TIGER IN HER BED 2: ANIMALISTIC
Lizzie Lynn Lee
Curvaceous paralegal Arielle Winter had one hell of a bad day. First, she got mugged; then she got stuck in a chimney; and later, she discovered that her boyfriend had dumped her for her boss. At the lowest point in her life, she came home only to find her apartment on fire. If it hadn’t been for Trent’s help, she’d have to sleep on the street.
A tiger shifter, Trent Alexander keeps running into Arielle and saving her from her terrible luck. Recently discharged from the Air Force, Trent believes their encounters aren’t just a coincidence—they are meant to be together.
But Arielle has too much on her plate to think about a new romance. It’s up to Trent to convince her that she’s the one. So what if he occasionally becomes furry and growly? Don’t women usually love a guy who channels his animalistic side in bed? He might be a closeted weretiger, but once he shows his stripes, he’s just one big kitty cat.
Rawr!
First Edition 2016
©Copyright Lizzie Lynn Lee March 2016
Cover Art by (Lizzie Lynn Lee) ©Copyright (March/2016)
Edited by LinnieSarah Helpern
Proofread by Ava Mallory
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Table of Contents:
Summary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Arielle’s Bonus Material
Join Lizzie’s Mailing List
About the Author
Preview from Tiger In Her Bed
Chapter One
A real woman should have curves, Trent thought as he zeroed his attention in on a lady by the counter who was ordering her own coffee.
There.
Like her.
The barista handed her a tall Styrofoam cup and a brown box, which contained a cream cheese brownie from the pastry case. Even her coffee was topped high with whipped cream. She didn’t seem like one of those girls who always fussed about her weight. She took a tentative sip, eyes half-closed, as she savored her drink. Her figure was lush, tantalizingly voluptuous. She looked healthy, as if she enjoyed what life had to offer. Trent loved women like her: low maintenance, humble, and approachable.
But she was more than that. She was a natural beauty. Pale skin. Glossy raven hair that she kept short above her shoulders. Her attire was formal; she was wearing a black career suit with a sheer white blouse. Sensible shoes. Minimal makeup. She was beautiful without trying too hard.
Damn. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She was his kind of girl.
Unlike the two bottled-blonde chicks who came to his table uninvited. He stopped at the coffee shop to get his latte fix and while waiting for his order, two college-aged girls swooped in and tried to introduce themselves. Trent wasn’t really paying attention to them. That woman in the black suit was the one who caught his interest.
But she paid the cashier and left before he could say anything.
It was clear she worked in an office, but Trent couldn’t decide what kind. In addition to her purse, she carried an attaché overstuffed with folders and papers. He caught a quick whiff of her scent, even from a distance. As a weretiger, he possessed a keen sense of smell.
Damn. She smelled so good. Fruity. Like strawberries. Or was it peaches? Maybe it was her shampoo or her soap. But whatever it was, she made him excited. He knew he had to have her, whoever she was. The beastly part of him wanted her too. His tiger became frisky the moment she entered the coffee shop. His alter beast wanted to play.
Badly.
“So, Trent, do you want my phone number?” Even though he didn’t respond, one of the girls wrote her phone number down on a napkin and slid it across the table to him. A coy smile accompanied her flirty expression.
Trent’s gaze darted briefly to the napkin before it returned to the woman who had stolen his attention.
Follow her, his tiger demanded, she’s mine.
Trent rose without hesitation. “Sorry, not interested.”
He left without so much as a backward glance.
The hot Manhattan sun began unmercifully beating down the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk. It was late July, which in New York, was the height of the summer. It had been unseasonably hot lately, and quite humid. However, Trent wasn’t bothered by it at all. He had spent three tours in the Middle East during his commission with the Air Force, so the heat was like second nature now. He had been discharged about a month ago and returned to New York, temporarily crashing at his mom’s house. But now that he had found himself an apartment, he would be moving out of his mom’s by the end of the week.
The sidewalk outside the coffee shop bustled with people. A few gave him a once over, mostly women. Trent was used to that. He and his brothers were blessed with good looks, gifted from their parents. Sometimes he felt like his looks were more of a nuisance than anything. Girls wouldn’t leave him alone and guys hated him because he attracted too much attention.
Now, he searched through the crowd for the mystery woman from the café, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. She couldn’t have gotten too far on foot. Then, he locked in on her scent: strawberry and peach. But on this hot day, her scent mingled with other people’s sweat, steam from the subway grates, and all the other various smells of the city baking under a summer sun; the result was confusing. He sniffed again and gambled.
Left. She went left.
Trent headed in her direction. There were a few shops that lined the sidewalk before the building cut off into an alley. Dumpsters were filled to the brim. Junk was strewn all over the pavement. And a homeless person was sprawled in the corner, completely passed out.
