Hunting the She-Cat (4 page)

He stepped closer and she was caught in
the compelling gaze coming from his powerful eyes. He moved to
block her pathway back to the safety of inside her home. She had no
room to retreat.

Her mind reeled. Unless. Unless she
shifted shape herself, became the cat and took to the stairs. She’d
never dared shift to cat form in Chicago. Never. And she was not
about to start now. She raised her chin, and stiffened her lips.
She could face whatever he threw at her.

“It’s good to see you again,
megisha.”

His voice was as smooth as silk,
sliding over her skin as if his palm did so.

“To have you with me, alone, in the
dark this time.” He caught a strand of her hair, wrapped his
sizable fingers in it and pulled her gently to him. She pulled
away, hurting herself. He released her just in time to save her
real pain in her scalp.

“Stubborn female.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here. In
fact, I asked you to leave me alone,” she hissed. “I do not know
you. You are no one to me.”

In the reflected light, she saw his
expression harden, his shoulders stiffen.

He reached for her, taking the back of
her neck in his hand, holding her hard. “You must come back with me
to Eliava. Tonight. It is more urgent than you can know, you
defensive little cat.”

She felt his warm breath on her cheek.
“No. No. No.”

“Yes. Yes.” His other hand cupped her
cheek, his fingers caressing her ear. His firm thumb boldly stroked
her upper lip. “Beautiful. I will take care of you. I promise
it.”

“I’m not. Leave. Now. Go back the way
you came.”

He took a weary breath. “Would you not
introduce me to your friends then? Show some hospitality to a tired
traveler who has not eaten today? I would like to see how the U.S.
immigrant offspring have turned out. Ruthless and cunning,
successful settlers are they?”

Misha’s mind raced to figure out what
he said, until she remembered. The last time he was here was two
hundred years ago. “How long do we live?” She could not resist
asking the question.

“It takes time to become the cat. For
most, not until they are over one hundred of Earth’s years. The
oldest of us make it about six hundred years, but science makes
advances all the time.” He shrugged as if to say he really didn’t
know the limits of a cat shifter’s life. “Invite me in.”

She sighed, considering it. “And who
will I tell them you are?”

He smiled a sexy flash of pearly white
teeth, the canines a little longer than normal human teeth. “Will I
be your long lost lover whose flame is rekindled, perhaps, a man
hoping to reclaim you? Even some truth there. But, hear me female,
you will not tell them I am your brother or a kin cousin. No, I
will not have that. It would put unnatural distance between
us.”

“Oh, go to hell.”

He sobered. “I may be there, female. I
may be there already.”

With that declaration, he grabbed her
and took her lips with his own, commanding them to move, to follow
his.

Determined to thwart him, she fought a
moment. Then when she allowed it, the kiss deepened, blossomed
wider, becoming wetter, all-consuming.

After a long, leisurely exploration, he
left her lips to laugh, low and quiet. “That’s it, that’s right my
little she-cat. Come to me. Relax against me.”

Her breath came too fast for decency.
Shame washed over her and she lowered her head to his hard chest.
Mercy, he was a total stranger but she wanted to see him gloriously
naked. Now. Here in the spare moonlight. She wanted him to take her
down to sisal rug on her balcony and make love to her.

One wide hand sought her behind,
pulling her firmly to the cradle of his thighs. She moaned and
melted into him. “Lugar,” she whispered. The surging desire of his
body for hers was clear, unmistakable and exciting pressed against
her. The ache of it rolled through her causing a fine
trembling.

He left her mouth to say, “I want you.
I need you. Only you.”

She answered his need by arching
against him. Their clothing was too much a barrier.

“Remove your clothing.”

The masculine command broke the spell
and aroused her painfully all at the same time. “No. God, no. The
door. Someone will come out here any moment, looking for
me.”

“The first time we make love will be
fast and sharp, little female. No one will find us before we’ve
finished.”

