Her ferret was light brown; similar in shade to Naomi’s hair. Her eyes were small and dark, and her body slim, sleek and fast as she dashed around and over furniture. A stark contrast, she knew, to a male lion shifter. But that was part of what made him so appealing. His lion form would be large, muscular and no doubt handsome. Lions were gorgeous creatures, and if Tyler’s human form was anything to go by, he would be no exception.
As she ran full throttle through the living room, a knock sounded at her door. She darted into the bedroom, shifted, and enveloped herself in a long red silk robe.
“Well, hello, matchmaking queen!” she said when she saw who’d been knocking.
“You ready for it?” Miri asked, grinning.
“I assume that you’re asking if I’m ready for you to tell Tyler that I want into his jeans. Is any woman ever ready for a lion shifter who looks like that?”
“God, I hope not. It wouldn’t be natural.”
“Anyhow, yes. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. So go for it: tell him the big news. That your crazy landlady wants to screw his brains out. But only after he buys her a drink.”
Miri didn’t reply; instead she just stood there, smiling.
“You already told him, didn’t you?” asked Naomi. She let out a heavy, mock sigh. “You may as well come in, then. I’ll pour you a drink.”
Miri stepped inside the apartment. She’d always liked Naomi’s taste: artistic, colourful and clean. Her walls were rich shades of reds and dark olive greens, paintings hung here and there in confident, flowing layouts. This was the home of a woman who was sure of who she was.
“How’s the luscious Malcolm?” Naomi asked as she poured a glass of wine for each of them.
“Luscious, as you say. Fantastic. Busy learning how to cut people open and fix them.”
“Good. But you’re still getting your fill in his free time?”
“Fill? Oh God, yes. He’s very…filling.” Miri winked.
“I suspected as much. I think the building’s foundation has shifted by about three feet since you two started fucking. Oops, sorry. I mean dating.”
“Apologies for moving the building around so much. We enjoy ourselves, and sometimes as a consequence the walls shake. A lot.”
“Sometimes? About eight times a night, by the sounds of things. You lucky, lucky bitch.”
“I am, aren’t I?” Miri laughed. “Still, you may—will—be a lucky bitch very soon.”
“If that means being pounded into oblivion by a supremely well-endowed man whose legs look like they belong to a superhero or the god of thigh muscles, I’m jumping on board with all my luggage.”
“I think that’s exactly what lucky means. But I also suspect that you’ll find there’s more to it than just crazy amounts of sex. I think there’s potential in this budding relationship, if neither of you sabotages yourself. Well, okay. If he doesn’t sabotage things.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow, her face deeply pensive. “But you think he might?”
“I don’t know. He’ll need to be handled with care, that one. I suspect that his scars are from more than paper cuts, Naomi. He may be good at smiling, but take care.”
“I think you’re right. And I hope to get to the bottom of it all before I get too attached. He’s complicated. But damn, he’s gorgeous. It would be pretty easy to get lost in his eyes. Or his chest. Or jeans.”
“I think his jeans will be far from both of you before too long. And in terms of getting lost—it’s far more likely that he’ll get lost inside you, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Good lord, the thought of it,” said Naomi. “I don’t know if it’s the wine talking, but I’ve been fantasizing about him since I laid eyes on him. I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to pick a man who gets all my juices flowing. You’ve turned me into a Naomi smoothie.”
“Good. It’s why my clients pay me the big bucks. Or should. Of course, yours is a freebie, a thank you for not evicting me for all the annoying sexual liaisons.”
As Naomi laughed in response, her phone began to skitter its way across the coffee table, erupting in a low, repeated buzz.
“Oooh, I sense a lion in the air,” said Miri.
Naomi reached over and picked it up. A message had flashed onto the screen.
Hi, Naomi.
