The Tomcats Tame the Domme [The Shifters of Catamount, Texas 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Josie Hunter

  “That’s the spirit,” Cougar said. “Keep me posted.”

  Chapter 8

  Rosa peered at herself in the restroom mirror, trying to be subjective. She’d been unsure what to wear to a dinner with a father she’d never even seen. She’d chosen a black sheath with heels. Simple yet elegant. Granted, it might be a bit low cut, but she didn’t own anything that wasn’t. She adjusted the bodice a bit to reduce the amount of cleavage, and then, in a last-ditch effort, she tugged the fall of her ponytail over her shoulder. She touched up her lipstick and evaluated her jewelry selection—basic unadorned silver dangling earrings and a thin bracelet. Satisfied, she snapped her purse closed, yanked the door open, and plowed into an immovable object.

  She lifted her face to the solid block of stone. “I’m so—” She snapped her mouth closed and narrowed her eyes.

  “Hi, Rosie.”

  She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, trying desperately to control the rage that spiraled through her. She wanted to punch him in the gut.

  “What are you doing here?” she ground out.

  “Having dinner. I heard this place was pretty good.”

  “Of course…having dinner. That makes perfect sense.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the corner out of the way of several women coming down the hallway. They both gave Robb an appreciative glance, and Rosa felt her anger escalate higher. “Move along, ladies.” After they’d given her dirty looks, they moved on, and she turned her attention to Robb. “Just dinner, huh? Why don’t I believe a word of that?” She pressed herself close to him, fully intending to give him more than just a piece of her mind, but when she caught his scent—something earthy and powerful and all-too-sexy—she nearly stumbled.

  “Steady there,” he said, catching her arm. “Been drinking tonight?” His smirk told her he wasn’t serious, but he’d moved way past the irking-her stage and was now into making her downright crazy.

  “No, I have not been drinking,” she snapped. “You know damn well what I’m doing here.”

  Robb glanced at his watch. “Yep, any minute now your long-lost, adoring father is going to come strolling through that door. And I have a front-row seat.”

  Rosa heaved a sigh, and her head rolled backward on her shoulders. “Why are you here, Jackson?” She heaved another sigh before she looked at him again. “I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t think you do,” he said quietly.

  “Well, you’ll just have to accept it.” She gestured toward the lobby. “Now please leave.”

  He took her hand. She stared at him incredulously as he began to guide her down the hallway toward the restaurant lobby. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m having dinner with you.”

  “You are not!”

  He smiled. “But I got all dressed up.”

  He had indeed done that. He wore an impeccable charcoal-gray summer suit. His dark hair shone in the dim light, and his face looked so freshly shaved she thought it would feel as smooth as a baby’s bottom. She had to force herself not to lift her hand. His smell was unbelievable.

  “And you look very nice too by the way,” he said. “Black suits you. Don’t you think we make a great couple?”

  “Sí,” Rosa muttered, thinking back to Stephanie at Delectable. “Whatever you say. We’re apparently a big hit with everyone.”

  “Speaking of couples, I talked with Steve and Marcus about what happened last night.”

  “Of course you did. I don’t suppose anyone in this town minds their own business where I’m concerned.”

  “Ah,” Robb said, “that’s where you’re wrong. Because Steve, and Marcus, and you”—he tapped the tip of her nose, and she swiped at it irritably—“are my business. My very personal business.” He leaned down and inhaled. “Nice perfume, by the way. Pretty, but not overwhelming. Perfect for meeting Daddy.”

  She stared at him without saying a word, trying to kill him with her eyes.

  “So after my discussion with Zebra and Caribou—”

  She yanked her hand out of his. “Oh, I have had it with you, Jackson. Would you please, please, I’m begging you, just get the hell out of here?”

  “No can do, Toucan.”

  “Oh, for crying out—”

  “Rosa?”

  She froze and watched Robb’s gaze lift to the person behind her who had spoken in the richly cultured, Latin-accented voice. When he glanced back down to her, he whispered, “It’s Daddy Dearest.”