“Hah! That’s your erection
speaking.”

He jerked her to him again, laughing,
his eyes sparkling with challenge. “Perhaps so. Truth is, at this
moment, I do not much care if your whole world watches
us.”

He placed both hands on her waist and
lifted her up, then, mercilessly, he allowed her to slide along
him, chest to hips.

“Mmmm,” she gasped, dropping her arms
on his shoulders as he held her off her feet, off the
floor.

“Feel good? Wrap your long legs around
me.”

When she did not respond, he demanded,
“Now.”

“If you insist,” she whimpered.
“Arrogance.” She would teach him. Seductively, she climbed his
muscled hips, one leg then the other. Then repeated the action
again in reverse.

“Good girl. Yes, that’s it
exactly.”

With the flat of his hand on the cheek
of her butt, he pressed her closer.

Unsure what she was doing, she claimed
his shoulders with her teeth, small nips that had him growling deep
in his chest. The sound was like great music.

A voice came, just as she’d predicted.
“Yoo-hoo. Mish Mash. Where are you? I just saw you in the kitchen
just a few minutes ago. Misha?”

It was Sala. Thank God for the
interruption because there was no stopping them otherwise. And God
help her this was a complete stranger ... he could be a
murderer.

Misha tore herself from Lugar’s arms.
He lowered his head to his chest, his breathing as hard and labored
as hers.

“I’m here, Sala. Out here on the
balcony.”

“What ya doin’ out here in the damn
dark, girl?”

“I’m … not …”

“Oh, my, gosh!” She squinted. “My eyes
are adjusting. It’s him. It’s your Alpha dog, chicka.”

“That would be cat,” Misha
corrected.

“Enough,” Lugar whispered urgently for
her ears only. “Stop this talk. Outsiders cannot know what we are.
You said as much yourself,” he reminded her. His breath came hot at
her ear.

Damn, he was right. “Touché,” she said
begrudgingly. She knew better than to say that. Knew better than
all of this crazy, wanton behavior. Knew better than fooling with
him for sure. What was she thinking, humping him in the darkness of
her balcony?

“I’m coming … in. Sala. In.”

Lugar took her by the upper arms,
pulled her to him, discreetly, or not so discreetly, covering his
front to hide his response from Sala.

“What the hell?” Bronson’s voice came
from the doorway. He glared at Lugar. “Who the blazes are
you?”

Misha knew she should run to Bronson.
She should be relieved at opportunity to escape Lugar’s clutches.
But she could not speak to save her. Her silly mind occupied itself
comparing the two males, quantifying the differences and they were
significant. Bronson was not coming out so well in contrast. He was
too fine-boned, too long and reedy. Too condescending and
unfriendly as he stared at Lugar.

“I am Misha’s colleague,” Lugar said.
“Lugar Rova. An old friend of the -- uh, family.”

“Where is that accent from? I can’t say
I recognize it.” Bronson offered his hand in a forced gesture. “I
travel a lot.”

After an elongated moment, Lugar took
the hand and shook it awkwardly as if not accustomed to handshaking
in greeting. “I am from a small, obscure country in eastern
Europe.”

Something about the answer told her
he’d practiced that line. The handshake was a surprise to him
though, she suspected. Hadn’t practiced that. Perhaps she imagined
the snarl of distaste for the contact on his chiseled
lips.

After the handshake, Bronson stepped
nearer, offering his arm to her.

Misha felt herself go cold and tense.
“Do not come any closer, Bronson,” she warned. Well, darn, why not
snarl and bare her teeth too. Not sure why she did not want him any
closer than an arm length to Lugar, but the need was strong. “Stay
back,” she ordered.

“Misha?” Lugar asked.

“Misha?” Bronson asked.

“It … it’s very dark here,” she said.
“There are too many of us on this small balcony,” she said,
improvising a plausible excuse, waving a hand toward the doorway
behind him. “The weight. The welds are old and not up to code any
longer. I need to repair it.” The truth was she wanted to insure
Bronson stayed back far away from Lugar.

