims.

Yet Meena had found her mate, and a handsome one, too, who, in a romantic twist, planned the surprise wedding Teena currently attended. A surprise wedding that included one jilted fiancé.

Given she didn’t recognize the stranger, and his aristocratic bearing seemed out of place, it struck Teena in that instance who the man must be. No wonder he eyed her with such interest.

So this is the infamous Dmitri.

He’s hot. And he’s eyeballing me.

It didn’t take a genius, once she connected the dots, to understand where his interest came from. He couldn’t get one sister, so now he would set his sights on the other.

A pity she hadn’t met him first. Teena would have loved to have been the ardent object of this man’s attention, even if his reasoning—which Meena screeched at length was centered around birthing hips—was less than sound.

In the beginning, perhaps the hot Russian male would have wanted her for her genes, but in the end, Teena would have made him love her. Or accidentally killed him in the attempt.

When the ceremony ended, Teena noted, with held breath, that he made a beeline toward her, a straight path interrupted by one very overprotective father.

Sigh.

There went any fantasy of this Dmitri fellow sweeping her off her feet and working to convince her to accept him as her man.

A shame. Despite being second choice, Teena could have used a little fantasy romance.

Surrounded by her giggling cousins and doing her best to keep her sister from causing disaster, Teena tried to keep her attention away from Dmitri and her dad. But her gaze kept straying, and that was how she ended up not spotting the poor waiter who tried to come alongside her to offer a drink.

Aunt Patty was gracious enough to exclaim, after she got soaked by the white wine spritzers, “Oh don’t you fret, dear. I was getting kind of hot anyhow.”

But Teena did fret. For all her grace most of the time, it took only one misstep, one whirl, sometimes just one bend over to grab a quarter off the sidewalk, to cause catastrophe.

Her ability to cause mishaps had led to more than one date ditching her, sometimes with the check.

Nothing was more embarrassing than to have a possible beau not return from the washroom after she accidentally squirted lobster juice in his face when she tried to crack a claw.

Now she stuck to easy foods when on a date, but that didn’t mean they ended any better, especially considering that, when she wouldn’t put out on the first one, or the second one, they rarely returned for a third. Her stance that she would put out only once she was wed had led to a few men crossing her off their list.

Apparently abstinence was too much for them to handle.

The vow she took to remain pure until she met and wedded
the one
meant she was now in her mid twenties and still a virgin, which amused Meena to no end.

“Sis, what the hell are you waiting for?”

A husband. True love. The perfect moment.

An impossible fantasy.

Teena didn’t have the same ballsy attitude her sister did. Actually, no one was quite like her twin, Meena, who, with a screech, went after the “bitch” who dared flirt with her new husband.

With a shake of her head, Teena turned away from the carnage and hair pulling. She’d seen it many times before. It never failed to appall her. Mother’s lessons on proper behavior just never stuck with Teena’s twin.

As for Teena, she did her best to act as a lady should, but at times, she wondered if she shouldn’t follow her sister’s lead. She seemed to have much more fun.

A shiver went down her spine, a tingle of awareness that gave her only the slightest warning before an accented voice said, “Excuse me, but I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

Whirling, she beheld the jilted Russian. This close, he proved even more formidable and sexy. Few men had the ability to make her feel small. He did, though, the height and breadth of him a perfect complement to her own size. The dark hair, with its hint of tiger orange and gold, appeared soft, and the right length for someone to run their fingers through. A strong nose, defined cheekbones, a square and stubborn chin were offset by full sensual lips, lips that curled into a sensual smile, promising wicked delights.

Intense, bright blue eyes caught her. His scent, a spicy mix of cologne, musk, and man swirled around her in a heady combination that stole her breath for a moment. It also muddled her thoughts.

She blinked at him, rather stupidly, as she tried to find any kind of words to reply. It took her a good minute, but she managed to a squeak a loquacious, “Hi.”

So much for all her lessons on small talk. If she weren’t out in the open, she might have found a wall to bang her head against.

“Hello.” Oh, how the rumble of his voice thrilled her, but not as much as the smoldering interest in his gaze. She didn’t drop her eyes, but only because he mesmerized her. “I am Dmitri.”

“I know.” Again, the mistress of conversation.

He arched a brow, his lips curved and his cheek hinted at a dimple. Deadly combination. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Indeed it does, kind of like the stench from a skunk,” a lioness of the pride—Luna, a good friend and cousin—interjected as she joined them. “Hate to break it to you, big fella, but everyone knows you’re a stalker.”

“Stalker? No. More like an admirer.”

Teena bit her lip trying not to smile, but it was hard, given he said it with a wink in her direction.

Luna had no such problem when it came to ignoring his flirting. “Don’t you be throwing that suave Russian charm around, buddy. Teena is off limits, so bug off.”