  “Oh dear God,” she muttered. “Will you please just shut up?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Rosa Santos?” This time the question was a bit more pointed.

  Robb leaned down and whispered, “Uh-oh, better answer before he gets riled. I know how serpent-shifters can get when they’re riled up.”

  She wanted to slug him. Instead, she pulled in a deep breath then turned to find herself staring at a tall, very slender man in his sixties with a full head of dark gray hair. Like Robb, he wore an elegant charcoal-gray suit, and like all shifter men, including her brother, he was very handsome. She tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure how it came off. It felt a little iffy, maybe a lot iffy. She held out her hand. “Hello, Father.”

  He grabbed her hand and guided her toward him. She had no control over it. She simply allowed him to pull her into his arms.

  “Mi querida hija,” he cooed.

  “Oh brother,” Robb muttered.

  She kicked out behind her and caught his calf, hopefully with her heel. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Tomcats were a tough breed, no matter the species.

  Her father finally released her, but only long enough to put his hands on her shoulders and push her away slightly. He studied her from head to toe. “So beautiful. Just like your mother.”

  “Not like Juan?” Her father’s gaze snapped to Robb. “Bad blood?” Robb asked. “Was he a bit of a black sheep in the old Santos family? Or is it more appropriate to say black snake? I never know if that’s politically correct.”

  “I prefer not to discuss my son at all, let alone with you. Who are you by the way?”

  Rosa turned in time to see Robb shove his hands into his pants pockets. The gesture wasn’t lost on her father. His gaze slid down, and when it returned to Robb’s face, the anger was hard to hide, not that she suspected he even tried.

  “Let me guess,” her father said, “Robb Jackson.”

  “That’s right,” Robb said. “I’m Rosa’s boyfriend.”

  She rushed toward him so fast she nearly knocked her father over. She stabbed her index finger in his chest. She was happy when he uttered an omph. “You are not my boyfriend.”

  “I beg to differ. So might Steve and Marcus. We have some logistics to discuss concerning our relationship, of course, but I figure we’re well on our way to a nice little fours—”

  “Oh, please keep going so I can hit you,” she snarled.

  He smiled and waggled his brows. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m afraid it’ll have to wait for another time, honey. We have company,” he said sweetly. He turned his attention back to her father. “So I assume Rosa hasn’t mentioned me? How distressing. Oh wait, she couldn’t have because you haven’t been a part of her life for…what was it again? Oh yes, twenty-eight years. That’s a long time to go without seeing the daughter you profess to adore.”

  Her father simply ignored his rant. He cupped her elbow and began to lead her toward the hostess station. She risked a glance over her shoulder to see Robb following behind them, sauntering with his hands in his pockets like a man on a walk. Her father spoke to him without turning around.

  “Mr. Jackson, my daughter and I are planning to have dinner.” He paused and turned his head slightly but didn’t look at Robb. “A very private dinner.”

  “Not gonna happen, chief.”

  Her father stopped again and then turned slowly, pulling Rosa with him. She tried to remove his hand, but his grip tightened. “Chief? Is that some sort of
panther endearment?” He said panther as though it were a dirty word.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it an endearment,” Robb said.

  “Then we’re of like minds in regards to one another,” her father said. “But I reiterate. You’re not welcome to join us. Boyfriend or not.” He visibly shuddered on the word boyfriend.

  “How many in your party, Mr. Santos?” the hostess asked.

  “Two.”

  “Three,” Robb said.

  “Under no circumstances will you be joining us, Mr. Jackson.”

  “Oh, I can think of one,” Robb said.

  “And what might that be?” her father asked in a bored tone.

  He turned his eyes on her and gave her a brilliant smile. “If Rosa says she wants me to. What’ll it be, Rosie?”

  She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and saw his gaze dip to her cleavage. Her skin heated up under his stare. This was a really bad idea, but she didn’t think she could resist him, and she thought it pretty sweet he wanted to protect her. Her father had begun to follow the hostess and reached out for her hand.