My name’s Tyler. Miri put me in touch—she said I’m the man you chose for your dating conquest. My chest is swelling with pride, and I feel like I should thank you in person for the honour. I’d also like to find out if there’s some sort of trophy in it for me, or even just a medal. If not, I’m sure that you’re planning to reward me in some other way for my epic win.
“Cheeky little cub, isn’t he?” said Naomi. “Just the way I like them.”
“Good.” Miri sipped the last of her glass of wine. “I’m going to leave you to it. Something tells me you should be alone for this bit. Listen—I’ll see you tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“The Gala thing—remember?”
“Shit, yes. I’d forgotten all about it in the wake of Mr. Arousing. I’ll see you around seven, or whenever I manage to squeeze into something that doesn’t look like a sausage casing.”
“Good. You can fill me in on the sexting—I mean texting—when I see you.”
“Fair enough. Thanks, hon. I’ll tell you how it all goes.”
Miri blew her a kiss as she left the apartment, all smiles and satisfaction. Her work here was done.
Hi, Tyler, wrote Naomi. No medal or trophy for you. Your reward is that if you treat me properly I won’t write you into a book then have a large piece of machinery accidentally remove your head in an industrial accident.
Naomi sat back on the couch, waiting to see how dark his sense of humour was—and how quickly he would reply. That was always a sure sign of a man’s interest: whether he was willing to drop everything else in order to work his way towards a woman’s heart and head.
—Hmm. I would hope you’d write me in as a man who’s extremely good in bed, kisses like a god come to earth and meets a woman who becomes so obsessed with him that she won’t let him wear pants, like, ever.
Naomi laughed. It’s like he’s reading my mind.
—I don’t know, Tyler. I like to do research before writing fiction. Do you have the phone numbers of any exes I could call to find out if the kissing and sexual allegations are true?
—You sly fox. Sorry—ferret. At least that’s what Miri said you were. You won’t get my exes’ numbers so easily. Mostly because they’ve all moved far, far away.
—Trying to escape your addictive clutches, are they?
—Yes. That. It’s not even remotely that I killed them all and buried them in the woods outside of town.
—Well, that’s a relief.
—Listen, Naomi. I’m enjoying our little text fest. I mean, now you’ve determined that I’m a serial killer, that I’m tremendous in the sack and that I’m a pathological truth-teller. Would you consider going on a date with me?
—Are you kidding? You’ve just described my dream man. So yes, I would. But not tonight. I have a very important thing, you see.
—Well, that’s a coincidence: I have a very important thing too.
—I’m not interested in what’s between your legs.
—Lies.
—Okay, maybe I’m a little interested.
—What I meant is that I have to work tonight. Normally I work out at the gym on King Street in the evenings (I know—quite the life I lead) but tonight the big boss is going to some important get-together and I have to make sure no one kills him. He’s demanding like that.
—Oh, okay. Tomorrow?
—Tomorrow sounds good. I’d even be willing to forego working out in favour of seeing you. I’ll send you a text.
—Please do. I’ve discovered in the last few minutes that like watching you use your fingers.
—Coincidentally, I enjoy using my fingers—a lot. I’m looking forward to this more and more.
—Would you send me a photo to tide me over until I can see you in the flesh?
—Does it matter what I look like?
—Not in the least.
—Then yes, I will.
Naomi did a quick online search and came up with a photo of a ferret. She immediately clicked “send as attachment,” and linked to the text window.
—You are just as hot as I’d hoped. Tiny little eyes, that button nose. I’ll bet your teeth are razor-sharp, too.
—They are, thanks. And you should see me in my four itty bitty stiletto heels.
Finally, she sent a selfie that she’d taken some weeks before, on a day when she’d been feeling particularly pretty. Her hair had been having a surprisingly good day, and she’d liked how her blue eyes looked, reflecting the multiple lights surrounding her bathroom mirror.
—You are as beautiful as you are sly, he wrote, his words serious for once. This will keep me going for some time. At least until I can be in the same room as you. Until then, good-bye, gorgeous.
