by Celia Kyle
God willing, Stella’s boobs wouldn’t explode. She was attached to them—literally—and they were her best feature. In her opinion, anyway. As far as Stella’s inner jaguar was concerned, its existence was the cherry on the “Awesomeness of Stella Moore” cake.
She continued her slow glide through the crowded space, her first goal within sight. She planned to silently exit the ballroom and turn left, sticking to the shadows until she reached the servants’ stairs at the back of the house. A lovely little source had told her they were no longer in use, which meant she could reach her final destination without risking her perfectly spotted jaguar tail.
Her footsteps remained silent on the thick carpet, heels sinking into the plush flooring. Her ankles wobbled, and she reached for the wall to steady herself so she wouldn’t end up sprawled on the ground. Why had she thought four-inch heels were a good idea? Normally, she was a barefoot and jeans-cutoffs kind of shifter. Not eight-hundred-dollar Louboutin shoes paired with a vintage Dior ball gown.
Not that the shoes and the gown coordinated well, but she’d always wanted a pair of those red-soled stilettos. What better reason to buy them than for Operation: Kill the Asshole?
She pushed away from the wall and quietly made her way along the corridor until she reached the dead end. In truth, there was a door hidden by the wainscoting, making it invisible to the casual visitor. A soft press of her fingers against a particular spot on the wall had the door swinging open and granting her entrance. She carefully crept into the dusty passageway. The only light in the tight space came from the hallway itself, filling the area with impenetrable dark shadows.
Goose bumps rose along her bare arms, over her shoulders, and then darted down her spine. She shuddered and battled against the irrational fear of creepy crawlies that attacked her nerves.
The she-cat snarled inside her mind, spitting a long, drawn-out hiss. It reminded her she was a jaguar shifter, for goodness’ sake. What could bugs or mice do to her? Stella took a deep breath, then immediately fought the urge to sneeze. Focus. She had a goal, and panicking wasn’t going to help her accomplish it.
Stella turned left and climbed the aged wooden steps in the hidden passage. The barest snippets of light crept through the cracks in the wall. She kept her fingertips on the uneven surface, while her other hand rested beneath her breasts to hold the most important part of her plan in place.
Carrying a bomb tucked just beneath her boobs had sounded like a good idea at the time. Now? Not so much. Who knew explosives could be so heavy?
Soon she’d climbed high enough in the mansion’s hidden walls that no sound from the party reached her, and she knew she was close to her goal.
Stella stood before the door at the top and took a deep breath, breasts—and bomb—straining against her bodice. Could she do this? Plant an explosive that…
That would kill the person who’d ruined her life and the lives of so many others?
The jaguar snarled and curled its lips back to bare its fangs. Yes, it assured her. Yes, they could. It did, however, remind her claws could do the job as well and it’d happily step up to the plate and get the job done.
Not gonna happen.
Stella opened the creaky door and slipped into the hallway, thick carpet meeting her feet once again. She nudged the door to the hidden entrance closed with a soft click before she moved on.
The moon’s glow illuminated the hall, and she made her way toward her destination—second door on the right. One of James Walters’s most private areas.
Now or never, right?
Her hand trembled as she grasped the polished brass doorknob. She could do this—get in and get out with no one the wiser. She could also ignore her prodding conscience. Was this the kind of person—shifter—she’d become? One who could plant a bomb and hope for the best? Er, worst?
Her jaguar assured her she was that type of shifter and it was James Walters who’d made her that way. He had no one to blame but himself.
The past threatened to rear its ugly head, the dark brown of Walters’s evil stare overtaking her every thought. She’d never forget his face. She’d never forget the way he’d looked at her as he’d grabbed Madeline. It hadn’t taken him long to ruin Stella’s life.