Then he saw her.
With two guys.
Christ.
She was being mugged.
“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” Trent yelled as he ran in her direction.
The woman was clearly rattled. She clutched her purse while her attaché case lay ripped on the asphalt. Papers fluttered everywhere and yellow manila folders were smashed in alley muck.
Upon hearing his shouts, the muggers directed their attention to Trent. The bigger guy rushed toward Trent, cursing profanities as he swung a blade rather clumsily. Trent avoided the knife easily and disarmed him. Trent had been training in Krav Maga, a close combat martial art, since he was a teenager. With lightning-quick movement, he grabbed the guy’s arm and quickly wrenched it behind his back. Bones creaked. The man shouted. Trent applied more pressure to render the mugger helpless and the guy yelped in pain.
His friend, a smallish man in a flannel shirt and sporting a douchebag goatee, retaliated. He pointed his gun at Trent but didn’t fire. It was then that Trent realized the guy’s gun was fake. Without hesitation, Trent punched the douchebag goatee guy straight in the face. He dropped like a stone, out cold.
The big guy
got to his feet and started to flee. Trent blocked his path and grabbed his arm again. He twisted the big guy’s wrist until he heard an audible crack. The big guy howled in pain. Trent wasn’t even fighting to his full capabilities, but he used more force than he should have. In the presence of his mysterious lady in the black suit, his alter beast had become excited and demanded to be let free.
Trent turned to the distressed woman. “Are you all right?”
“You broke my wrist, dude!” the big guy screeched.
“I wasn’t asking you.” Trent looked back at his dame-in-distress. “You okay?”
The woman nodded furiously. She started gathering her scattered belongings.
“Did they take anything from you?”
“J-just my wallet.”
“Give the lady her wallet back, you scum,” Trent barked at the big guy.
“All right. All right. Don’t hurt me.”
“That’s funny coming from you. Guess it isn’t fun when the tables are turned, is it?” Trent let the big guy’s arm go.
The big guy whined some more before producing a woman’s wallet from his pocket. He handed it timidly to the lady in black.
“Are we cool now, bro?” he asked Trent. “We’re cool, right? We gave the lady her stuff back. Can we go now?”
“I’m not your bro.” Trent helped the lady with the papers. “Did you call 911?”
She startled and quickly shook her head. “No. I don’t want to press charges. I just want to get this over with.”
The big guy started thanking the lady.
Trent told him to shut up. He turned to her with concern. “Are you sure? If you don’t report these guys, they’re just going to do it again.”
“I got my wallet back. I don’t want to waste my time by filling out a police report, giving a statement, and all that. I’m late now as it is.”
“Are you sure?” Trent shot the man a dirty look. “They ruined your briefcase.”
“It’s old. I don’t care.”
The douchebag goatee guy started to rouse from his unconsciousness. The big guy helped his friend up.
Trent glared at them both. “You heard the lady. Now get lost.”
The muggers scrambled away. Douchebag goatee guy started cursing but the big guy shut his friend up and made a beeline to the opposite side of the alley. They both disappeared.
Meanwhile, some people had congregated at the mouth of the alley, watching the commotion. Two teenagers filmed what had just transpired. Nobody seemed to be calling the cops. Typical. Seeing that the muggers were gone, people finally started to disperse. Except the two teenagers, who were still recording.
Trent snarled at them, “Scram!”
“Those were some cool moves, man,” said one of the teenagers, before they shuffled away.
Trent rolled his eyes. He picked up and handed the last of the papers to her, but only after he “accidentally” read what was on them. They looked like court orders. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Paralegal.”
“With what firm?”
“I’m late,” she snapped. “Sorry. I’m just having a bad day.”
“We all do. What’s your name?”
She only shook her head and stuffed all the papers into the torn briefcase. Since the handle was broken, she tucked it under her arm. “Thank you for your help.”
“Can’t I at least have your name?”
“Why? My name isn’t important.”
“Just common courtesy, after I rescued you.”
“So you had an ulterior motive? Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t play games.” She stood up and dusted off her pants. The cuff was splattered with coffee, as the Styrofoam cup full of her coffee had smashed near the dumpster. The brown box from the coffee shop was obliterated. The contents were flattened with the visible print of size-ten shoes. It was probably the big guy who had stomped on it.
“Lady, I just want to know your name. That’s all.”
She took a deep, wavering breath. “Arielle. And thank you for your help, Superman.” She started walking away.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Can I drive you to your office?”
“Now you’re being creepy. I said I’m fine and thank you. You better go save Lois Lane. Good day to you, sir.”
“I’m just worried about you.”
She had already rushed out of the alley with a brisk pace, as if she were afraid he was going to chase after her.
