A Tiger's Bride (A Lion's Pride Book 4) (3 page)

“What does it look like we are doing?”

“Heading into the danger zone.”

“Such melodrama. Relax, little kitten, we will simply dance.” Dance dressed and upright for the moment.

“Dance? With me? Oh no, you don’t want to do that.”

Yet the shake of her head, which loosed a few more fat golden curls, did not sway him. Dmitri was possessed of a powerful urge to hold her in his arms, to fit her against him and…probably start a fight.

Up until now, those chaperoning her seemed lenient. However, should he stray across a boundary, diplomatic guest or not, he didn’t doubt they’d act.

The danger didn’t make him hesitate one bit.

Nor did he pay heed to her feeble protest. Reaching the center of the crowd, which parted before his demanding glare, he turned her to face him.

With one hand clasping hers, the other at her waist, he began a slow, simple waltz that, at first, she hesitated to follow.

She tried one last protest. “You really don’t want to do this.”

He didn’t think she tread on his foot on purpose. “We are dancing, little kitten, so you might as well hush and enjoy it.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” was her ominous reply.

While her words promised one thing, her actual reaction proved the opposite. As they moved in a four step, her body lost its rigid tenseness, limbs loosening, her movements falling in line with his. Their tempo matched, their bodies synchronized.

Dmitri added some flair to their steps, and to his delight, she adapted, her hips swiveling, her feet stepping, and her smile beaming while her eyes lit with enjoyment.

He chose to ignore that their wild movements caused some people to dart out of the way. That was their own fault for dancing too close to a pair of suns because, yes, in his mind, they were both quite brilliant.

Again, not arrogance, just plain fact.

How delightful she appeared, her lips tilted into a smile of enjoyment. A rosy flush in her cheeks, a soft laugh escaped through parted lips, all spoke to her enjoyment. Her nearness aroused, even if their dance wasn’t body to body. It didn’t need to be that close when the elegance of their movements and the pull of her gaze aroused him more than should have been feasible.

Electricity danced between them, sparking the air with delightful suspense, and yes, he’d dare say it, lust.

It might seem too crass to compare, and yet he couldn’t help himself, given touching Teena lit him on fire while being around Meena usually meant he was holding himself ready to move. She sure didn’t hit like a girl.

Teena, on the other hand, was all woman. Seductive curves, entrancing scent, and to the idiot who got her foot in his face when Dmitri dipped, “Next time move out of the lady’s way,” Dmitri growled when the fool opened his mouth, about to whine. The guy slunk away.

Pussy.

He offered a glare to anyone else in the vicinity that might mar his enjoyment. Dmitri was dancing with his lady, and no one had better interrupt.

The slow song migrated to something with a quicker tempo. He changed their steps yet again, and for a moment, she matched him, a brisk shake of her hips—dear gods! He could have carried her off when, with a shy smile, she added a dash of seduction.

No more was Teena content for his hand to guide her waist. Nor did she want to clasp fingers. She draped her arms around his neck, invading his space.

I surrender.

In that moment, Dmitri was hers. And she was his.

“Mine.”

“What did you say?” She danced only a few hairsbreadths from him, and her soft query tickled his skin.

Did he dare repeat himself?
I fear nothing. Not even the truth.
“I said you are mine.” As he said the words, he angled his hips away and braced for impact.

Teena didn’t attempt to knee him. Or punch him. Nor did she insult him like Meena—
“The only way I’ll ever belong to you is if you kill me and stuff me like some trophy.”
Despite her splendid hips, he found himself tempted to do so.

But not with Teena. With this woman, he enjoyed himself, finding her gracious in her talk, addictive with her laughter, and an utter goddess when she danced in his arms. Even if they didn’t quite touch, heat radiated, burning him.

Would he combust if there was nothing to separate their skin?

Stripping not being conducive to the moment, he satisfied himself with tugging her close and placing his hands on her waist. Flush against him, she danced, still not as close as he’d like. His hands slid down until they cupped the sweet curve of her ass.

Squeeze. A perfect fit in his palms.

This close together, she couldn’t miss his desire. His erection pulsed and strained, it hinted, quite strongly, that they should find somewhere private so he could sheath himself within her. He wanted her naked, beneath him, her eyes closed and head tilted, her mouth rounded in panting pleasure. He wanted her creamy thighs wrapped around him, helping him to sink deep into her glorious body. He’d wager some of the same thoughts teased her as well, given her musky arousal swirled around him in a heady mix.