  “Robb will be joining us, Father.”

  He looked more than pissed, but Rosa no longer cared what he thought of her or her situation. Her case of the nerves had evaporated with Robb’s smile, and the evening promised to be quite entertaining.

  * * * *

  Dinner would have bored him if he hadn’t had Rosa’s beautiful face to look at as a diversion. Esteban Santos rambled on and on, touting his philanthropic efforts, regaling them with his pharmaceutical breakthroughs, detailing the extensiveness of his stock portfolio, and bragging about his financial prowess. All in all, Santos thought he was quite the man, and that was before he even brought up his Nobel Prize. Robb wanted to say, “What, no Pulitzer?”

  Robb began to feel as though they were interviewing the blowhard for Time Man of the Year. He watched Santos carefully for facial tics, changes in his expressions, and telltale body language that would signal lies. Tomcats had all been trained in interrogation, and of course, he’d had his share of personal experience in the Rangers. Though Santos talked for hours, Robb detected no lies at all. He also listened for anything that might slip between the lines, anything at all that might give a hint of the man’s real personality hidden beneath the cultured veneer. He had squat.

  When they’d finished their entrees and the dessert menus had been brought to the table, Rosa had barely scratched the surface of her life. For a man who professed to want to get to know his daughter, all he’d learned so far was that she had a friend named Carly and a dance studio. And, of course, a boyfriend.

  Robb suddenly wished Carly were with them. He sure hated to see the Lucases’ woman sick, but he’d love to have seen her reaction to Santos. The little mongoose-shifter had a real aversion to sick, twisted, psycho shifters. They could have had all the answers they needed after Santos spent one minute with Carly. He made a mental note to talk with Tyler about that but was pretty sure he could guess the answer.

  The server was hovering over the table, and Santos paused in yet another endless story. “What can I get you for dessert?” the waiter asked.

  “We’ll both have the key lime pie,” Robb said.

  “We don’t have key lime pie on the menu, sir,” the lanky server said, clearly disappointed Robb hadn’t bothered to read it. “We do have a wonderful Tahitian vanilla bean and espresso crème brûlée.”

  Robb shook his head. “I make it a habit of not eating things with more than a couple words in the name. They’re not good for you.”

  The server smiled, though his eyes said he thought Robb was nuts. Oh well, he couldn’t charm everyone. Where was Stephanie when he needed her?

  “Really, sir? I’ve never heard of that.”

  “It’s all through the health magazines. The longer the name, the worse it is. Trust me on that. What else you got?”

  The young man’s forehead scrunched. “How many words can it have?”

  “I try to stick to one or two, like steak or mashed potatoes, but three would be okay,” Robb said. “It’s dessert after all. I’m spoiling myself.”

  He saw Santos roll his dignified eyes, but Rosa pressed her lips together and looked ready to burst out laughing.

  “Chocolate soufflé?” the man asked, though he didn’t sound hopeful.

  “Perfect,” Robb said. “Make it two.” He reached over and squeezed Rosa’s hand.

  “Very good, sir.” The young man turned to Santos, but Santos never took his eyes off Robb. They hardened further with each millisecond that passed. “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the coconut panna cotta, pineapple and ginger jus, meringue crumble,” he said, his hatred boring a hole straight through Robb’s head. Robb didn’t care. He found riling the man up to be quite entertaining.

  “Excellent choice.” The server grabbed the menus and hightailed it away as fast as his deer-shifter legs could carry him.

  Robb faked a shudder. “Anything with the word crumble in it can’t be good. And all those words…that stuff’ll kill you.”

  “I like to live dangerously.”

  “I’d heard that about you. In fact, I’ve heard quite a few things about you. Interestingly enough, not a one of them made the list of things you’ve talked about tonight.”

  He felt Rosa move a tad closer to him, just a subtle shift in her body and a smooth wave of heat.

  “What topics would those be?” Santos asked as he adjusted his cuff links. Robb saw they were silver embellished with onyx serpents.