God help her, for Lugar’s safety, she
realized. She wanted her own boyfriend gone -- or at least at a
greater distance. Bronson was fit and he held several kinds of
different colored Asian martial arts self-defense belts. She was
not familiar with the details, but knew he was trained to be sneaky
and skilled, very good with the hand-to-hand fighting.

Sensing her alarm, Lugar began to
stroke her hair in a soothing way, from top to ends of its length.
“Be calm,” he whispered near the shell of her ear. “It’s alright,
Misha. I am a civilized being. I will not kill your
friend.”

Some of the tension in her stance
eased, but she did not correct his misinterpretation of her insane
behavior. No need to feed his ego with knowledge of her fear for
him.

“Well that’s just damn friendly for a
colleague,” Bronson said, his eyes narrowed now in a suspicious
way. “There’s not enough space between you two for a
pencil.”

Sala spoke, “Smart man. Let’s go
inside, shall we, Bron? Give them a minute.” She winked brazenly at
Misha. “We’ll pave the way for with the others, Mr. Alpha. Long
lost boyfriend sound about right?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Lugar
said.

“Oh, damn it Mish, he’s polite
too.”

“What did you call him?” Bronson asked
with his eyes turned on Sala now.

“Nothing, Slick.” Boldly, she took
Bronson’s arm, steering him to the door. “Just relax and come with
me, handsome,” she said.

Bronson looked down at Sala’s hand,
then gave Misha a puzzled frown.

“Just his name,” Sala continued,
clearly attempting to distract Bronson from more questions. “I
said, Mr. Roma.”

“Rova,” Lugar corrected. Then he took
Misha’s elbow and escorted her after the other two. “You smell
glorious,” he whispered near Misha’s ear.

Her darned knees went weak nearly
melting out from under her, and she closed her eyes a moment to
regain composure. He caught her by the waist, steadying her
balance. “I don’t even know you,” she hissed. “I’m not sure I like
you.”

“You will soon. Soon.” Laughing softly,
Lugar calmly took her into her own house as if they had not been in
the throws of hot-out-of-control passion just moments
ago.

As the evening wore on, Lugar never
left her side. His body language reminded her of a high-powered
bodyguard. He watched everyone who approached her. She began to
suspect he could have held his own with Bronson, all martial arts
training aside. Explaining who he was went smoother than she
thought. Since he acted like a bodyguard that’s what she said. That
she’d met him a few years ago, through a dignitary client who had
been under Lugar’s protection until he’d safely testified in court
trial. A believable lie. Lugar even seemed to be able at speaking
SWAT team speak where needed -- he knew a lot about Earth’s police
special weapons and emergency tactics. Not to mention carbines and
body armor.

Sala used her considerable and
devastating feminine wiles keeping Bronson away from them all
evening. Her friend also sensed the potential volatility of the
situation between the two men. From his expression, Bronson was
willingly distracted, mesmerized by Sala’s unexpected attention.
Misha felt no jealousy that he gave Sala attention in return. She
was amazingly relieved in fact.

Toward the end of the night, only
stragglers remained and Lugar’s high-tech looking watch buzzed like
a cell phone.

After reading something on the screen,
Lugar said, “I must leave you for now. I will return in the
morning.”

Mindless of the watching eyes of
Bronson, Sala and the stragglers, he pulled her out on the balcony
and kissed her hard and fast on the lips. Then left the same way he
came. Via the balcony fire escape steps. Her heart pounded as she
realized she heard no sound of footfalls on the metal
treads.

She knew he left her as a
cat.

Chapter Four

The next morning early, Misha
ran.

And damn it all, she wished the rest of
the world would hurry it up a bit to match her urgent need of
escape. Time seemed to creep as she went through airport security
lines, her carry on bags disappearing inside the scanner’s black
rubber strips at last.