She wants. She’s ours.

He tilted her chin, but her gaze wouldn’t meet his.

“Look at me, little kitten. See and feel how you affect me.” He pressed her as firmly as he could against him.

She drew in a breath, peered up at him, and—

Later he would blame all the blood in his brain that vacated for not recalling they were in a very public place, a place inhabited by his enemies who didn’t take too kindly to the liberties he took with a certain lady on the dance floor. Perhaps, had his dick left a little red stuff to power his mind, he would have also noticed a certain father bearing down on them with murder in his eyes.

It was certainly his dick’s fault that the fist caught him square in the jaw. It didn’t fell him, but it certainly stung. Not that he rubbed it or said a word aloud. Men didn’t whine in public—they waited to tell their mother later so she could rant at length about the disrespect of peasants and plot ways to ruin them.

But in this case, he didn’t need mother dear. And even better, he wouldn’t have to destroy Peter and thus mar the beginning of his new life with Teena. Not optimism. Fact. She would be his.

Yet, why earn her ire by killing Peter when she seemed determined to berate her father on her own?

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she placed herself between them.

“Move out of the way, baby girl. I need to get that foreign furball to show you some respect.”

“He was being a perfect gentleman, unlike certain meddling parents,” she snapped with a show of spirit Dmitri enjoyed and yet seemed to surprise her father.

“He was mauling you.”

“And I was enjoying it!”

A sudden silence descended just as Teena shouted it. However, Dmitri could have applauded when, despite her red cheeks, she tilted her chin and remained facing her father.

The big man looked flummoxed. “I was just looking out for you. He’s a no-good foreigner who’s just using you because he can’t have your sister.”

Oooh. That stung.

Dmitri didn’t need to hear Teena’s indrawn breath to know the words hurt. Teena spun on her heel and marched off.

Peter appeared dumbstruck, but only for a moment, before he took off after her. “Baby girl, I didn’t mean it like that. You know you’re perfect.”

As Dmitri watched them stalk away, he noted it was probably prudent not to follow. Let Teena hash it out with her father. While he waited for them to complete their spat, Dmitri could bask in the fact that she’d stood up for them.

Them. As in a duo. How astonishing that, in his pursuit of one woman, he’d found the one he was truly meant to be with.

Now to convince her of that fact.

Luna returned, probably with a new plan to thwart him or an insult tailored for him. Her verbal attacks made him nostalgic for home. “I’ll call you a liar if you tell this to her dad, but you guys were kind of cute dancing together. I mean there were a couple of incidents, like when Teena accidentally tripped the dude coming to cut in on you, but overall, I’d call it a success.”

“She dances like an angel.” Light as a feather and more beautiful.

Ack. Was that his tiger hacking a hairball at his ridiculous poetic side that kept regurgitating the oddest things? At least it was only about Teena.

“But she only dances like that with you. Imagine that.”

Why imagine when he knew it was fate?

Teena was his mate. Or would be as soon as he could get her away from her family. What was a tiger to do?

Stalk, of course.

Rawr
.

Teena stalked off, her blood boiling but for so many reasons. Peeved at her dad, a little peeved at herself, and aroused, damn him.

While they were talking, she’d managed to forget Dmitri was a poor choice. As they danced, she could think only of how good it felt. How right.

How fated…?

Given Meena had recently explained to her how it felt to know she’d met the one, Teena had to wonder.

His appearance hit her in the chest each time, a powerful blow that made her breathing stutter, her heart pound madly, and the most delicious heat to invade her.

She liked Dmitri.

She desired Dmitri.

He’s ours,
said her lioness.

But as Daddy reminded her, she was only second best.

It stung. It stung more than it should have but only because it was so true. Dmitri was using her as a replacement. Despite all his pretty words and claims, the fact remained that she was second choice.

And she hated it.

In that moment she might have even hated her sister.

Why couldn’t we have met first?

Her father chased after her, his “Baby girl, don’t you walk away from me,” not helping her plaintive tantrum.

She whirled, eyes bright with tears but voice steady as she said, “I will do what I want. I am a grown woman.”

“A grown woman that I’m trying to stop from making a mistake. I know that Russian fellow seems sincere and whatnot, but we know what he’s after.”

“A replacement.” Bitterly said, her lips tightening.

“I was going to say good genes.”

