When A Lioness Growls (A Lion's Pride Book 7)
Page 7
“I can’t say as I disagree about living for today.” She danced ahead of him, a redheaded sprite with a bright smile, shoes held in one hand, much like he held his. Him, barefoot in the sand on a beach with a woman. The only things missing were a bottle of wine and a blanket. Because fucking in the sand wasn’t good for anyone’s delicate parts.
“Given your motto is live for the day, I am surprised you left the party early.” He’d wondered if she’d hook up with someone.
I would have killed him.
For what reason?
Did he really need one?
“I stayed long enough to be seen. If our guy was there, he would have noticed me.”
“And seen you walking off with me.”
“Fear not, I mentioned loudly to everyone in the vicinity that I needed to rescue my brother from a skank looking to get her claws into you.”
“You do realize those kinds of remarks will probably make their way back to Jan.”
“I should hope so. Maybe she’ll get the message and steer clear of you.”
“Or else what?”
Vivid green eyes met his. “I refuse to answer on the grounds you might later testify against me.”
“You can’t kill one of the staff.”
“Who said anything about killing? I’m partial to maiming myself. It leaves a lasting impression.”
He sighed. “I really hope you’re joking.” Even as a part of him, the darker part, reveled in her unabashed violent side. A lady with a vicious core. An enticing prize.
“I guess you’ll soon find out.”
“Does this mean I should gag her when she comes over later for a thorough fuck?” He couldn’t have said why he taunted her. What purpose did it serve?
She planted her hands on her hips, and her eyes took on a dangerous expression, and he felt a jolt of desire so strong he almost tackled her to the ground to have his way.
“Don’t toy with me, sweetcheeks.”
“Or what?” And then, because he could be a dick, he said, “What’s that scurrying on the beach behind you?”
“Where? What?” she squeaked, whirling her head. Except the plan backfired as she screamed, “I think it’s another spider. They’re out to get me!” Stacey flung herself into his arms, staggering him with the unexpectedness of it. Her limbs wrapped around him, ankles locked behind his back, arms looped around his chest.
“There’s no spider,” he admitted as his free hand cupped her ass and he continued to walk.
“Are you saying that because it’s true or because you want to dump me on the ground and force me to face my fear?”
Given they’d reached a dark part of the resort, where the trees loomed close on either side of the path, he did something uncharacteristic. He lied for personal pleasure. “Better hold on tight. I see a few webs along here.”
The cheap thrill as she tightened around him anaconda-style was well worth the discomfort of knowing he wasn’t immune to her charms.
“So you never asked me why I wanted to go to bed early.”
“Because you’re tired.”
“Of course not, silly. I needed an excuse to get out of there because Melly texted me. She’s got some info for us, which means tonight we do some homework. Tomorrow we start working in earnest. Or at least I do. You can keep scowling at everyone and maintaining your cover of overprotective older brother.”
“Or I could just head into the jungle where that missing woman was last seen and track down the culprit.”
“What makes you think you could find something when no one else could?”
“Because I am just that good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Spoken with a wink.
He adjusted his grip on her, digging his fingers into her ass cheeks, the fleshy part of it, given her dress rode up. “You won’t have the energy to judge, let alone think, after.” Where she was concerned, the bold remarks just slipped from his lips, and each time, something ignited in the air between them. Something hot. Rife with expectation.
She laughed. “You are something else, Francois.” The way she said his name, caressed it with her lips and tongue, made him feels things in a place he’d thought long dead.
Damned whiskey must have given him indigestion because surely he wasn’t falling for this pampered princess. She was completely and utterly inappropriate for him.
A wild child to his staidness.
A lioness that wasn’t suitable for a whampyr.
A woman that called to his inner beast, and his simmering lust.
A temptation he had to resist.
Chapter Nine
Why is he so determined to resist me?
She could see he made an effort and yet, at the same time, couldn’t completely hide his desire for her. As he’d carried her along—with effortless strength—she’d felt the erection he couldn’t hide, pressing against her core. Seen the spark of something in his eyes. Yet, he didn’t once try to kiss her or toss her to the ground and have his wild wicked way with her.
Once they reached the better lit part of the path, he finally set her down, and her ass missed the firm grip of his hands. Even more astonishing, he let her walk away. Not a single slap to her behind or whistle at her sassy strut.
How disappointing.
The man was such an enigma. Self-assured. Sparse with his humor and lacking in common sense and taste. Really, he should thank Stacey for saving him from the claws of that simpering Jan. The resort employee obviously saw him as a ticket off this island to better places. Gold digger.
Stacey disliked her with a passion usually reserved only for knock-off brands. Was it any wonder, when she’d seen Jan with Francois, she’d almost pounced her and torn her face off? She’d definitely uttered a very unladylike growl that caused a few party-goers on the terrace to eye her askance.
Good thing Stacey had a reason to drag him away before he and Jan could drift off into the night doing things that made Stacey’s claws pop out without even thinking of it.
