Her Purr-fect Lions

by Jane Jamison

  “Good to meet you, Bree. And we’re real glad you remembered our names,” answered Burton. His gaze slid past her. “Where’s your friend?”

  So Carol had told them about Winnie, too. For the briefest of moments, jealousy took hold. But it was Winnie he spoke of. Her friend she’d give her life for. “She’s holding our table.”

  “Is she now?”

  Funny, he didn’t seem very interested in Winnie. Even stranger was her relief that he didn’t. The other two men had only glanced in Winnie’s direction but hadn’t made a move to go to her.

  Ridge took a swig of his beer then refilled his glass from the pitcher. “Let me get you a glass.” He started to beckon to one of the waitresses then stopped when she shook her head.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m not here to drink.”

  Matt sat forward, his hands on his knees. “Is that right? You came to a bar but didn’t plan on drinking? Huh. You really are special, aren’t you?”

  Special? Her? A shiver of delight coursed through her.

  His dark gaze fixed on her. “So if you didn’t plan on partying, then why did you come here, baby?”

  Puddin’ and now baby. She usually didn’t like being called pet names, but these pet names sounded sensual coming from their lips.

  She drew in a breath. It was now or never. “I came to find a shifter.” She waited for their reactions, but they remained silent, non-committal. She skipped her gaze from one man to the next. “Maybe even three.”

  Burton ran a hand through his hair. The urge to have him run his hand through her hair hit her so hard she almost asked him to do it. Hell, she almost begged him to do it.

  “So you believe shifters are real?”

  She swallowed and suddenly wished Winnie was by her side. Not that Winnie was positive that shifters actually existed. She supported Bree, but it was easy enough to see that Winnie wasn’t a hundred percent in agreement. Still, that was what best friends did, right? Support the other even when they didn’t agree?

  She swallowed then spit out the truth. “I do.”

  “Why?” Ridge’s dark eyes fixed on her. “How do you know?”

  He was wearing the same kind of outfit that his brother and his cousin wore. All three men were broad through the shoulders with arms strong enough for her to see the ripples of their muscles whenever they moved. Their lean waists beckoned to her, guiding her gaze to their crotches before she realized what she’d done and looked away. Each wore a simple black belt with a plain silver buckle. Boots that had long since seen better days completed their look. These were the type of men once sported in tobacco ads. They were still the men of many women’s, including hers, fantasies.

  She could’ve lied. Probably should have. In fact, she could’ve said almost anything. Yet she stuck with the truth. “I know shifters are real because I saw a lion right here in this very bar last year. And I saw the lion change into a woman.”

  Again, their reactions were guarded, but she saw enough of a flicker in their eyes to know she’d surprised them. But why were they surprised? Because she’d said she’d seen a shifter? Or because the shifter had made the mistake of transforming in front of her?

  “A woman, huh? And you actually saw her change? From a lion into a woman and not the other way round?” asked Burton.

  Did it matter which form she changed from and then shifted into? “I sure as hell did. In the ladies’ room.” She hadn’t meant for her tone to have an edge to it, but she hadn’t come back to Lonesome to play games. Still, she couldn’t expect them to admit the truth, either. At least, not yet.

  Ridge chuckled. “And just how much had you drunk before you saw this lion change into a woman?”

  Shit. Don’t go there.

  Her neck stiffened at the accusation. “I wasn’t drunk. In fact, I was stone-cold sober.”

  “Uh-huh.” Matt downed the rest of his beer then motioned to Ridge to fill up his mug.

  She wasn’t about to go down that road. They could deny knowing the truth about shifters all they wanted, but she’d seen what she’d seen. And right now, she sensed what she sensed. They were shifters. They had to be. “What kind of shifters are you, anyway?”

  Matt shook his head, opening his mouth to say something then, from the glint in his eye, changing his mind. “Carol already answered that question. We aren’t shifters because shifters don’t exist.”

  “Then why have the festival every year? And why is Lonesome known as a shifter town?”