Every day her mind was pummeled with loneliness and grief, which never seemed to leave her be. They ebbed and flowed, occasionally softer before growing in strength once more. But they never disappeared. They’d been her constant companion for so long…
Those memories had her straightening her spine, and a new determination pushed her onward. Walters had almost destroyed her life once. She wasn’t going to give him the chance to continue his “work” and hurt so many others. She twisted the knob and opened the door, quickly entering the dark study before she lost her nerve.
She moved through the room from memory, not risking a light to guide her steps. She strode past the rows of crowded bookshelves and toward the far side of the space to the massive desk—ornately carved, highly polished, and bigger than a twin-sized bed. She wondered if what they said was true. Were men with big desks overcompensating because they had little…?
Her jaguar snarled at Stella. She needed to focus on the task at hand. She could ponder the meaning of life and micropenis sizes later.
Stella rounded the desk and went to the leather executive chair. She gathered layers of her dress and pulled the fabric aside as she lowered herself to her knees.
Now she focused on her task. She tugged on the neckline of her gown, jiggled her breasts, and reached past a boob in search of the package she’d tucked away. She grunted and pulled, her breast nearly popping out of her bodice. Her fingers brushed the outer wrapping of the bomb, nails scraping the taut fabric wrapped around the deadly bundle.
“C’mon, dammit,” she grumbled, and switched hands, trying a different angle. She wasn’t going to have her plans fall apart because of her chesticles. “Why are you being so difficult?”
“My mother often asks me the same thing.” The deep timbre of a male’s voice vibrated through her body.
Stella whipped her attention to the intruder, her gaze meeting a pair of intense blue eyes across the polished wood desk. Blue eyes, light-brown hair, wide shoulders…
He leaned forward, the rest of his body hidden by the furniture, but there was something he couldn’t hide. Not from her and not from one of her kind. He was one of her kind.
She inhaled, drawing in the scents around her…Fresh rain, damp earth, crisp sun, and a natural musk that sank through her pores. The scents consumed her, wrapped around her in a cloak of deliciousness that she could easily become addicted to. Her jaguar urged her to keep taking in more of his aroma until it told her to stop. Which would be never.
She ignored her cat and continued to stare at the stranger, gaze taking in every detail from the light scruff on his cheeks to the small bump on his nose. There was only one word to describe him, and it wasn’t “gorgeous” or “sexy” or “sensual.” It was…
“Tiger.”
Chapter Three
Normally Cole was an ass man, but standing above this curvy little female and staring into the deep V of her cleavage, he decided he preferred tits. Or at least, her tits.
The way she cupped one of her breasts was even sexier, and the tiger purred inside his mind. It wanted him to get up close and personal with the…He carefully drew in a lungful of air, seeking out her scent to confirm the suspicions that’d driven him to follow her.
“And you’re…” he whispered, sorting through the sweet, sensual warmth that came from her. The flavors made his cock hard and his tiger purr, and his body reacted in an instant even while he sought her species. Unfortunately, another familiar smell—C4—crowded the air, making it difficult. Cole frowned and narrowed his eyes as he tipped his head to the side. “What are you?”
Other than perfect. She had those gorgeous curves, alluring green eyes, and long softly curling hair. The cherry on top was the fact that she carried explosives. A wom
an after his own, bomb-loving heart.
She licked her lips, pink tongue darting into sight for a split second. “Uh…”
Cole dropped his voice and added a rumbling purr from his tiger. “Cat got your tongue? Is there something I can do to you?”
“You mean for me?” The words came out in a sensual, breathy whisper.
Cole winked. “That too.”
Her face flushed pink in the moon’s glow. Cole gathered more of the scent in the room, his beast pushing aside the tar-like smell of the C4 to identify her. He captured evidence of Walters and sweet cigar smoke, but that was to be expected since they were in his house. Then more of the woman’s scent filled his lungs as well.
Staining that aroma were two other warring flavors—fear and arousal. He scared the shit out of the redhead, but he stirred her desire, too. Then there was the slightest brush of something feral and wild—her inner beast. Her inner feline.
