Taming the Lion Page 9

  She tugged at his shirt and he jerked away long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside. Patch shrugged out of the remnants of her shirt and flung them away—and his mind was wiped clean of all thought at the sight of her. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Christ, she was going to kill him.

  Her breasts were small, but perfectly shaped and beautifully flushed, the nipples high and hard. He lunged for her, his mouth closing unerringly on one tight, sweet nub as his thumb flicked the other. Patch released a sharp keen, her hips twisting on the sideboard—and Roman sucked harder. He palmed and plumped one breast, fingers deftly teasing her sensitive peak, even as his lips and tongue and teeth devoured the other. His other hand went to the button on her jeans—trying not to mark her delicate stomach with his claws, but he couldn’t get the damn button undone.

  Then, thank God, her hands were there, the button was undone, and he could sneak his fingers inside her jeans, beneath her panties, until his middle finger slipped into the wet heat between her thighs and rolled over her firm bundle of nerves. Patch gasped and arched, her claws piercing his shoulders, and Roman pressed in a slow circle, his mouth slowly releasing her breast as he fixated on this new prize and the way she jerked and moaned in his arms with each flick.

  He needed to get his fucking pants off. Why did he wear clothing anyway? It was so goddamn inconvenient and his jeans hurt like a motherfucker, cutting off the blood that was rushing to his cock. He was never wearing clothing again.

  Patch was making the most incredible sound—this breathless, gasping moan that inched higher and higher in pitch as he worked his fingers beneath her jeans.

  A hard knocked rattled the door to his office. “Roman?”

  He froze with his hand down Patch’s pants as she choked off a moan and went still against him. His gaze flew to the door.

  The door he hadn’t locked.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Roman?” the call came again. “Are you in there? It’s Xander.”

  Patch held her breath. Maybe he would go away. Maybe if they were completely silent, he would figure Roman wasn’t here and—

  “Just a minute, Xander,” Roman said, his voice a little strangled.

  A low chuckle sounded from the porch outside. “Hey, Lila,” the other lion sing-songed through the door.

  Patch’s stomach twisted sourly. Of course he’d known Roman was in here and he wasn’t alone. He was a shifter. He could probably hear them breathing. Hell, he might even be able to smell them. That was probably why he hadn’t just walked in—thank God. She should be grateful he couldn’t scent the difference between herself and Lila—though grateful was about the last thing she was feeling right now. She was ready to claw the walls.

  “What do you need?” Roman called through the door, his hand slowly retreating from the tight fit down her pants. Patch made a tiny, involuntary sound of protest and Roman’s other hand flew up to clap over her mouth. Both of their breathing was coming fast as he looked down into her eyes, his own filled with a message she didn’t understand.

  She should have known he wouldn’t play possum. He might as well have the pride comes first as a personal motto tattooed across his forehead. But she still wanted Xander to leave. Now. Before she came to her senses enough to realize what she’d just done.

  So much for never gonna happen again.

  The need still pulsed through her blood, her heat up, twisting and tightening every sensation until it was a desire so sharp it bordered on pain. She’d been so damn close. She was still too close to want to stop. Just a little more.

  “It’s that bird shifter,” Xander yelled. “He’s awake.”

  Patch hissed out a curse, the sound trapped by Roman’s palm. “I’ll be right there,” he yelled.

  Of course he would.

  Xander chuckled. “Take your time, boss. See ya, Lila.” The sound of his retreating steps quickly faded, but for a long, stretching moment, Roman still didn’t move.

  Her legs clamped down tighter around his waist and she felt a plea rising to her lips. She wasn’t above begging. She needed this. Needed him. Needed him to finish it.

  “I have to go.” The words were low, almost sub-vocal, but she heard them loud and clear.