  “Your health for starters.”

  “My health? What business is my health to you?”

  “Didn’t you tell Rosa you were ill?”

  Rosa drew in a sharp breath. “I never told you that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, casting a glance in her direction. “That doesn’t change the fact he said it. What about it, Santos? You look healthy as a horse to me. No offense. I’m not sure how your kind feels about horse-shifters.”

  “We like horse-shifters far more than cats,” he said smoothly. “My illness is systemic, occurring in the blood and affecting internal organs.”

  “Most people with illnesses of their blood or internal organs, like…oh say, cancer, for instance, have a really tough time keeping outward appearances. And yet, look at you, Mr. Santos. Why I’d say you’re positively glowing.”

  “You do look remarkably well, Father,” Rosa said.

  “I discovered the disease in an early stage.” His gaze softened a bit as he stared at his daughter. “I don’t understand, Rosa. I’m very dismayed to find you so disillusioned, hija. What has this colony done to you that you have no compassion?”

  “She has plenty of compassion,” Robb said, “when it’s warranted, but you, Señor Santos, are a lying sack—”

  Rosa squeezed the back of his hand, and he turned his head to find her glaring at him.

  “Well, he is,” Robb insisted.

  “Be that as it may,” Rosa said, her fingers tightening, “I’d rather everyone in Catamount not know my business.”

  Her gaze slid left then right, and Robb realized he’d been a bit aggressive and far too loud. The poor waiter stood frozen beside the table. They did need all this Daddy Dearest crap out in the open so she could see her father for what he was—an uncaring, unfeeling parent—and what he might be—a murderer—but she was right. He chastised himself for drawing such attention to them. He was the alpha’s representative anytime he was in public, and she was the alpha’s friend.

  Their waiter set up the serving tray, and within moments, he had coffee and dessert on the table. Then he strode away. The chocolate soufflé looked delicious.

  “You’re right, Rosie.” He leaned forward and locked his eyes on Santos’s dark, almost savage, gaze. “Let’s have dessert like a happy little family. But I do have something I need to say before we start.”

  “And what would that be?” Santos gritted out between his teeth.

&nbs
p; “I don’t think you’re sick at all, Señor Santos. What do you say to that?”

  Santos never batted an eye, but his words cut through the air around the table like shards of glass. “I’d say you’re out of your mind, Mr. Jackson. I’d also say calling me a liar is treading in some very dangerous territory. Do you know exactly who I am?”

  Robb nodded. “If I hadn’t known before, I’d sure know after your rather enlightening monologue. But I also know every line of your bio.” He leaned back in his chair to put some distance between himself and the sweet-smelling chocolate. “The trouble is I think a few lines on that bio—maybe even more than a few—have been black-lined.”

  Santos’s jaw tightened, and his hand clenched on his pristine cloth napkin. “I’m going to have your head on a platter, Jackson, for even insinuating such things.”

  “Then let’s make it really interesting, shall we?” He pushed the plate of dessert away and leaned across the table until he was practically nose to nose with the serpent-shifter. “Have you ever been in contact with a man named Diego Garcia?”

  Santos’s jaw dropped. Finally, Robb had some sort of reaction. “The drug lord?”

  “The very same. Quite a prince among men, wouldn’t you say?” Robb picked up his fork and took a bite of soufflé. “Mmm…this is really good.” He waved his fork in the air, delighted that a bit of chocolate rained across the table, almost hitting Santos, who lurched backward just in time. “You know, when you think of it, being best buds with a drug lord in South America would be really good for you considering your legitimate business. I mean, you make drugs, and Garcia…well, I’m not sure what he does, but it involves drugs. You get the picture.”

  Santos pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket and slapped a credit card into the bill folder. “Are you quite finished?”

  “No, not even close.”

  Santos gave him a cold stare. “Then pray continue so we can call an end to this farce of a dinner.”

  Time to go for the gold.

  He laid his fork down, but before he could say another word, Rosa said, “Why do you really want my blood?”