—Good-bye…handsome.
—Wait a minute. Do you actually know what I look like?
—Yes. I do.
Naomi shut down the phone and laid it on the table, her lips curving upwards as she congratulated herself on her excellent choice.
Chapter Four
It hadn’t occurred to Naomi to ask where Tyler would actually be that evening. She knew, of course, that he was protecting the Pride’s Sovereign as usual, and supposed that in all likelihood, Lucas was going out to a fancy dinner meeting, and no doubt that meant that his bodyguards were part of the deal.
But she was to head out to a who’s who of Grayson City society. The evening was set for one of the downtown hotels, the Withrow Tower, where a fundraiser was taking place to build a new hospital wing. Naomi had been invited solely for the fact that she’d once made it onto a major bestseller list for one of her books.
She hated these things; dressing up, trying to smile at the right moments, in case a newspaper photographer happened to be snapping a candid photo. She didn’t know anyone—a writer leads a solitary life, after all—and she wasn’t looking forward to it. But Miri had said that Malcolm and she were going, which had offered her a little boost of bravery. Malcolm had apparently been invited by one of the heads of the new hospital wing. As an up and coming cardiologist, he’d made quite an impression on the senior surgeon and wanted to continue to do so.
Naomi had agreed to meet Miri at her door at seven o’clock, and the two would grab a cab over. Malcolm was planning on meeting them at the gala itself.
And so at six, after showering, Naomi found herself wrestling with a curling iron, fixing up her light brown hair to make it look naturally wavy. She’d chosen a blue taffeta dress for the evening, which she’d been told would make her eyes “pop,” though why anyone wanted their eyes to do such a thing was beyond her. Making her eyes look wondrously mysterious? Sure, that’d be great. But popping sounded like a sort of thing that might happen if she accidentally took a helmet off in outer space.
After trying on no fewer than six pairs of shoes, she settled on a pair of high heeled pumps. Comfortable yet sexy, and a cut that managed to make her legs look longer than they were. She’d always wondered if her short limbs were a symptom of her shifted form—ferret legs, she called them, though in reality her proportions were rather pleasing to most. It was only the cruel scrutiny of her female mind that convinced her otherwise. But then, a woman with curves always felt that if only someone would stretch her upwards, lengthening every aspect of her body, her proportions would magically fall into a state of perfection.
“Enough with the chronic dissatisfaction,” she muttered, taking a final glance in the mirror to ensure that she hadn’t accidentally wiped eyeliner down a cheek. “It’s not like you’re going on a date.”
Nope. This would only be strangers, Miri, and Malcolm, who would accept her, warts and all—not that she was aware of any warts, thank God.
She stepped outside her apartment and headed down the brownstone’s steep flight of stairs to knock on Miri’s door.
“You ready?” she asked, as her tenant and friend stepped out, her dark brown hair falling in perfect waves about her neck.
“I am. And glad you’re coming. I suspect that Malcolm will have his hands full, being introduced to a pile of stuffed shirts while I drink myself into oblivion.”
“I’m right there with you, lady. Though I’ll have to stay relatively sober. I have a date tomorrow.”
Miri’s face lit up. “So soon? Excellent. I want to hear every detail—even if, God forbid, it’s a flop.”
“A flop sounds like a symptom of erectile dysfunction.”
“Well I wasn’t speaking so literally, but you can fill me in on that, too. I can always classify Tyler in the ‘Flaccid’ section of my files.”
“Somehow, I don’t suppose he’s the sort that has trouble with that. But I’ll keep you updated. In a respectful manner, of course. I don’t fuck and tell.”
“Party pooper.”
Naomi stuck out her tongue as they headed out the front door to hail a cab. The building’s location flanking a main city square meant that they were plentiful.
“So, I haven’t heard anything about the Kefir Wolf Pack going nuts lately. Do you think things have calmed?” asked Miri.