  “Because the festival makes the town money.” Burton tilted his head, his gaze intense. “Small towns need to bring in cash however they can.” He shrugged. “This is one of the ways we do it here in Lonesome.”

  His gaze reminded her of her aunt’s alley cat. That cat had always seemed more human than most. At times, he seemed almost too human-like. “I know what I saw.”

  Matt smiled just enough to be both sexy and annoying. “Or at least you know what you think you saw.”

  She bit back a retort. If the best way to catch flies was with honey, then the best way to catch a shifter might be with catnip. “So you’re saying you’re not shifters? Is that what you mean?” She wasn’t about to back down, but she needed to find a different way to make them admit what they were. Maybe they didn’t want to admit it in public. Maybe if she got them alone, they’d feel freer about opening up to her. Or maybe, just maybe, they had to keep the town’s real secret.

  “Yep. That’s what we’re saying,” answered Burton.

  Maybe if she threw them a curve ball. “Then you don’t know anything about The Allure, either, do you?”

  Ridge choked on the sip he’d just taken. He wiped his mouth as his brother and cousin did their best to hide their startled expressions.

  Score one for me.

  “I don’t know what our sister told you, but you’re climbing up the wrong tree, hon.”

  “She didn’t tell me anything. In fact, she seemed as surprised as you three when I asked her about The Allure.” Judging by their guarded expressions, Carol had failed to tell them about that part of their conversation.

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about, puttin’,” said Burton.

  Her earlier irritation threatened to take over. “My name’s not puddin’. I’m not a damn dessert. The name is Bree, remember? And I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  His dimples showed when he smiled. “I’m calling you puttin’, not puddin’. Because underneath all that hiss in your tone, I’m bettin’ you’re actually a sweet putty cat.”

  Oh. Nice.

  “Whatever.” She held back a pleased smile. “But like I said, I’m pretty damn sure that you do know what I’m talking about. But sure, let’s play the game. Tell me if this is anywhere close to being right.” She cleared her throat, remembering the exact definition. “The Allure is the magical scent that a werelion uses on his breath to draw a woman to him. It’s kind of like compelling her to be his.”

  “Now that would be a damn nice trick to have.” Ridge chuckled. “A man could get most any woman he wanted, I bet.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Hopefully, werelions are more discriminating than that.”

  “Let’s hope they are. Still, I think you’re getting mixed up. Vampires compel. I never heard that thing about werelions drawing women to them.” Ridge’s expression tensed. “If werelions do exist—and I’m not saying they do—they wouldn’t force a woman to come to them. Not in the way you mean. If they do exist, they’d use that kind of thing to keep her safe from other werelions.”

  She smiled, happy she’d made him slip up. “Hmm. You seem to know more about werelions than you said a few minutes ago.”

  Ridge frowned. “You’re not the only one with an imagination, you know.”

  “Uh-huh. You must have a good imagination. But, of course, you’re only talking hypothetically. If werelions exist. Still, according to you three, they don’t.”

  “That’s right. They don’t.” Yet there was a tensio
n in Matt’s tone that said he didn’t like the direction their conversation had gone. His frown matched Ridge’s.

  Shit. Take it easy. You just met them.

  Not only was she not getting anywhere fast, she was beginning to push them away. A different tactic was needed. “Fine. Whatever you say. But since you can’t tell me about shifters, can you tell me of a place to stay? Winnie and I missed out on the B&B, and I’d rather not sleep in a tent if I can help it.”

  “Stay with us.”

  She blinked, unsure that she’d heard Matt correctly. “With you?”

  “Yeah. With us,” added Ridge. “We have an extra bedroom.” His exuberance died a little as he glanced toward Winnie. “Unless you two would rather not share a bedroom.”

  Burton leaned forward, an eager look on his face. “And if that’s the case, then you can sleep in my bed.”

  Every ounce of confidence she’d managed to summon was gone. She would have never expected them to invite her to stay with them, much less to share a bed. Although her refusal was on the tip of her tongue, she stalled. Sleeping in the same bed with Burton sounded like a great idea. At least, according to the throbbing between her legs. The throbbing that she’d somehow managed to ignore until now.