“How interesting you should say that, as her father just gave me the same warning. Does
Teena
”—and yes he practically purred her name—“not get a say?”

The focus of his gaze, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “I’ll decide whom I talk to and hang with.” What on earth? Teena wondered if she looked as surprised as she felt. Had she seriously just said that?

Apparently she had, according to the dropped jaw on Luna and the pleased smile on Dmitri.

“The lady has spoken. You may run along now,” he told Luna, smugness in his tone.

The stranger inside Teena spoke again. “The lady says maybe you should hold your tiger, big guy. While I might want the right to make my own decisions on whom I talk to, I never said that included you.”

Forget him taking offense at her words, his smile broadened. “Is this your subtle American way of asking me to woo you?”

“I think we all know your method of wooing,” Luna muttered darkly. “Kidnapping, locked rooms, and threats aren’t the way to get a girlfriend.”

“And yet don’t the romance novels use these very same methods to gain a hero a bride?”

Teena’s forehead furrowed, and she couldn’t help but ask, “What would you know about romance novels?”

“It matters not.”

Luna snickered. “I think it does. Don’t tell me you read romance books?”

Judging by the somewhat ruddy color highlighting his sharp cheekbones, he did. It was so utterly out of character that Teena couldn’t help but think it adorable. She jumped to his defense. “I find it commendable that a man is secure enough in his masculinity that he would resort to reading something traditionally considered for women only because he likes it.”

He snorted. “I read it in an attempt to understand the morass that is the female mind. Alas, despite emulating the antics of the male heroes in such sagas, I’ve yet to achieve the same level of success. In other words, I have yet to net the perfect bride.”

“Did it ever occur to you that you should try dating?” Luna sassed. “I realize you’re used to blow-up dolls that don’t require much attention, but when it comes to real women, they need a little more. Say, like asking her out for dinner, maybe listen to her talk, do nice things for her like open doors and buy her flowers, not abduct her and make her a prisoner in your dungeon.”

“For your information, I did not keep her in a dungeon. It was a tower.”

For some reason, Teena found this eminently funny. She snickered. Then giggled. “That would explain Meena’s complaint that she wished she had Rapunzel’s hair.”

“As if she needed it. My men and I are still baffled as to how she managed to escape that room. The lock should have been foolproof.”

Teena shrugged. “She’s always been handy that way.”

“And are you the same? Do you know how to pick locks and hotwire motorcycles?”

“No. But I can knit.” Her lame skill didn’t make him laugh. On the contrary, he seemed entirely too pleased.

“Good to know.”

Luna shoved a finger in his chest. “Oh no it’s not. You will not kidnap her like you did Meena. Teena’s too sweet to know how to escape you, which means we’d have to come and kick your ass when we rescue her.”

The lack of faith her friend had in her burned. Teena wasn’t that incompetent, and who said she’d want saving? There was something rather darkly delicious about Dmitri’s casual assurance and domineering manner.

If only I weren’t second choice.

Puffing his chest, Dmitri fixed Luna with a regal stare. “Who says Teena would want rescuing? I am an eligible male, of impeccable breeding, exceeding wealth, and—”

“Lots of arrogance,” Teena added with a shake of her head. “Luna’s right. I think you should find someone else to focus your attention on.” Funny how the very suggestion made her inner lioness growl while the woman in her drooped in disappointment

She wilted even further when he said, “As you wish,” and walked away.

It wasn’t just her inner feline that made the sad meowing sound.

Guess I wasn’t worth the trouble after all.

Stubborn women were the bane of Dmitri’s existence, and it seemed fate enjoyed tossing them constantly in his path. Especially when it came to settling down with a woman.

Upon meeting Teena, he’d hoped she would prove easy to charm and hoped she would find herself as intrigued by him as he was of her. But no. She ordered him to leave her alone, and he left.

Stalking away went against his upbringing. Russian nobility, even the shifter kind, didn’t admit defeat. Teethed on adversity by a mother who didn’t understand the meaning of losing meant Dmitri didn’t give up. Winning was the only option. Yet, even the most famous general knew when to retreat and regroup, especially in delicate situations, such as this one.

Surrounded by the enemy, also known as her bloody, well-meaning family, he had to tread cautiously. None of them wanted him to steal the luscious Teena. But their opinion didn’t matter for he’d seen a glimmer of hope.

Upon their meeting, Dmitri had sensed Teena’s interest, an interest made impossible to pursue due to the intervention of a meddling lioness. Given Luna seemed determined to thwart him, he left Teena with her chaperone, but he didn’t abandon his plot.

On the contrary, his interest was piqued. As soon as he heard her speak, and caught a whiff of her delectable scent—woman, all woman with a hint of vanilla—he became determined to make her his. The threat by her father to kill him didn’t bother him. Some things were worth endangering one’s life for.

Like his little kitten.

Yummy curves.