  He released her mouth and carefully unwrapped her ankles from his waist, his grip gentle but unrelenting. She wanted to dig in her claws and hold on tight. She wanted his hand back where it had been, stroking her so perfectly, bringing her up so fast she’d been dizzy from the ascent. She wanted to pull his head back down to hers for another kiss that would light her shoes on fire. She wanted to protest, to beg, but she couldn’t make any words organize themselves into coherent sentences. She could only whimper, then try to swallow the pathetic, desperate sound.

  When he had unwound her from his body, he stepped back, still staring. He hadn’t stopped looking at her for a second, those strangely shifting silver eyes devouring her. They were bright now. Molten and almost glowing. She perched on the sideboard, half naked, gently gripping the wood with her claws as persistent, aching lust beat out a frantic pulse against her clit.

  The universe was punishing her for wanting him.

  He turned abruptly, stalking not toward the door but toward the small bathroom off the back of his office. The door slammed shut hard enough to make the small cabin quiver. The sound of running water carried to where she sat paralyzed on the sideboard.

  She knew she should get down. Collect what was left of her clothes. But she still couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe for wanting him.

  Moments later, the door flew open again and Roman strode out of the bathroom. His chest was damp, rivulets of water running from his wet hair over the delicious mounds of his muscular chest and the defined ridges of his washboard abs. She could catch those droplets with her tongue…the taste of him still lingered in her mouth.

  He scooped up his discarded shirt, yanking it on without pausing his progress toward the front door—though his eyes never left Patch, where she sat frozen in a tableau of interrupted passion. He’d washed her scent off, she realized. Trying to get rid of the evidence. Though the cockstand bulging hard against his zipper was evidence enough.

  He still wanted her. The sight made her mouth water and her thighs clench. Patch licked her lips. Roman growled—

  —and stormed out, the door snapping firmly shut behind him, opened and closed so quickly it would take a miracle for someone to see inside. To see her.

  Patch slid off the sideboard, gripping it for balance when her legs wobbled. She found the pieces of her shirt and probably could have tied them together into something reasonably modest, but everyone who saw her would know she’d just had her clothes torn off. No one would be surprised—given the blast of come-and-get-me pheromones she was positive her heat was calling up right now—and no one would suspect Roman was the guilty party…unless they saw her exiting his office.

  So the shirt was out.

  Luckily, she was a shifter. All she needed was fur.

  Patch toed off her shoes and socks, then hissed out a breath as she peeled her jeans off over skin that was too sensitive, craving his touch. She stood for a moment, barefoot in just her underwear, and willed the heat to ease. If she shifted now, her feline side would waste no time finding the nearest male and jumping him. If she didn’t want that to happen—and right now the only man she wanted was halfway across the compound on his way to the infirmary—she needed to get herself under control before she changed form.

  But the heat wasn’t going anywhere.

  She could still smell him. The office was saturated with Roman. His chair, his desk, hell, even her skin carried his scent.

  She muttered a curse and stomped to the bathroom, frustration making her steps heavy. She slapped the door closed and cranked on the cold water, full blast. She held her hands under the faucet, letting the icy flow run over her wrists and down her fingertips, but the fierce, throbbing heat between her thighs didn’t abate.

  She to
uched her cold, wet fingers to the back of her neck and shuddered at the contact of hot and cold, her nipples beading instantly. Okay, then. Not exactly her intent, but if it would get her heat to ease long enough for her to get out of here…

  Patch put her hand back under the arctic chill of the faucet until her fingers were almost numb from the cold. Pulling her icy fingers from the water, she slid them down inside her panties and touched herself there. Cold met hot and need spiraled abruptly into release, quick little shudders ripping through her.

  But they were little shudders. It wasn’t enough. Patch nearly sobbed. That small orgasm had barely taken the edge off.

  God, she hated the heat. The irrational imperative of it.

  She quickly worked herself to a second, equally unsatisfying orgasm, then a third before she felt confident she could shift without molesting the nearest passing male.

