Wild (3 page)

And much too intriguing.

I can't get involved with him.
She repeated this mantra over and over. And over again as she caved to temptation and sucked on the chocolate. Despite his allure
—mmm creamy caramel—
she'd have to do her best
—oh god, a truffle—
to resist him
.
She couldn't afford to get involved with him. Now she just had to enforce it—right after she finished the chocolate.

 

CHAPTER 3

Leaving Lulu—not by choice but because his mate was proving stubborn—Brody found himself at a loss as to what to do. He'd truly, in his misguided mind, expected things to go much differently. He'd offer her the flowers, and she'd blush and accept them. He'd then dazzle her with a smile and chocolates, she'd thank him with a hug, and then they'd end up naked somewhere.

In retrospect, he was probably a tad optimistic.
Try unrealistic.
His tiger thought he should have acted a little more aggressively. Maybe roared a time or two or peed on something to show his manhood.

Somehow he doubted that would have worked either, but what would?

She's my fated mate.
As in the one and only woman for him. It was how it worked in the shifter world. Once a fellow met his lady: wham, bam, mated, shazaam. The human and, in this case, her tiger would live happily ever after.

Except his human soul mate wanted nothing to do with him.

Impossible. He knew she was the one. His inner tiger chuffed and meowed most pitifully when she was around. His body became aware of her every move. His entire being urged him to touch her.
Lick her. Bite her.

Wait a second. Maybe that was the problem. He hadn't yet touched her. Perhaps the whole insta-love thing required contact to jump-start. If that were the case, then he'd resolve that issue at his earliest convenience when he met with Lulu on the morrow.

Which was too many hours away. Bummer.

Needing to kill time, he decided it was a good time to check in with his boss, and he didn't mean the one for his legal day job. He was talking about his position as go-to guy for the city's alpha and mob lord, Fabian Garoux.

It was Fabian who'd ordered him assigned to this case, a case that came through his company office as a part of the city's and law enforcement's investigation into businesses they felt were shirking their taxes through creative accounting. Fabian had certain friends in strategic places, which was how he'd wrangled getting Brody in charge of the audit.

Who knew a double agent job—and yes, Brody liked to equate his life in terms of being a secret spy—would lead to meeting his future mate?

To think the request to investigate had started so innocuously.

“I think my new bar manager is fudging the numbers,” Fabian had announced when Brody answered his phone a few days back.

Given he was in his cubicle at work, Brody kept his voice low when he replied. “And this concerns me because?”

“For one, because the city decided to launch an impromptu investigation. Secondly, because you're my numbers guy, and this involves money. My money to be exact, which makes it important.”

“To you.”

“And even more important to you if you want to keep what's left of your lives intact.”

Seeing as how he had only four or five left—he wasn't too sure on one of them on account of the concussion and amnesia after he discovered drunken tigers didn't always land on four paws—he thought it prudent to perhaps humor his alpha overlord.

“Who's skimming the kitty?”

“I'm thinking it's got to be the new broad Frank put in charge of Tail Waggers.”

“Isn't that your strip bar downtown?” Brody knew of it but had never gone. He never saw the point of paying for overpriced beer while staring with a bunch of guys at boobies. Personally, he preferred to meet women who wanted to get naked for him and not just anyone with a dollar bill.

“It's a gentlemen's club, thank you very much. And a classy one, too.”

Good thing his boss couldn't see his smirk. “If you say so, boss.”

“I do, and it's also a decent moneymaker, or was until a few months ago. The numbers have been dipping. A lot. Larry, who's the one handling the financial paperwork and crap, doesn't have any answers as to why. He says he's just working off the receipts and invoices the broad running the bar is giving him. Something isn't right, and I want you to find out what the hell is going on.”

“What are you going to do if it turns out someone is skimming?”