  “We’re moving too fast.” The corners of Matt’s mouth tweaked upward, but just barely. “But staying in our home is going to be a lot nicer than sleeping on the cold, hard ground. You’ve got to admit that much.”

  She nodded. “Of course it would. But I wasn’t hinting at an invitation.” She hadn’t been, had she? “I thought maybe you knew of a nearby hotel or another B&B.”

  “Sorry.” Ridge shook his head. “Miss Kitty’s is the only place around town. If you want to stay somewhere else, you’ll have to drive aways out. Then you’d risk missing all the fun.”

  “So stay with us. It’s only right that, as representatives of Lonesome, we help a couple of visitors out.” Matt’s mesmerizing gaze grew stronger. “Especially a couple of beautiful visitors.”

  Had the air suddenly become denser? Warmer? Yet she was certain the heat was coming from their intense gazes. Could she stay with them? She had to admit that she like the idea. But what would Winnie say?

  “So you’ll stay with us?” asked Matt. “Come on. You know you want to.”

  Hell, yeah, she wanted to say yes. Desperately wanted to, yet she held back. “No. Thank you, but I—we—couldn’t stay in a house with three men we don’t even know.”

  “Carol lives with us,” offered a still excited Burton. “Does that make it any easier to accept our invitation?”

  “Yes, but I’m still going to have to say no.” She heard the words come out of her mouth and, at once, wanted to kick herself. All she’d have to do was say yes.

  “Why?” Ridge crossed his heart. “I promise you we’ll be good boys.” A wicked gleam twinkled in his eyes. “Unless, of course, you’d rather we be bad.”

  The reasons for saying no were easy enough. She didn’t know them. She didn’t want to owe them a favor. Who knew what they’d ask for in return? Winnie wouldn’t want her to say yes, either. Plus, she didn’t want them to think she was too easy. Granted, she wouldn’t turn either one of them down—or all three of them, for that matter—if they wanted to hop between the sheets with her. But they didn’t need to know that yet.

  Still, the reasons for saying yes were just as easy. She wanted to know them. Hell, if she listened to her quickly flaming body, she’d crawl on top of the table and beg to get to know them. At least by staying in their home, she’d be closer to them. And, if they really were shifters, then maybe she’d catch them changing. That last thought was enough to push her into accepting. Yet before she could say so, Matt came up with another idea.

  “Tell you what. I can understand why you and your friend wouldn’t want to stay in our house. So stay in our, um, guest house instead.”

  “We have a guest house?”

  She grinned at Burton’s quizzical expression. “Please tell me you’re not talking about a tent in the backyard.”

  Matt took a sip, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Nope. Although calling it a guesthouse probably isn’t accurate. It’s actually a bunkhouse our folks used to use back in the days when they hired help around the ranch.”

  “He means back in the days before they had two sons and their nephew to do the chores,” quipped Ridge.

  “A bunkhouse? Like with bunkbeds and a basic bathroom?” She cringed as soon as she’d spoken. “Not that I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth.” Actually, the idea of sleeping in a separate dwelling yet being close to the men sounded perfect.

  “So what do you say? Do you and your friend…” Ridge paused.

  “Winnie.”

  “Right. Do you and your friend want to sleep in the guesthouse?” He put emphasis on the guesthouse reference and grinned at Matt.

  She hesitated just long enough to keep from appearing too eager. “Okay. Sure. As long as Carol’s in the main house, of course. I wouldn’t want people thinking Winnie and I are easy.”

  Matt took another sip of his beer. He did his best to hide it, but she could see his expression brighten. “Aw, hell no. We wouldn’t want that.”

  Shit. He knows I’d be happy to get him between my legs.

  “Give me your digits and I’ll forward the address.” Burton slid his phone across to her.

  Hoping her hand wouldn’t shake, she took his phone and added her information to his contact list. She’d get his and the other men’s information later. “There you go,” she said as she slid it back.

  Burton kept his attention locked on her the entire time as he picked up his phone and returned it to his back pocket.