  Stripping out of her underwear, she collected all her clothes and folded them neatly. She couldn’t leave the evidence just lying out—who knew if Roman would be the next person to walk through his office door?—but she discovered the bottom drawer of his desk was nearly empty. Her shoes, socks, jeans, and wrecked shirt fit neatly into the space, her silky underwear lying on top. If he opened the drawer before she had a chance to come collect her things…

  Surprise, big guy.

  The thought of him finding her underwear should not turn her on, but she found she had to stop thinking about it or she’d have to go back to the bathroom for another round. Clinging to her momentary calm, Patch reached into that part of her where the cat slept and let her out of her box. The change jerked through her—the familiar discomfort matched by the pure, sweet rightness of fur and claws and the vivid sharpness of the world through the senses of her other side.

  But even in this form, her skin felt too tight. Patch rubbed against Roman’s desk, trying to scratch an itch that only seemed to exist beneath her skin. She rolled on the carpet and rubbed her face against the edges of the sideboard, scratching her chin against the fridge. Only then did the uncomfortable tightness of her pelt ease enough that she was able to stalk to the door and prod it open with the lever Roman had installed.

  Most shifters had doors that just didn’t shut properly so they could smack them open with a paw—not being big on privacy or personal possessions in the first place—but Patch preferred a working door with a paw-friendly locking mechanism. Thank God Roman did too. If the door hadn’t been shut properly when Xander came by, if it had swung open under the force of his knock—

  Lila had told her to have at Roman, but her best friend being caught half-naked with her fiancé was probably not quite what she’d intended.

  Patch slipped out of Roman’s office and swatted the door closed behind her, fighting the urge to keep her belly close to the ground in stealth. Just act natural. She padded away at a casual trot, heading toward Lila’s for yet another confession, but when she got there, the apartment was empty again. She didn’t bother searching more, going instead back to her own place to change forms, wash off the last of Roman’s scent and get a change of clothes.

  She may not be part of the official security division, but she wanted to know what this bird shifter had to say as much as anyone. Maybe more. For her, it was personal.

  On her way to the infirmary, she caught sight of Kye heading the same way. One of the few non-lion members of the security team, he was also one of the only ones who was likely to share information with her. With the lions, he tended to keep his mouth shut, but he never limited himself to the one-word answers with her. Patch waved him down and jogged to catch up when he slowed.

  “You headed to see the patient?” she asked as she closed the distance between them.

  He nodded. “Just came off duty guarding the gate and I want to make sure my name is at the top of the list if Roman starts looking for volunteers for a hunting party.” Kye usually kept to himself, but the snow leopard had reasons of his own for wanting to be in on this hunt. “You looking for Lila? She took off a couple hours ago with Santiago. Don’t think they’re back yet.”

  “Lila left pride land?” Now? When things were so unstable? When Xander—who Kye was about to go see—thought she had been getting it on with Roman in his office? Oh crap.

  “A couple hours ago.”

  “You let her?”

  “We aren’t actually preventing anyone from leaving, we’re just advising strongly against it. But I figure if Roman is letting Lila leave, it must have been important.”

  Or Roman had no idea she was gone. Patch had a feeling there hadn’t been much letting going on.

  “Mind if I come with you?” she asked, proud of how casual her voice sounded. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

  He waved down the path in an after you gesture and fell in beside her. His nose twitched as she got close enough to scent and he shuddered, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “Uh, Patch…”

  “I know. And I’ll go cloister myself like a good girl as soon as I know what this guy knows.”

  Kye nodded, accepting her decision, though he put a little more distance between them so her heat wouldn’t hit him quite so hard. They’d never had that kind of relationship and neither of them were eager to take it that direction. Being one of the guys was how she liked it most days, and with most people—like Kye.

  “You think he knows where the bastards are keeping the hostages they take?” he asked.

  “I hope so.” And she intended to be part of the rescue party. No matter what Roman said.