Why do I care? No mistaking it bothered her, which could mean only one thing.
I’m jealous. What a novel concept and for a man she didn’t even like.
Like his fine body.
Okay, her inner feline had a point. The man was built like a brick house. Having sex with him would be like riding a mountain, all hard ridges and firm thrusting—
Bad kitty. Her mind just couldn’t stop veering into naughty places. Perhaps she should get this insane lust for him out of her system. Seduce him, scratch her erotic itch, and then they could both move on.
If I wasn’t so preoccupied with Francois and what he was doing, I could cozy up to some male guests and see if they know anything. Or even get close to Maurice. He’d be easy enough to seduce. Francois had a point about pumping the employees for information. Stacey could handle the men, the straight ones at least, while Francois could pretend an interest in the female staff members. Encourage their flirting and…
“Do you hear growling?” he asked from behind her.
“Must be something hunting in the jungle,” she snapped, irritated that, once again, he managed to get under her skin.
And this after only one day. She barely knew the man, and yet he irritated her more than that incursion of fleas they’d suffered that year at the lakeside cottage.
Arriving at her room, she slapped her wrist against the door, and it clicked. Pushing it open, she went to enter, only to have Francois butt in ahead of her.
“Manners,” she sang. “They’re not just for everyone else.”
“Stupidity, not just for heroines who shower in haunted houses,” he grumbled back.
She blinked as she absorbed the fact that he’d made a joke. Hot damn.
“How is you shoving ahead of me a good thing?” she asked, entering and closing the door.
“I was checking for signs of an intruder.”
“I would have smelled one just fine on my own.”
“The same way you smell me?”
“It makes me smell human.”
“And what do you smell like without it?” Because she’d heard his kind had no scent at all, which to a feline seemed preposterous. Everyone had a scent. A unique one. Surely he did too? Then again, his boss, Gaston, had no scent. But he played with dead things. Probably better no one could smell that.
“Maybe one day I’ll let you smell me after a shower.”
“Or we could just share a shower. You know, to conserve water.”
He didn’t reply. Pity. She could have used a sluice off and someone to soap her back.
“The room is clear,” he announced. “No signs of tampering.”
“I feel so much safer.” She held a melodramatic hand to her forehead. “Whatever did I do before you came into my life?”
“I can tell you what I did, not listen to a smartass.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Calling me smart. Not everyone recognizes it. They usually just think I’m pretty.”
He glowered.
She smiled. “If you’ll give me a second to slip into something comfortable, we can read over what Melly sent.”
His reply was a grunt, which was why she was perhaps a touch naughtier in her selection of an outfit than she should have been. She emerged from the bathroom wearing simply a short negligee. No panties, no robe, nothing but white silk trimmed in lace.
He still wore his khaki slacks and shirt. And he’d already removed his socks and shoes.
What he couldn’t remove was his expression. Had she thought him incapable of anything other than scowls and disapproval?
How wrong. His face remained stony in expression, but his eyes…his eyes smoldered, the depths of them glowing with a red heat.
“Why don’t you grab a spot on the couch, sweetcheeks, so we can both read what she sent at the same time.”
“I don’t mind taking turns.”
“Are you afraid of me?” She might have batted her lashes.
A true male could never turn away from a challenge. He sat down hard on the couch, and with a canary-eating grin, she took a spot beside Francois, tucked close against him, her head leaning against part of his shoulder and chest. A rock-hard location, and yet, she found it oddly comfortable.
She held up her phone and then proceeded to enter a series of checks—finger scan, code, another scan, another code.
He sighed. “Is all this subterfuge really that necessary?”
“Melly takes pride security seriously. Let’s see what she’s got to say.”
The first thing to pop up in the report Stacey opened was a brief paragraph. Found some stuff on the disappearing women. Turns out this has been going on for longer than we expected. At least a few years. The other resorts just haven’t advertised it. And it’s not just ladies who go missing; sometimes men do too.
A bisexual predator? Fascinating.
The message went on. I analyzed the video further. Ran it through some filters and stuff. Couldn’t get an identity on the guy, or ascertain if it was a mask or real. But I did spot a few things.
Being Melly, her message couldn’t simply tell Stacey; it showed her.
The video box had a giant triangle that when pressed began to play the clip. The footage was clearer than before, but that wasn’t the only modification. When the liotaur entered the clearing, the playback slowed, enlarged, and showed his wrist.
Francois jabbed his finger at the screen. “This is the famous video that sent you here?”
“Yes.”
“You do realize it’s probably some guy playing a prank.”
“Then, if it is, he’ll be easy to catch and take care of.” She pointed to the liotaur’s arm. “He’s wearing a wristband.”
“Three-quarters of the people on this island are wearing wristbands because they’re either a guest or employee. There is no way to tell which resort that band belongs to.”
Good point, but she still considered it a clue. The video kept playing, rolling slowly, only enlarging again a moment before the liotaur and his prize exited the screen. The circle around his upper shoulder and a zoom in of the area showed a black smudge.