  Knowing she needed to get up from the table before she blurted out an admission of desire, she started to stand. A hand clamping down on her shoulder, however, kept her in her seat.

  “I hear this pretty lady is looking for a shifter.”

  Bree gasped and craned her neck around to look up at the man who still had his hand on her shoulder. He was handsome just like most of the men in Lonesome, but he had a quality about him that rattled her. She studied his angular features, the long nose, and the dark penetrating eyes and felt uneasy. His smile didn’t seem as genuine as the other men’s and was devoid of warmth.

  “Damn it, Ron, don’t go giving her any bullshit,” warned Matt.

  She glanced at Matt then back to Ron. She may not get a good feeling from the man, but then again, maybe this was her chance. “Yes. I’m looking for a shifter.”

  Ron took his hand away but kept his attention locked on her. “And why do you want to find a shifter?” The cold smile widened. “Are you one of those furry types?”

  He was playing with her, but not in the good way that the men had done earlier. His teasing wasn’t meant to be goodhearted. “Despite what everyone is telling me, I know shifters are real.”

  “Name’s Ron Gardner.” He plastered on a wide grin. “And how do you know, little pretty?”

  Yuck. Little pretty doesn’t have the same ring to it as baby and puttin’. Or maybe it’s just where the words are coming from that has no ring.

  “Ron, what do you want?” demanded Burton, who came to his feet. “We aren’t buying you drinks tonight, if that’s what you’re after. And neither is she.”

  “Damn straight.” Ridge got to his feet. “So back the hell off.”

  Ron’s eyebrows jumped skyward. “Oh, so that’s it. You three are already laying your claim.”

  Laying their claim? Like a shifter claiming his mate?

  She couldn’t help but thrill at the shiver racing down her spine. “Are you a shifter, Ron? If so, you can tell me. I won’t breathe a word once I leave. And I know shifters are real because I’ve already seen one.”

  A few of the people in the crowd were beginning to notice them. Yet as soon as those who were obviously festival-goers started paying attention, a local would distract them.

  But why? Surely if the citize
ns wanted to continue the myths about Lonesome and, therefore, keep people visiting their town every year for the festival, a conversation about the very real existence of shifters could only help.

  She was certain Ron had been about to confirm her suspicion that he was a shifter when Matt was on his feet with his hand clutching the front of the man’s shirt. “You’ll have to excuse our friend, Bree. He’s a good buddy of ours. Although I’m stumped if I can remember why right now. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Or when to leave.”

  Ron jerked his shirt out of Matt’s grip. “I’m not doing anyone any harm. All I’m doing is talking to a pretty lady. A man has a right to talk to a pretty lady whenever he wants, doesn’t he?”

  “Are you a shifter, Ron?” She sought out his eyes, doing her best to silently encourage him to speak the truth.

  “Of course I am. We all are.”

  She barely suppressed an exclamation of “I knew it!” Instead, she sucked in a breath and looked to the other men, hoping they’d finally admit what they were.

  “He’s pulling your leg, hon.” Yet Ridge’s expression was dire, even angry. “You can’t believe ninety percent of what comes out of Ron’s mouth.” His glare held a strange glint highlighted by bits of amber. “Isn’t that right, Ron?”

  She was quick to jump in. “Don’t let them get to you. All you have to do is tell me the truth. Besides, all you’re doing is telling me what I already know.”

  But the men’s presence was stronger than any influence she could’ve exerted. Ron paused, giving the men searching looks, then dragged in a deep breath before letting it out in a chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. You listen to them. I’m just funnin’ with you, little pretty. Shifters are only make-believe. Any snotty-nose kid knows that.”

  Burton took Ron by the shoulder. “How about we grab a drink? My treat.”

  Ron’s face brightened. “Now you’re talking. Let’s go, good buddy.”

  “But—” Yet before she could finish her sentence, Burton was leading Ron toward the bar.

  Ridge slid his hand along her waist. Maybe nothing else could’ve gotten her attention away from Ron, but that sure did.