  “We can always torture it out of him.” A slight French-Canadian accent tinged the words as a dark figure melted out of the shadows. Dominec.

  The Siberian tiger joined them, his movements, as always, somehow more lethally graceful and markedly feline than any of the other shifters. He angled his head so the fading light played over the thick, ridged scars on the left side of his face. He liked to draw attention to his disfigurement, anything to make others uncomfortable and use that discomfort to his advantage, but Patch and Kye were both accustomed to his face, and his attitude.

  “I don’t think torture will be necessary,” Patch said mildly. “I’m sure he’ll want to tell us everything he knows. He came here for sanctuary—”

  “We don’t know that,” Dominec broke in.

  “Well, we don’t know that he didn’t either. Give me five minutes of optimism before you go all doom and gloom on me, would you?”

  The tiger snorted. “I don’t do optimism.”

  “No wonder you’re so popular.”

  “You want popularity and a silver lining, go talk to Lila.”

  Patch nearly cringed at the mention of Lila. How had she thought she could keep her interactions with Roman from the rest of the pride? She knew as well as anyone that there were no secrets here. “So what is this doomsday scenario you’ve envisioned, Dominec?” she said, more to move the conversation away from Lila than because she really wanted to know.

  “Sleeper cell,” he said without hesitation. “Brainwashed shifter sent here to find our base, learn our weaknesses and kill us all—though why they sent a hawk is a mystery. I can snap all his bones with one arm tied behind my back.”

  “Charming.”

  Dominec shrugged, unbothered by her less-than-enthusiastic response to bone-snapping.

  “He’ll have to wake up before he can kill us all,” Kye put in.

  The three of them came to a halt in front of the infirmary. The lions would be inside—Roman and whoever his favorite lieutenants were right now—but the non-lion shifters knew their place in the pride, and that was waiting outside.

  A cougar’s place was not in the future Alpha’s arms. Or in his bed. She needed to remember that.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hawk’s eyes were a yellow so vivid they practically glowed. It made the sensation of looking him in the eye discomfiting—and immediately tagged him as something other than human. No wonder he’d been targeted. Not all shifters had physical re
d flags, but the eyes could be some of the worst. Thanks to contacts, most people didn’t pay much attention to strange eye color anymore, but that hadn’t saved the hawk. Adrian. His name was Adrian Sokolov.

  IV lines snaked up from his arms and he lay propped up in the bed, unable to do more than hold his head up for a few minutes at a time, but he was conscious. And talking—though not always coherently.

  “The backpack…it has the GPS…”

  “He’s been talking about this backpack ever since he woke up,” Dr. Brandt told Roman. “I think it’s something he stole from wherever he was held, or something that might be able to lead us back there.”

  “Both,” the hawk rasped.

  “There was no backpack near where you were found.”

  “Buried it. Needed to shift. Marked the spot. Marked the trail. Or I think I did. The drugs. Can’t shift.” The heart rate monitor beeped an accelerating pulse as the hawk’s eyes sought out the doctor. “Why can’t I shift?”

  “Your body is still out of whack from the drugs,” Dr. Brandt said soothingly. “Don’t try to shift now. Just rest.”

  “Kept trying to shift. Had to fly to Lone Pine. The lions will help me.”

  “You’re at Lone Pine and we will,” Roman promised. “As soon as you’re well, you can take us to the backpack.”

  “Where is it? Where’s the backpack?” Adrian asked, his eyes unfocused.

  “He isn’t staying lucid for long,” the doctor murmured, ushering the sec team out. “Let him rest.”

  “I’d like to leave someone here, in case he says something we can use,” Roman told the doctor, though he allowed himself to be ushered out of the room. The hawk was twisting in the bed, muttering about the backpack and his need to shift to fly to Lone Pine. “Have you heard him say anything else? Anything that might be helpful?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Nothing that would help. When he’s delirious, he mentions Rachel—but I can’t tell whether he’s trying to save her or kill her.”