He should run her off, pat her on the ass and tell her that the big kitty didn’t need anyone else intruding on his undercover operation. It was dangerous enough without having her around as a distraction. One wrong word, one small slip, and he’d find himself chained deep within one of Unified Humanity’s bases. Not something he wanted to experience anytime soon. His tiger agreed—in principle.
But, dammit, she came in such a curvy, sexy-as-hell shifter package. Then there was her natural scent hiding beneath the floral notes of her perfume. She made him want—made him crave. And it went deeper than just her body. The tiger wanted more than a quick one-night stand with this lush kitty. Much more.
Then his question about running her off was answered for him. Based on the noises filtering down the hall, they had only a few minutes of privacy left. He couldn’t send her on her way just yet.
Just perfect.
His tiger didn’t appreciate Cole’s sarcasm.
“What are you doing here tonight, sweet?” Cole’s voice remained low, too low for a human to hear.
“I…” She shook her head. “It’s Stella. And, uh, I’m not doing anything. Nothing at all. I—I—I got lost and—”
Cole lifted an eyebrow and drawled, “Uh-huh. I get it. Why bring a bottle of wine for the host when you can give the gift of C4?”
Stella gasped, her green eyes widening while a tremble shook her body. A flicker of yellow tinged that startling green for a split second and then vanished.
He didn’t take his eyes off her, which meant he saw the moment she realized others approached the study. The resulting blatant fear sparked his tiger’s protective instincts.
His inner animal huffed and nudged his mind, drawing his attention away from the woman and back to their surroundings. The cat was interested in the sexy little pussy just as much as his human half, but it didn’t want to lose its dick because of a woman.
“C4? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stella pushed to her feet, hands tugging her bodice back into place. Too bad. “I have to go. People—”
“Will walk through that door in the next sixty seconds.” Cole straightened and rounded the desk, not stopping until mere inches separated their bodies. Now Stella was caught between him and the leather executive chair—his prisoner. His cat purred at the thought and wondered what she’d look like wrapped in rope and tied to his bed.
“Did you rig the desk?” He lifted a brow with the question.
“Uh…” Her skin rippled, and his curiosity about her inner animal was sated with that small movement. Golden fur with hints of dark rosettes danced into view and then immediately disappeared.
Aha, his little kitty was a jaguar.
“I guess we’ll find out.” He shrugged and gripped her waist, plan solidifying as he lifted her, turned, and sat her on the desktop.
Cole’s tiger wouldn’t let him sit idly by while the woman blew his cover and potentially blew up a handful of humans. He’d worked too damned hard to gain access to James Walters and the upper echelons of Unified Humanity. He wasn’t about to have his work ruined before he’d accomplished his goal. Stella was tempting, but not tempting enough to risk the lives of so many. He refused to acknowledge that his actions were spurred by his need to keep Stella safe more than completing his mission.
“What the hell?” she whispered with a hint of her cat’s snarl.
Her golden fur and those black spots flowed into sight once again. Shit. The returning spots showed she didn’t have the best control. He just hoped the intruders didn’t turn on the lights and catch her covered in jaguar fur.
“You need to work with me, Stella, or we’re both gonna have a bad night.”
An even worse one if he didn’t get her—and her cat—under control. The best he could do right now was distract her from the humans and their impending intrusion. With luck, his next act would snap her out of her rising panic and get her to focus on him.
Though he knew he was destined for hell with his next move. The most he could do was beg for forgiveness later.
Once he’d saved both their lives.
Cole wrapped his right arm around her, palm settled on her lower back, and pulled her butt to the edge of the desk. He gripped the curve of her hip with his left hand. The tips of his fingers burned as his tiger eased forward, transforming human nails to claws. They pierced the smooth fabric at her hip with ease. He anchored her in place and stepped closer, forcing her legs to part and make room for him until their bodies were aligned.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his stomach churning with his every move.
