Tiger Magic Read online

  Ethan didn’t live far away, time-wise, but his neighborhood might as well have been on another planet. People with big money lived on this hill above the river and had either inherited their riches or made money through the big corporations that had settled in Austin, or both.

  When Carly pulled into Ethan’s long driveway, she felt both sick to her stomach and elated. Yesterday—had it been only yesterday?—she’d driven here so secure in the knowledge that she was going to marry a rich, successful, stable man. A man not at all like her father, a man who was already planning what they’d do on their ten-year anniversary. Someone who wouldn’t disappear into the night, leaving her with all his debts and nowhere to live.

  Ethan’s obvious indifference toward her had kicked her in the teeth. Carly still didn’t know who the woman had been. Someone from work? Friend of a friend?

  Did it matter? It was over. Carly had her job, she had friends and her mama and sisters, and she didn’t need Ethan. And now she was making friends with Shifters and carrying around men wrapped in duct tape in the trunk of her car. Strange how the entire world could change in one crazy afternoon.

  Carly still had her keys to Ethan’s house. She unlocked and opened the front door, not bothering to knock.

  Tiger and Ellison followed her in, Tiger in his usual silence, Ellison carrying the box of stuff Carly had brought with her. Ellison observed his surroundings with interest, but Tiger behaved as though he couldn’t care less where they were. Didn’t seem to mind that he was revisiting a place where he’d been shot yesterday either. Trauma like that was supposed to linger in the psyche, but Tiger walked into the house with complete indifference.

  Ellison whistled. “Shit, what a spread. I could go for this.”

  At one time, Carly could have too. She’d loved imagining herself living in this splendor. Now the decor seemed overdone and cold.

  They went through the palatial front hall with its graceful spiral staircase and on through the massive living room, toward the kitchen. The pristine furniture in the living room had been overturned, and the door to Ethan’s study hung off its hinges, the doorframe splintered.

  “Did you do that?” Carly asked Tiger.

  Tiger nodded without speaking, but he had a satisfied glint in his eye.

  “Good,” Carly said.

  As they strode into the huge kitchen, Ethan, phone in hand, rose from a table that held his laptop and a mess of papers. “Carly? What the hell . . . ? I need to call you back,” Ethan said into the phone before he clicked it off and dropped it to the table. “Carly, what the fuck are you doing bringing that back in here?” He pointed an unsteady finger at Tiger. “He attacked me. He nearly killed me.”

  “And you shot him in the stomach,” Carly returned. “Seven times.” She motioned for Ellison to put the box on the table, which he did, letting it thump down. Carly started going through it, trying to ignore Ethan.

  Why had she ever thought Ethan handsome, fun, charming? He had a rather small face, which went with the compact body he kept honed by working out with a trainer. His dark hair was perfectly cut and combed, his nails manicured. He was the epitome of the young man who’d made it.

  Ethan had picked out a wife who knew how to smile at people and throw parties. Of course he had—Carly had met Ethan at the gallery when he’d come in to look at some art for his office. He’d wanted to pick out the art himself, he said, because he was the one who had to look at it all day. Carly, for some reason, had thought this showed depth of character.

  She understood better now. Ethan was just fussy and didn’t trust anyone. He’d wanted to marry Carly, she realized, because he’d been looking for someone who knew how to give dinner parties and impress clients. In other words, he’d wanted his own personal caterer and receptionist. In return, Carly would get to live in a big house on the river with a pool and a view and money to do whatever she wanted. She would quit her job, of course, because any job in the art world was dead-end.

  All that might have been fine if Ethan had loved and cherished her, if he’d had any compassion in him, any respect. Looking back, Carly had to wonder if Ethan even liked her.

  “He looks fine to me,” Ethan snapped, glaring at Tiger. “Obviously I missed him or just grazed him.”

  “Show him, Tiger.”

  All this time, Carly had been hearing Tiger’s low growls, which strengthened whenever she drew closer to Ethan, lessened when she moved away. She liked it—like a Geiger counter indicating when she was getting too near Ethan’s tainted presence.

  Tiger inched up his T-shirt to expose a stomach of a tightness Ethan tried desperately to achieve. The pink scars of the healed bullet holes pockmarked Tiger’s abdomen.

  “See?” Ethan said, though he sounded less certain. “They must have glanced off.”

  “No,” Ellison said from right next to Ethan. “They didn’t. Went straight inside and had to be dug out. But Shifters heal fast.”

  Ethan jumped. Ellison had been wandering around the room but had moved with Shifter stealth to Ethan’s side while Ethan’s attention had been fixed on Tiger.

  “The bullets went in deep, Ethan,” Carly said. “You almost killed him. You’re lucky he has a hell of a metabolism.”

  “Well, you’d know about that,” Ethan said. “Are you sleeping with both these guys now? Maybe at the same time? I didn’t realize you had a thing for Shifters. How long have you been a Shifter whore?”

  Tiger’s growl increased, and Ellison leaned close to Ethan. “Now, that’s just not nice.”