Trent cursed to himself. Here he thought he had the perfect opening to get to know her and she didn’t even bat an eye. Fuck.
He had never been cut off so coldly by the opposite sex before. For once in his young life, a woman had resisted his charms and good looks. It annoyed the hell out of him.
It was only then that he noticed a stack of business cards scattered on the ground near the smashed Styrofoam cup. Trent picked one up. The card read;
Arielle Winter, JD.
Senior Paralegal
Hoffman, James, & Associates
Bingo.
Well, the encounter wasn’t a total loss. At least he knew her full name and address. He just had to be patient. Perhaps the next time, she wouldn’t be so cold. He grabbed the rest of the cards and pocketed them.
As he walked down the sidewalk toward where he parked his car, his heart was considerably lighter.
She will be mine.
Chapter Two
Arielle Winter had a bad day.
She knew the day was going to suck when she woke up in the morning and found the toilet tank had leaked water all over the bathroom floor. The flush handle had been broken for almost two weeks and the building caretaker hadn’t fixed it, even though she had complained to him several times. And now this shit happened. What a way to start the day.
So she shut off the main water and wasted her morning mopping the bathroom floor. Everything got soaked and had to be dried. As she tossed dirty towels in the washing machine, she looked at the time and startled. It was already 7:45am.
She was freaking late.
She rushed through her shower, then got dressed. She skipped breakfast and headed straight to the courthouse to file some papers. The line was unusually long and just her luck, she got a particularly bitchy clerk who liked making the relatively easy process as painful as possible. When she was finally done, she stopped at the coffee shop to buy a cappuccino and a slice of cheesecake for breakfast.
And then she got robbed.
Thanks to Superman, she got her wallet back. But her suit was scuffed and dirty, and she smelled like cappuccino and garbage. Her only good briefcase was completely ruined. Luckily she didn’t have her laptop with her, she had forgotten it at home, and she only carried some case files in her attaché. It’d be a headache if she lost her electronics too. She had been saddled with her mom’s medical bills, so she had to be extremely frugal until the bill was paid off, or she found another job.
It was a little after noon when she entered the law office of Hoffman, James, and Associates. The building occupied a corner street in Lenox Hill. Immediately, her only friend in the office, Emma the receptionist, noticed her disheveled appearance.
“What happened to you? Are you okay?” Emma asked.
Arielle nodded. “I got mugged. That’s all.”
“That’s all? Did you get hurt? What did the police say?”
“I didn’t report it. I got my wallet back. That’s all that matters. Is Sabrina here yet?”
Emma’s demeanor changed abruptly. She shuddered visibly, like a wet dog trying to shake off the water from its fur. “She’s been on your case since this morning. She wants to know where you are. I told her you’d be at the courthouse filing the papers. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“My phone is on my desk. I forgot to bring it home yesterday because I was charging it.”
“You’re the only paralegal I know who isn’t permanently attached to their phone, Arielle. She was
convinced you’re avoiding her.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would I avoid a call from work?”
“I know, right? I wonder why she didn’t hear your phone ringing. I took a peek earlier and she was in and out of your office multiple times.”
Arielle thought on it for a second. “I think I put it on silent. I didn’t want to be bothered with phone calls while I prepared for that deposition yesterday.”
“Well, good luck.” Emma gave a mock salute as she smiled in sympathy. Sabrina Hoffman was the infamous goddess bitch who ruled the office and she did so with an iron fist, so if she was angry with you, it was best to hide under your desk.
Ever since her dad, Robert Hoffman, the founder of the firm, retired, she inherited the company as the chairman and had been running the ship, but not in a good way. Edward James, the other founder, was only a partner on paper and never showed up at work, nor did he make any decisions regarding the firm. As long as his check deposited regularly into his bank account, he was a happy camper.
Sabrina was a mediocre lawyer at best, but she won many of her cases via her good looks and feminine wiles. She was also known as man-crazy, and greedy for attention.
Arielle would need more than just good luck to face Sabrina.
She got into the elevator and rode the two floors up from the main lobby. The moment the elevator doors opened, she saw her boss was strolling down the hallway. She was a leggy blonde swathed in Yves Saint Lauren from head to toe. Sabrina spotted her and quickly launched into her usual berating. But she finally paused when she saw Arielle looked like hell.
“What happened to you?” There was relish in her tone.
Arielle only waved a hand, as she didn’t feel like telling the story again, when she’d just recounted the whole thing to Emma. “Long story short: I’m having an epic bad day.”
“Did you file the papers?” Sabrina wanted to know.
“I did.”
“How come you didn’t pick up the phone when I tried calling you this morning?”
Animalistic Galley Fin Page 1