Cole’s fangs descended, slipping through his gums with sharpened points. He lowered his head to her bared shoulder and scratched her flesh. Not enough to break skin, but enough to show Stella’s jaguar who was in charge. The she-cat froze in place and sucked in a quick breath, holding it for one moment and then another, before releasing the air in a whooshing gust. He expected a scream. Or maybe frozen silence with an edge of the cold rage females tended to favor. He didn’t expect…
“Did you just fucking rip my dress?” Stella shoved his shoulders, but he wouldn’t be moved. Not when he had her in his arms. Even as his conscience beat at him, cursing him for the act they had to perpetrate, he had to admit that she felt too good, too right in his arms. “I can’t believe you ripped my dress.”
He lifted his head and met her glare, Stella’s golden eyes reflecting what little light filled the room. She jabbed a claw-tipped nail at him, the point a handful of inches from his nose. Yes, she was all pissed-off kitty now.
“You’re paying for this.”
Cole smirked. She was fucking gorgeous when she was mad. “Am I?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “And you’re—”
“Don’t have time for this, sweet,” he murmured. “Put the kitty in her place. Company is close, and they’re not fans of shifters. I need you to play along.”
“I don’t have to—”
“We’re on the knife edge of life and death, Stella. You work with me, or they’re going to use that C4 on us. Make your choice.”
And damn him to hell for making her choose. For making a civilian join his op when she was anything but trained.
He stared into her eyes and watched the gold of her cat bleed away to reveal emerald green. The light dusting of fur retreated as well, milky-white skin dominating her body once again. The pale tips of her fangs disappeared, withdrawn into her gums. To the casual observer, she was 100 percent human. To Cole’s tiger, she was five feet nine inches of “belongs in my bed.” The cat curled its lip, snarling because he’d misinterpreted the feline’s desire. Stella didn’t just belong in his bed; some part of him said the kitty belonged to him.
And that scared the fuck outta him.
The study knob turned, and Cole jolted into action. He covered her mouth with his and pushed his way past her lips. He explored her depths, gathered her sweet taste, and then delved deep for more. Hot and sweet and so damned delicious. Strawberries with a dash of honeysuckle, followed by the delicate undertones of watermelo
n. He’d never been a fruit guy—tigers were all about meat—but damn she tasted good.
One ticket to hell, please.
The door swung inward, and light from the hall burst into the space. It bathed the room in a soft glow, destroying some of the shadows.
It also revealed them to the visitor.
The sharp edge of her fangs emerged from her gums and scratched his lips. He doubted she knew that his tiger liked a little bit of roughness. It made him crave her even more. The pain turned sharper, no longer luring his tiger forward, but he wasn’t about to give up and put them at risk. Not while they hovered between leaving the mansion alive or succumbing to death via torture from Unified Humanity members.
If he couldn’t bullshit his way through the next few minutes, his little jaguar would likely end up in one of UH’s very nasty shifter prisons. As for Cole…he’d be at her side.
With the intrusion, Stella seemed to fully grasp his motivation and threw herself into the kiss. Her tongue stroked his, her growl transformed into a deep moan, and she pressed her breasts into his chest while she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Cole pulled back and nipped her lip before taking more from her sweet mouth, drawing a whine from her throat. She tugged on him, fighting to increase the pressure between their mouths, and he leaned into her hold. He needed her closer. He needed more. He wanted to rip the dress from her body, lay her out across the desk, explore every inch of her, devour her from head to toe, and—
And he needed to remember she was playing along—not really aching for him as he ached for her.
“Cole?” The deep voice, the sharp snap edged with a hint of scandal and interest. Then came a fresh wave of that scent.
Human. James Walters. President of Apex Industries. A man who believed Cole was a human interested in funding Unified Humanity. A sliver of unease snaked its way down his spine, something akin to fear attempting to enter his blood. Not fear for himself, but for Stella. He could withstand anything UH threw at him, but a civilian like Stella…She wouldn’t be able to survive.
