Masks of a Tiger (2 page)

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Damn it all
. She needed
to get away.
Neeve
swore under her breath and dodged
the toddler running full pelt at her legs. Was there nowhere in this
godforsaken place, where she could be alone for five minutes? She'd briefly
considered darting into the forest surrounding the sprawling house, but it was
getting dark, and she didn't fancy getting lost. Besides, Estelle had been
strangely insistent that she not venture into the forest under any
circumstances.
Neeve
had laughingly agreed, more in
an effort to soothe her worried looking friend, than in agreement. Still, this
place was strange enough for her to heed Estelle's warning. For all she knew
there were indeed man-eating monsters in that forest. Only last week the papers
had been full of a so-called lion sighting.
A lion, in the
forests of Essex.
People were just too dumb. The
Lion
had turned
out to be nothing more than a cat. At least that had been the explanation
given, but Estelle had looked strange, and Nathan had positively growled when
Neeve
had waved the newspaper around over coffee. He had
fixed her with one of his stares that always made
Neeve
feel lacking somehow. What Estelle saw in him, she would never know. Well,
apart from the fact that he was loaded, drop-dead gorgeous, and besotted with
her. He was also a Dom, and whilst Estelle seemed deliriously happy with him
the fact that she wore his collar and called him Master didn't sit well with
Neeve
. And to think it was
Neeve
who'd signed her up to the Club Ink website, to help her get his attention.
She'd gotten his attention all right. It had led to Estelle fully embracing the
BDSM lifestyle, and she was now married and collared, much the same as
Neeve
witnessed here today. At least Estelle and Nathan had
chosen to not make Estelle's collaring a public affair like this one was.

Neeve
hadn't
realized what the pretty necklace was until Estelle had explained it to her.
The conversation that followed had been an eye-opener to say the least.
Neeve
respected her friend's wishes, but she was never
going to understand them.

A bit of kink was all
well and good, but
Neeve
was no submissive, and if
any of the hunks attending this collaring ceremony thought they could slap a
collar on her like some fucking dog, then they'd be singing soprano. She shouldn't
have tagged along, really, but Estelle needed help with little Janus, and the
promise of baby snuggles was too hard to resist.

Whatever she thought of
the
Fieldings
and their choice of lifestyle, Estelle
was happy, and as her friend
Neeve
was happy for her.
Even a tad envious, if she was honest with herself, and as she had nothing else
planned this weekend, she'd agreed to come along. It would keep her mind off
the anniversary, or so she'd thought. However, this family gathering had proved
too much, the escape of the flame too hard to resist.

Neeve
pushed open
the door to the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief. The cozy space was
empty.
Finally.
Her wrist hurt like hell, now
that the immediate rush had worn off. Here, she would be able to have a look at
it without alerting the watch dogs. Her stomach clenched as she recalled the
tall, black man with the white hair, whose gaze had scorched her skin across
the crowded marquee much more effectively than any flame could have done. The
man knew how to wear a tux. His broad shoulders strained the expensive cloth,
and she couldn't tear her eyes away from his large hands as they loosened his
tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his dress shirt. The whiteness of
the shirt was such a startling contrast to the color of his skin, and his dark
eyes had held her in trance. She'd stood frozen to the spot, mortified that he
may have witnessed her
episode.
Disapproval had been written all over
his ebony features, and when he'd finally raised his eyes to hers they'd held
an unspoken challenge.

She'd flipped him the
finger and run, all too aware of his smiling response and his friend's
laughter. The dark haired hunk with God complex written all over his handsome
features and the muscled body to die for had been trailing her whereabouts ever
since she arrived. Every time he looked at her, he'd smirked. Her hands had
itched to wipe that smug grin off his face, while her female senses had drunk
in the sight of all that maleness. It was showcased to perfection in the dark
summer suit he wore with careless elegance. He had an air of danger around him.
When she'd asked Estelle who he was, she'd said security. They had been
distracted before she could ask why they would need security at a family
gathering.

That is until she'd
taken in the assembled crowd. Ink and Nathan's parents and their sisters seemed
perfectly normal, but there had been rather a lot of collared subs around, now
that she knew what she was looking for.

Neeve
approached
the sink, pulled at the paper napkin stuck to her wrist, and winced.
Shit,
that hurt.

"Don't! You'll make
it worse." The accented, deep, voice stopped her in her tracks. It was the
tall, black Dom from the Marquee. Her stomach clenched, and she suppressed a
curse. Did it have to be
him?

 
"Let me see what you've done to
yourself." The unmistakable command in that voice did strange things to
her insides.

"Nothing, it's
nothing."
Neeve
tried to hide her hand behind
her back, but his grasp on her arm stopped her.

"I'll be the judge
of that." His voice deepened, and
Neeve
gasped
when he grabbed her hair hard enough to hurt and forced her head up to look at
him.

The look he gave her had
her insides tighten in excitement, and he smiled—a slow, dangerous, extremely
sexy smile, exposing startlingly white teeth. There was a hint of stubble on
his dark features, and
Neeve
held her breath as he
leant down and inhaled.

What the fuck?

She kicked his shin, but
if anything his hold on her tightened, and he chuckled. His warm breath
feathered across her face, and she suppressed an involuntary groan as his
unique and delicious scent surrounded her.

"Nice try,
sweetheart, but you'll have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of
me."