“He’s got a tattoo,” she noted aloud.
“Again, describing a fair amount of people.”
“Do you have tattoos?” She had to wonder, given he kept himself covered neck to toe. Even his sleeves were long. He’d opted to remain in his clothes rather than those she’d bought for him. Shame. She’d picked up some sweet swimsuits for him.
“Any marks I have on my body are my business, not yours.”
“So you do in other words?” She bounced up on her knees. “Show me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not a sideshow freak for you to stare at.”
“You’re going to have to strip eventually.”
“If I do, it will be in my room with the door locked.”
“Is that a challenge, sweetcheeks?”
“Can we get back to the rest of the report?”
“Chicken,” she muttered under her breath. She settled back against him and frowned at the next bit of text. She read it aloud. “There is a very old legend the islanders pass down verbally from generation to generation. It speaks of the lion-headed people who live in the mountain.”
“Shifters?” he queried. “It could be the island had some but they died out.”
“But they called them lion-headed. Shifters can’t do partial shifts.”
He disagreed. “Not entirely true. While rare, some shifters can do a partial transformation, keeping their human shape but the rest of their body becoming animal like.”
“It is super rare. I mean the most I can do without going all furry is my claws. To do only a head, a complete lion head and nothing else…” Her turn to play devil’s advocate. “The more likely scenario is a tribe who hunted lions and used their trophies as headdresses.”
“Wearing the head of their kill as a hat?”
“More like a mask, and there is precedent. The ancient Egyptians were big on using animal heads to make themselves seem like gods. But back to Melly’s report. Apparently, in the olden days, these lion dudes were considered to be gods and, as such, were given tributes in the form of fresh catches from the sea, fruits and vegetables, and, once a year, the offering of a virgin.” She peered up at Francois. “Do you think someone is reenacting the old stories?”
“More like someone is using the old superstitions to get his rocks off. It’s a hoax. Some guy obviously thought it would be funny to recreate these supposed ancient gods and is using it to get laid.”
“Except people aren’t offering the women. He’s stealing them.”
“Is he really stealing them? The woman in that video isn’t really fighting.”
“She looks scared.”
“Scared and excited. As if she expected something to happen. The fear was probably from being told to run through the woods while something chased her. And when he did, the fear got swallowed by her anticipation.”
“You really think this is a hoax? Then why hasn’t Shania contacted anyone?”
“It’s been how many days since she went missing? Three, four?”
“Three as of tonight.”
“It’s not too farfetched to imagine she might still be involved in an orgy of the senses.”
“A three day orgy?” She pursed her lips. “Who the hell is that good in bed?”
“I once managed three.”
The reply startled her to the point she practically fell over trying to crane to see his face.
No smile. No hint of mirth that he teased. Just more of that simmering fire.
“Let’s say,” she said, trying to not focus on how much stamina a man had to have to manage to keep a woman satisfied for three days straight in bed, “that you’re right. That she did go willingly. Where did they g
o? He’s wearing a resort bracelet, and so is she. If they stayed in this resort, someone would have seen her or at least recorded her presence. According to Melly, the bracelets help track the location of guests as they use them on the property. But we haven’t had any pings. So if he stashed her somewhere on this property, then he must have removed her bracelet and somehow managed to keep her presence secret while managing to smuggle her in food. Or he was a guest somewhere else and he took her off property to another resort?”
“Or they shacked up at a place in town. Or he stowed her aboard a yacht. Maybe they’re even out in the wild camping. At this point all we have are suppositions without any facts.”
“Well, at least I’m brainstorming instead of shooting negative nellies at everything I say.”
“It’s called being the voice of reason.”
“I’m a lioness; we’re not always reasonable.”
“I know. It’s why you make awful pets.”
She gaped at him. “Did you seriously just relate my kind to that of domestic feline chattel?”
“You’re a cat. Cats have owners. It’s not that hard to figure out.”
One moment she sat next to him, and the next, she straddled him. “Take that back. I am more than just a pussy.”
“You’re an irrational female who throws herself into things to sate a curiosity that doesn’t make room for careful thought or consideration.”
“I do believe in your roundabout way that you just called me reckless.”
“I did.”
She smiled. “Thank you. And because I can’t be held accountable for my risky actions…” She pressed her mouth to his. Sealed his lips in a kiss and she was pleased to feel him suck in a breath.
Her breath.
He also didn’t shove her away.
Or protest.
So she kept kissing him. Slanting her mouth over his, tasting the firm line of his mouth, the cold and somehow mysterious texture of him that tasted of whiskey and nothing else.
How odd.
Determined to find his true taste, she parted his lips with her tongue, thrusting it into his mouth, sliding it along his. More whiskey, and a hint of something both cold and hot, but still no true flavor.
His hands gripped her ass cheeks, the fingers digging in, and he moved her, rubbed her against him, the turgid proof of his arousal pressing against her, even with his slacks in the way.