His inner feline was right. She did tempt with a delectable shape, more womanly than Meena’s, who possessed a more athletic type body.

Dmitri liked a more full-figured woman. This woman.

She will be mine.

And to hell—of which he was part owner, given no one wanted the deed to land in Northern Russia—with anyone who thought to stand in his way. He would have her, and before the end of the night.

Of course it took some maneuvering. No one trusted the Russian, or so he overheard. At least the men didn’t. The women, however, fluttered their lashes and sighed as they chattered about his “dangerous mien” and “determined nature.”

Determined was right. They also missed suave, sly, and seductive, all tools he planned to put to use in wooing the luscious lady whom he couldn’t keep his eyes from.

Waiting until Teena found herself alone took some time. Eventually, however, her guard cat wandered off to dance while Teena watched longingly from the sidelines. Approaching with a pair of drinks, he offered her one. “Might I offer you refreshment?”

“I shouldn’t. Mother says to never accept a drink from a stranger.”

“Ah, but we are not strangers.”

“That’s right. You’re my sister’s ex stalker.”

“So harshly you judge me, and yet, perhaps you should perceive things from my perspective. I saw a woman I wanted and went after her.”

“You went after my sister.”

“Obviously a mistake.”

“You think?” Her lips tilted in a smirk.

“Yes, I do think it was a mistake because she pales in comparison to you.”

That made her giggle, the sound light and natural. “Oh, that’s good. But it won’t work. Fact is my sister dumped you, and I won’t be the rebound girl.”

“Shot down without given a chance. You wound me, little kitten.” He attempted to appear aggrieved.

“Little?” She snorted. “Now you’re really laying it on thick.”

“Next to me you are little.” To prove his point, he invaded her space. To his delight, she didn’t move but allowed him close, close enough for him to truly surround himself in her essence.

Ambrosia.

Want her. Take her.

Not exactly feasible given they had an audience, but he almost said screw it, especially when the tip of her pink tongue licked her lips.

“Anyone ever mention you’re a huge flirt?” Said in a breathy voice that matched the rapid flutter of her pulse.

“There is nothing wrong with showing admiration for a woman.”

“Except I hear your admiration is less about a woman’s scintillating personality and more about the width of her hips.”

“I am a practical man. My future mate must be able to handle a male of my
stature
.” He purred the word at her, loving how her pupils dilated and the musk of her arousal surrounded him.

“You want super babies.”

“I want a family. A wife. A future. Are those things really so wrong?”

“No.” She whispered the word as she stared at him. For a moment, he thought she would kiss him. Or should he kiss her, audience be damned?

Her lips parted, and her eyes stared into his with a sultry intensity that mesmerized.

She leaned forward, chin tilted, soft breath fluttering between them—

A raucous yell interrupted them, “Here come the Jell-O shots.”

Snapped from their intimate trance, she reared back and dropped her gaze. “You can’t decide your future based on the circumference of a woman’s hips.”

“Perhaps not, but I can definitely succumb to admiration of her witty repartee, the sensual allure of her body, and the desire she evokes with merely the slightest purse of her lips.” Where the poet in him came from he couldn’t have said. Dmitri never resorted to flowery flirtation. His commanding presence was usually all that was required. Yet, with Teena, he found himself dazzled. Beneath her shy exterior lurked a quick-witted mind, a sassy sense of humor, and a backbone when it came to retaining her pride.

However, he should note, before he had to resort to violence to reassert his manhood, that, beneath all those emotions, strongest of all was pure, unadulterated lust.

Gentle words didn’t mean his fantasy pandered softly. Teena’s dress provoked more carnal thoughts than that. In his fantasy, she’d have her hands braced on a wall, facing it, her buttocks outthrust in invitation. He could so easily see his hands sliding the silk of that skirt over plump and creamy thighs. Would she wear full-bottomed undergarments or something skimpier?

Her eyes widened. “Did you just growl?”

“Consider it an outward expression of my admiration for your assets.”

“I think enough people have told you these assets are off limits.”

She repeated it, and yet, he didn’t sense any conviction in the words.
Of course she doesn’t mean it. She is mine. She knows it. Now I just need for her to admit it.

He tried the direct approach. “There is no use in fighting it. You are mine.”

“Excuse me?”

“You. Are. Mine.” He enunciated it very distinctly.

“You are crazy.” She tossed the insult and yet couldn’t hide the heat radiating from her body.

“I am Russian.” Although, to many, there wasn’t much of a difference.

“You do know, if you try anything, you’ll have my family to contend with.”

“Are you doing this on purpose to entice me?”

“How is the fact that my father would kill you and feed your body to the gators enticing?”

“Danger does not sway me. A man does not get to my position without encountering a few battles on the way. No worthy prize comes without a price.”

“Funny, you didn’t think your life was worth the price with your last fiancée or she wouldn’t be upstairs right now enjoying her honeymoon.”