Neeve
shut her
eyes and took a deep breath.
Damn it,
he smelled too good. Whatever
cologne he was wearing, should be patented as instant, drop your panties sexy.
As a result her reply came out far too breathy.

"Let go of me. You
have no right to manhandle me."

He growled his denial
and slid his hand down to her wrist.

"When I see a
beautiful woman abusing her body, and threatening to spoil my friend's special
day, I have every right."

"I'm not spoiling
anything. And what is special about collaring a woman as though she's nothing
but a piece of fucking property?" She winced when his fingers dug into the
burn on her wrist, and he gentled his grip immediately.

"Not understanding
something does not give you the right to belittle someone's choices." The
quietly uttered words settled in her tummy like lead, and her conscience
stirred briefly.

"I'm not…" Her
voice faltered as he cocked one eyebrow at her.

"I heard you,
sweetheart."

"You couldn't
have." Her heart beat a bit faster as he simply continued to watch her,
and she jumped when the door opened.

Ink bore down on the two
of them like an avenging angel.

"You were rude and
disrespectful, and if you weren't Estelle's friend, and I fear it would spoil
Cherie's day, you'd be halfway home in a taxi by now, after
Trikus
spanked your ass raw." Ink's voice could have cut glass, and
Neeve
flinched when he, too, stepped right into her
personal space. Both men towered over her, and she nervously looked from one to
the other. Ink looked pissed as hell, and her white-haired captor simply smiled
and released her. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and she swallowed hard.

"You … you wouldn't
dare. We're not at your precious club, and there are laws against
harassment."

Ink growled, and
Neeve
could have sworn his eyes bled to golden. It must
have just been a trick of the light, however, because they were back to normal
when she blinked and looked again. His gaze narrowed on her wrist, and he
swore.

"Fuck it,
Grisha
, sort this sub out, and keep her the fuck away from
Cherie."

"I'm no one's
sub!
And I most certainly do not need sorting."

How dare they, both of
them?
She stomped her foot to get her point across and crossed her arms. White hot
pain darted up from her wrist, as the move scraped her tender flesh against the
buttons of her blouse, and she bit her lip to stop herself from wincing.

If possible Ink's
expression darkened further, and
Grisha
gently but
firmly tugged on her hand until her wrist was exposed.

"I’ll deal with
this. Go and be with Cherie.
Neeve
here will not
cause any more trouble, Ink. Will you, sweetheart?"

Her smart retort died on
her tongue when she saw the unmistakable warning in his black eyes, mixed in
with concern. Besides, he was right. Her wrist hurt like hell, and she needed
to get it seen to.

"Make sure you do,
Grisha
." Ink gave her body a once over, and
Neeve
tensed again at his knowing smirk, as though he knew
exactly what she looked like without her clothes on.
Grisha
drew her back against his chest, one arm around her waist in a possessive
gesture that—under normal circumstances—would have earned him a verbal lashing
at least. Right now, however, all she did was lean into him, all too aware of
Ink watching her every move, every rumor she'd ever heard about the forbidding
owner of Club Ink, bouncing around in her brain. You really didn't piss Ink
off. They weren't at the club, but they were at his parents’ place, and this
was very much his show.

But if he thought she
was going to apologize he had another think coming. She pursed her lips and bit
her tongue to stop herself from saying that out loud.

He gave her another,
long, hard stare that would have had her squirming had
Grisha
not had such a tight hold on her, and then he threw his head back and laughed.

"Trust you,
Grisha
. I'll be interested to see how long it'll take you
to tame this one."
Grisha's
hold on her
tightened
further,
and she glared at Ink's departing
back and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

When the door banged
shut behind Ink,
Grisha
let her go and studied her
for a moment. She defiantly stared him down, and he sighed and mumbled
something in a foreign language before he held out his hand.

"Now, show me that
wrist."

Chapter Two

Neeve's
expressive
face showed every one of her emotions, and
Grisha
wondered briefly if she had any idea how easy she was to read. He'd bet his
last dollar that she didn't and that she would be horrified if she knew. She
breathed easier without Ink in the room.
Grisha
, on
the other hand, had a hard time to hang onto his composure.
When
she had leant back into him, seeking and accepting his protection, albeit
subconsciously, his tiger had almost purred his satisfaction.
Her slight
curves had fitted perfectly against his hard frame, and he'd had to resist the
urge to lick the rapidly beating pulse point in her neck.

His cock had hardened to
the point of pain when she wriggled against him, and he'd known the instant she
noticed. She'd tensed and grown very still. Even now her heartbeat reached
dangerously high stats, and as much as she tried to control her breathing, the
heavy scent of her arousal hung in the air between them. Her eyes darted to his
groin repeatedly, before she pointedly stared at his chest. Oh yes, prickly she
may be, confused and in denial, most definitely, but she was also fiercely
attracted to him.

Grisha
forced his
excited tiger to stand down and gestured her over to the sink. As much as he'd
like to lose himself balls deep inside her body, she was hurt, and he needed to
find out why she felt the need to mark her delicate skin.

He turned on the tap,
and she flinched when he held her wrist under the steady stream of cold water.

"I know it hurts,
but this will take the paper off without taking more of your skin with
it." He growled low in his throat as the true extent of her injury became
apparent. A nasty red burn mark spread across the delicate area of her inner
wrist, a blister already forming in the center.