“Who knows? They did a great job of killing the downtown core—at least for humans. All I ever see wandering the streets in our neighbourhood now are wolf shifters and the ones willing to stand up to them. I still don’t know what the point is in all their crap.”
“Me neither. But I also haven’t spent much time deep in their territory. It could be that their businesses are flourishing while others are filing for bankruptcy.”
“Well, that sucks. I’m glad I didn’t choose Quinn, anyhow. The last thing I need is to get involved in the wolf politics. That Pack needs a new leader, stat.”
“I don’t think Quinn is part of all that. And you have to admit that he is yummy.”
“He has a certain…something,” Naomi said, her lips turning up. “But he’s a wolf, and they’ve proven themselves so volatile lately.”
“Only some of them. The ones under the Alpha’s thumb. Like I said, he’s not like them. He plays by his own rules, I think. To be honest, I’m a little disappointed—I would have liked to find out more about the mysterious billionaire.”
Naomi’s eyes went wide for a moment. “Billionaire?” she gasped. “Is he really that rich?”
“Yep, so they say. Like I told you, he’s an enigma. There’s a real story behind him, I think.”
“Well, money is lovely. But here’s to lions. Protectors of what’s right, manes that gleam in the sunlight and a roar that’ll shake the walls.”
“That’s probably not all that will shake the walls,” laughed Miri. “King of the Jungle, Lord of the Bedroom.”
“We shall soon see—perhaps,” said Naomi.
Tomorrow.
* * *
“Stay near me,” said Lucas, addressing the two men who were on bodyguard duty that night. Tyler was one, a young man of twenty-five called Brock was the other. “But keep an eye on the guests. If you see anything that looks untoward, check it out.”
“Got it.” Tyler was dressed in a tuxedo—a suit fit for a penguin, he thought. He was far more comfortable in his leather and denim, and happier astride his bike than sitting in the back of the limo.
Though he was happy to be accompanying Lucas, and honoured to be one of his top protectors. The Sovereign had won the right to lead the Pride through sheer strength and intellect a few years back, and the lion shifters held him in high esteem. But his power meant that the Wolf Pack would potentially target him. And a night such as this, when he was out and exposed to the public eye, would be a perfect time for it.
Tyler looked out the window as the car made its way through town towards their destination. His mind was focused on the job, but
his insides were stirring for another reason.
That face.
Naomi’s eyes held a sort of deep intelligence, a shining beauty that came from experience. And even though he’d only seen one photo on his phone, he found himself smitten with her. The lion inside him had purred with a sort of approving contentment when he’d seen the photo; it seemed that he was already prepared to claim the ferret shifter as his own.
He had told himself that he didn’t care what she looked like; she could be bald and coated in moles. But in truth, her looks had only matched what he saw in her cleverness. She was appealing from every angle. And the hours between now and the time when he would get to see her in the flesh were far too many.
When they pulled up, he got out first, standing by as Lucas got out, followed by Brock. Both guards followed their Sovereign in as Tyler adjusted his cuffs.
Men and women were entering the space, dressed in fancy duds. Some, like him, looked uncomfortable and out of place, while others seemed to fit perfectly into the scenery: rich, fancy types who lived for the moments when they could show off their expensive clothing.
Tyler’s eyes moved about the foyer, looking for wolf shifters as he moved. But so far, all he saw were a lot of rich humans and the odd shifter of varying sorts: the sleek cats and other creatures who tended to show up at this sort of thing. Wolves were rare at these events, more geared towards heading out to the fights, or to hockey games. Blood and brawling. As for the grizzlies, they were more into nights on the couch, hibernating under a blanket while they drank their lager as the weather grew progressively colder.
As he assessed the space, calm settled in. This night would be quiet, he thought. Nothing interesting would happen at such an event. And so his mind could move back to thoughts of the ferret shifter. Her hair, her smile.
Naomi and Tyler (Plenty of Shift Book 2) Page 3