“Whatever. Apparently it’s too much to believe that, while he might have come after me because I’ve got big hips, perhaps he hung out with me all night because, hey, maybe I’m kind of fun.”

“Sure he did.”

She didn’t like the placating tone in his voice at all. “Are you implying I’m boring?”

“No, of course not.”

“Yes you are because I’m not as wild as Meena or outspoken as Luna. Or thinking that every situation needs a violent resolution.”

“Violence is more efficient,” her father grumbled.

“Don’t change the subject. The fact of the matter is, whether Dmitri is playing me or not, it isn’t for you or Luna or anyone else to decide. It’s my choice if I want to listen to him compliment me or tell him about my third grade trip.” Which had resulted in her and Meena getting banned from the zoo…for life. “I was having fun. It didn’t mean I was about to elope with him.” Although she did have a very Meena thought along the lines of
Wait a second, wouldn’t mother have a kitten if I did?
As for her father, she could only imagine the swath of destruction.

A pity she didn’t have the guts to do it.

This was assuming that Dmitri truly meant what he said, that he wanted her. Thing was, could she look past being second place?

I was until someone pointed it out to me.

And all this was moot.

Dmitri would probably steer a wide berth now given the antics of her family.

I wish they’d trust me more.
She hadn’t made it to her ripe age still a virgin because she fell for false flattery.

Given she wasn’t in the mood to dance anymore—in her state she’d probably cause some serious harm—she began to head back to the house, only she got waylaid on the way by a pair of ugly cousins, a few times removed, who insisted they share a drink.

While not much of a drinker, the Jell-O shots went down nicely as she bitched about her father to anyone who would listen.

After the fourth—or was it the fifth?—cherry-flavored gelatin mouthful, she felt herself wobbling on her feet.

Damn, she’d drunk way more than she was used to. Time to say goodnight and find her bed. She waved goodbye to the women she’d talked to and weaved her way to the house. As she tottered, and prepared to say hello to the ground—face first—an arm caught her. Snaring her around the waist, Dmitri reeled her upright and held her there.

A good thing he held them steady because the world around them spun. Dammit, that was taking the whole world-revolves-around-me axiom a little too far.

“Careful, little kitten. The ground is a hard place to land.”

“So is your chest,” she sassed back then giggled.

“So you noticed.”

Since she leaned against said chest, she felt him puff it out. The alcohol making her bold, she placed her hand over his heart while her head cradled just under his chin. “I noticed a lot of things about you. But the one thing I can’t figure out is if you’re telling the truth.” She, on the other hand, was apparently drunk enough to not hide her curiosity.

“The truth about what, little kitten?”

“How do I know you want me for me?”

“Is not the fact that we’re still here talking and not on a plane for Russia with a priest indication that I am willing to woo you?”

She blinked. It took a moment to process his words. “You’re wooing?”

“Well, yes. That is generally the step one takes to convince a woman to marry him.”

“You want to marry me?”

“But of course. You are mine.”

“And you can decide this in just one night?” It sounded kind of familiar. Hadn’t he proposed after one date to her sister? Ugh. Déjà vu. “I gotta go.”

She broke free of his loose embrace and spun on a bare heel, tottered, and almost fell.

Once again, he was there to catch her.

“I see you are overwhelmed, little kitten.”

“No. I’m annoyed at myself for thinking you liked me. And even more annoyed that my dad was right. I’m nothing to you but a breeding machine. Good night, Dmitri. Have a safe trip back to Russia. Alone.”

A little of the fog cleared in her head as she strode away from him. If you could call one stride leaving.

Except he wasn’t ready to let her go.

He placed himself in front of her, cupped her cheeks, and forced her to face him. “I will prove you mean more,” were the words he whispered just before he slanted his mouth over hers.

Sizzling electricity arced between them, the touch of his lips on her a shock, a good one.

Forget pushing him away, forget everything but the feel of him nipping and tugging at her lower lip. Basking in the seductive pleasure of his tongue, she clung to him as he quested within the warm recess of her mouth.

A strange languor invaded her limbs. She went limp in his arms. But still he kissed her, hunger in his bold strokes, heat in his cupping hands.

No bones to hold her up.

Literally.

More than just passion made her legs buckle and her eyes shut, the lassitude in her body a result of her drunken state and not his touch. Or was there more to it?

Am I drugged?

Did he do it?

Good grief, was she about to become a tiger’s bride?

A spurt of elation and fear then…

Darkness fell like a curtain over her mind.