“The less you know, the better.” Ominously said, and yet Brody knew Fabian wasn't as bad as he liked to make himself sound. While he might keep a heavy hand on the shifters under his domain, and an even firmer one on his empire, Fabian wasn't a man prone to undeserved violence, nor risk.

He might skirt human law, but Fabian always stayed within it. Much to Gavin's disgust.

Brody's lawyer friend had long wanted to nail Fabian's ass to a wall, legally of course, but alas none of his investigations had borne any fruit. And now that Gavin had hitched himself to Fabian's cousin, Gavin had to reluctantly give up the dream of retaliation against the man who'd made him into a wolf.

Brody often wondered if he'd feel the same urge to retaliate if he were to ever meet the tiger shifter who'd made him. Probably not, given Brody had been a tiger for as long as he remembered.

Bitten when he was just a child, his father killed during the same tiger attack incident, Brody had never known any other life. He was always both a boy and a cat, something his mother—who would love the very tough Lulu—had to learn to deal with without any help or knowledge—but lots of flea baths—until Fabian came into their lives.

The crime lord, only a teen himself at the time, caught her trying to coax a tiger cub from a tree. He did so love to climb things. He'd just sucked at getting down. Problem was his mother didn't dare call anyone for help, lest they take the tiger cub away. Some parents threatened their kids with jail. His mother told him to behave or she'd give him to a zoo.

But threats didn't work that day, and Brody refused to change back. Seeing her dilemma, the young Fabian stood under the tree and put on what Brody called his alpha face, which, seeing as how Fabian was only a teen at the time, wasn't all that impressive, unless you were a wee cub who'd met his first predator in human skin.

Curious, like most cats, Brody crept down to sniff at Fabian, who grabbed him by the scruff, hauled him up, and caught his eye. “Cubs listen to their mother. Or else the alpha will deal with them.”

Back then, it was Anthony in charge of the pack, the man who'd made Fabian who he was. And a scary bastard, too.

Not that Brody saw Anthony much. After Fabian pulled him into the pack, the other shifters left him pretty much alone, except for Fabian. He'd taken on the role of teacher and big brother to Brody. He was the one who'd taught him how to hide who he was. Who taught his mother to maintain a firm hand on him—and use a wooden spoon if needed.

Brody owed a lot to Fabian. So why didn't he work for him directly?

Because Fabian was practical. When he took over as alpha of the pack, and inherited the ownership of the businesses, he decided his business interests were better served by having key people in positions of power. People loyal to him and the pack who weren't susceptible to a bribe that could be traced or countered by a larger sum.

Thus did Brody, and many others within the pack, get mundane jobs with the humans. Most of them government-type positions that gave them access to records and inside news that could benefit Fabian.

Most times, Brody didn't mind. His job as an accountant might not sound exciting, but the truth was that Brody did enjoy working with numbers, and there was a certain smug excitement in knowing he led a dual life. Accountant by day, mobster's right-hand man by night, and wild cat when the moon was full.

And now he'd get to add to his list of identities: lover. One who went to bed alone that night.

Sad meow.

But he consoled himself with the thought that he'd get to see Lulu in a few hours, and this time, he would touch her, and she would recognize him as her mate. Shazaam!

 

CHAPTER 4

Sizzle
.

That was the sound the bacon made in the pan, which meant the heat was just right and the time to flip the strips almost here. Savory, salty protein, crisping to perfection, making her taste buds water, which meant she was more than irritated when someone pounded at her door.

“Go away. You are not ruining this.” She turned the pieces over, yelping as hot, fat drops splashed her.

She yelped again as a voice from behind said, “Are you all right? I thought I heard you cry out in pain.”

Whipping around and wielding a plastic spatula while wearing only a long T-shirt and panties might not prove the most fearsome of appearances, but was it necessary for Brody to snicker and lift his arms with a mocking, “Don't hurt me with your wicked spatula. Actually, on second thought…” He whirled and braced his hands on the wall. “Beat me, sweetheart. I've been bad.”