“That is because she was not you. You are my mate.”

Her breath caught, and her eyes widened. Why this seemed to shake her he couldn’t have said.

Flustered, finally, she snatched at the wine glass in his hand, but she left it untouched and turned her gaze toward the people dancing.

For a moment, nothing was said. As she pretended interest in the gyrating bodies, he studied her.

While he couldn’t help but think of her as a little kitten beside him, the truth was Teena towered over most women, even in her bare feet, but he stood taller still.

Since they stood side by side, he noted the top of her head resided just below his nose. A wondrous height. A perfect height that would allow him to simply dip his head to touch those precious lips.

With her head angled away from him, he got to admire the smooth ski slope of her nose, the tilt on the end adorable, as were the smattering of pale freckles across it. He couldn’t determine the length of her golden-hued locks, bound as they were in a chignon atop her head, but he could see the silky sheen and imagine their texture from the fat ringlets draping her face.

As she stared at the dancers, she didn’t move when he reached out to toy with a corkscrewed strand. “I can see you want to dance. Why do you not join them?” The idea of seeing her move in time to the rhythm, hips undulating, body swaying… He could only hope to control himself at the sight.

She shook her head, and her expression turned woebegone. “I can’t go out there. While I might like to dance, it is best done when I’m alone. Fewer people get injured that way.”

“Surely it’s not that bad,” he teased as he took a sip of his wine.

“It’s worse,” she said with a grimace. She grimaced again when she sipped at the wine. “Oh please don’t tell me you got the stuff from the brown bottles?”

“The ones with no label? It was the beta of this pride who recommended it.”

“Because Hayder obviously doesn’t like you. This is Uncle Joe’s homemade stuff. Only the truly taste bud dead or masochist type drink it.”

In other words, the toughest.

Dmitri took another sip. “I rather like it. It has a certain pungent, earthy taste that reminds me of home. It is somewhat bold, and daring, but completely real and unabashed.”

“All that from one taste?”

“One you did not appreciate. Try it again and, this time, hold it in your mouth. Let the flavors burst upon your tongue.” Much like he longed to burst within her. By all the hairy gods—that his grandmother liked to talk about and worship, despite his mother’s exasperated sighs—she drew him.

“Do I have to?” She eyed the wine in her glass dubiously.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll spit it on you?”

“Spit or swallow, the choice is yours.” Innuendo totally understood—and intentional.

Cheeks red, she didn’t reply but stared at the glass in her hand. Nose wrinkled, Teena sniffed the wine and took another gulp. She held it in her mouth and cocked her head to the side as she followed his instructions before swallowing it with a shy smile in his direction.

He’d never seen anything more cock hardening. And then laughable as she made a face.

“Nope. Still god-awful.”

Husky laughter shook him. “Perhaps it is my Russian heritage that allows me to admire the work that went into it. Might I fetch you something sweeter for your palate?”

He saw her about to say no, ready to refuse him, except she didn’t. Straightening her spine and giving him a bright smile, she said, “I’d like that, please.”

Thus did he fetch her a margarita, the rim crusted with sugar. Worst idea ever tied with best idea ever. That lithe pink tongue slid forth more than once to lap at the treat, pure torture and invitation to fantasy, as he could so easily imagine licking the seam of her lips to taste the sweetness.

Since he doubted he could resist her if she kept doing it, he next fetched her a lemonade cooler, the pucker of the citrus making Teena’s nose wrinkle adorably. He didn’t get the impression she was a big drinker, and yet, she allowed him to feed her glass after glass. Even more marvelous, despite the pointed signals from several people, including her own father—who spent a good portion of the evening glaring at them—Teena conversed with him.

He mentioned it at one point. “You have yet to walk away, despite the urgings of your friends.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, finger rolling through the condensation pooling on the bottle she held with slim fingers.

“Your father has yet to move his gaze from you.”

“He’s a tad overprotective.”

“I rather admire that about him. The head of the family should look after those in his charge.”

“That’s archaic.”

He smiled. “It’s tradition.”

“Another Russian thing?”

He replied with a rolled shoulder. “It is how I am. How my father was and my grandfather.” It was also the motto drilled into him by his mother and grandmother.
Family always comes first. Kill the rest.
His family didn’t have a gentle past.

“You say that, and yet you respect my father’s warning so much you haven’t left my side.”

“How else am I to court you?”

“And are you courting me?”

Words weren’t needed in that moment, just a slow, sensual smile that dropped her gaze and brought a pink glow to her cheeks.

The ambiance around them shifted as a slow song finally materialized among the seemingly non-stop thunderous beat. A smooth, sensual rhythm that insisted on being used.

Setting down his bottle, he grabbed the one she held by the long neck and also placed it to the side. He clasped her empty hand and drew her toward the dance floor, even as she asked, “What are you doing?”