“I'm sure you have,” she muttered, tempted to give him a swat. But smacking his buttocks took a backseat to something more important. “How the hell did you get in here? I know my door was locked.”

“Was it?” Big innocent eyes peered innocently at her over his shoulder.

Ha. As if she'd fall for it. She doubted Brody ever had an innocent moment in his life.

“I know it was. What are you, some kind of cat burglar?” He certainly knew how to move stealthily.

“Nothing so petty. If I were to be anything, I'd be an undercover tiger.” He seemed so pleased with this answer, and yet she couldn't see the appeal.

“Why would you want to be a secret tiger?”

“Because they are the most wonderful and ferocious felines in the world, of course. And quite handsome, too.”

“While I'll admit they make nice patterns on faux rugs and they're cute to visit at the zoo, I don't see why anyone would want to be one. I mean, apart from the fact that the only place they could roam are protected reserves or cages at the zoo, what else do they have going for them?”

He gaped at her. Sputtered a little as he said, “They have lots going for them. They're excellent hunters. Stealthy. Fast.”

“Lazy, and always sleeping. Oh, and they pee on things to like, mark them. And exactly why are we still talking about this? I still want to know what the hell you're doing at my place, breaking and entering I might add, at an ungodly hour of the morning.”

“It's ten.”

“Exactly. And I just got up. The last thing I want to deal with is you and—”

“Burning.”

How did he know about the burning inside her? Wait, he didn't mean that burning. He meant—“My bacon!”

The black smoking things in the pan no longer belonged to the bacon family. She could have cried, especially since they were the last four pieces. Her breakfast would now consist only of toast and eggs. Bleh.

He must have caught some of her depression because he tried to apologize. “Oops. Sorry my awesomeness distracted you. Let me make up for it by taking you to breakfast.”

He'd barged into her apartment, uninvited, engaged her in ridiculous conversation, and now tried to invite her to breakfast? “Fine. But I warn you, I have a very healthy appetite.”

And not just for food.

A sane part of her insisted she throw him out on his ear, and threaten him if he ever came around again, but another part of her was curious as to his true intent. What was he really after? Surely he wasn't so suddenly besotted with her as he kept implying? He had to have some ulterior motive. Did it have something to do with the audit? Was he trying to get close to her to find out things not in the books?

Is he looking to discover my secrets?

Two could play that game. In the game of cat and mouse, she thought it was time to flip the roles. Starting now.

“Give me a second to throw something on. Clean this up, will you, while I get ready?” She thrust the spatula at him and then sauntered away, the tingling between her shoulder blades assuring her the extra waggle in her step had an audience. Just before the opening to her room, she noted the afghan she kept on her couch had fallen to the floor. Knowing he watched, she bent over, fully aware it made her T-shirt ride high and presented her butt. She wore full-bottomed panties, practical cotton ones, but Broderick was a man. She heard him whimper and mutter, “So wonderfully cruel.”

And wicked. So utterly brazen and wicked. She straightened and left the living room. Entering her bedroom, she shut the door and leaned against it.

What am I doing?
Teasing and taunting the poor guy. She could argue all she wanted that it was revenge for his own actions; however, the truth was she enjoyed teasing him way too much.

His mere presence ignited her. He was nothing like the guys she usually dated. For one, he wore a suit, with a tie! However, his white-collar status didn't stop her from lusting after him and wondering what it would be like to slide his jacket off his surprisingly wide shoulders. To unbutton his shirt and run her hands over his defined chest. To—

“Need some help in there?” he called out, a hint of amusement in his query.

Did he know she was thinking about him, or did he just rightly guess? Didn't matter. Lulu needed to do something about this insane attraction she had for Broderick.

Do him and get him out of your system.

Such a dirty solution. A fun one. A viable one, too. Perhaps if she did allow him to seduce her, she could better control herself around him, and in return, control him and his digging.

Or fall even worse under his spell, which with every minute that passed was seeming less and less worse.