  Carly slammed what she’d taken out of the box to the table. “No, let him talk. He’s trying to make this my fault. I never cheated on you, Ethan. Never. I caught you, and you can’t change that, but you think that if you can make out that I’m the slut, you’re not in the wrong. But you are. I was loyal to you and did everything you wanted, but that didn’t count for shit with you, did it? Not when you got horny on your coffee break.”

  Ethan looked slightly shocked, as though he hadn’t believed Carly would have the guts to say such things to him. She’d had the guts all right, but she’d been raised to keep the peace, not spread venom. That didn’t mean Carly was weak; it meant she was polite.

  “She’s not important to me, Carly,” Ethan tried. God, she’d had no idea he could sound so whiny. “We can talk about this.”

  “Oh, it’s way too late for that, honey,” Carly said. “You shouldn’t have had your lawyer friend call me and threaten me. You want everything back you ever gave me? Fine. Here it is. Including the ring you wasted sixty-thousand dollars on.”

  Carly took it out of its box and threw it at him, laughing as Ethan scrambled to catch it. “And the necklace from Tiffany’s, and the sound system I never liked.” She threw these at him too, Ethan flailing after each one.

  Ellison, next to him, folded his arms over his broad chest and grinned. Tiger didn’t move, as though he understood that Carly needed to do this, as though he enjoyed watching her kick at Ethan the only way she knew how.

  Carly threw trinkets, souvenirs, and the digital photo frame full of happy pictures of herself and Ethan at him. Finally she picked up the box itself and threw the whole thing.

  “That’s everything you’ve ever given me. Except the heartburn from your fancy restaurants, and the worry that I wasn’t good enough for your snotty friends. I’d love to throw those at you too.”

  Ethan caught the box and slammed it back to the table. “You’re right. I gave you everything, Carly. You were just a stupid receptionist with no future until you met me. I even gave you that dress. You only look so good because I took you to the best stores.”

  Carly clutched the dress’s bodice. “No, you didn’t. I remember. You didn’t like it and refused to buy it, so I put it on my own credit card. It’s mine.”

  “But I paid that credit card for you. I’ve been paying all your bills, Carly. You wouldn’t have shit right now if it wasn’t for me.”

  Carly’s vision tinged with red. T
hrough the haze she saw the image of Ethan banging away at the woman on the counter, her legs around Ethan’s bare hips. Ethan had been wearing a business shirt, the tails of it just hiding his buns, and his pants with their fine leather belt had fallen around his ankles. He’d looked absolutely ridiculous.

  How many times had Carly congratulated herself that she’d snared him as she’d run her hands over Ethan’s honed body? Liking that he kept himself in shape, was so good-looking, and she was going to marry him?

  Next to Tiger, and even Ellison, whom she’d only just met, Ethan was fading to nothing. He had the charisma of a flea. And he’d done his damnedest to make sure Carly felt lucky that he’d noticed her.

  Carly’s rage boiled over. She yanked open the zipper on the silk dress and shoved the garment down over her hips. In her underwear and heels, she stepped out of the dress and balled it up.

  “You want this back? Here it is.” She threw the wadded-up dress at Ethan, hitting him square in the chest. “Wait, did you pay for the lingerie too? Fine, you can have it.”

  As Carly unsnapped and stripped off her bra, Ellison’s gray wolf eyes widened, and he swung around on the heels of his cowboy boots and stared at the wall. “Turning my back, turning my back.”

  Tiger pushed himself between Carly and Ethan. “Don’t look at her.” His growl filled the room, vibrating against the glass kitchen cabinets. One had broken, Carly saw.

  Carly threw the bra down on the table and planted her hand on her hips; she was still in her mile-high, leopard-print heels. Those were hers, and she wasn’t giving them back. “No, let him look, Tiger. I want him to see what he’s never getting again. Ever.”

  Ethan’s terrified gaze wasn’t for Carly. Fear was evident in his wide eyes, in the fleck of spittle on his lips as he was caught and pinned by Tiger’s stare. He knew damn well he’d shot Tiger full on, and now Tiger stood here healthy and whole, ready for payback.

  Carly saw Ethan’s hand snake for his cell phone, but Ellison was there, clamping his wrist. “Don’t think so,” Ellison said. “Now the lady has given you back what you gave her, fair and square. You let her walk out of here, and you don’t bother her again.”

  Ethan’s voice was shaky, but his arrogance still came through. “She can pay me for the Corvette, though.”

  “What?” Carly demanded, her voice rising. “I sent your stupid car back to you without a scratch.”

  “And those Shifters sprayed in it. It smells like cat piss. I’ll have to have it detailed.”

  “Sean and Spike?” Ellison asked in surprise. “They couldn’t have. Shifters don’t spray. Must have been a regular cat that got inside it. A tomcat pissed off about something.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ethan snapped. “That guy with all the tattoos ruined my car!”

  “Nah.” Ellison, who still had Ethan’s wrist, leaned close. “You know how Spike marks his territory? He doesn’t spray. He kills his enemies and grinds their bones and blood into the soil. He leaves just enough scent to explain to everyone else not to cross the line with him.”

  Ethan’s face was gray, his pupils pinpricks. He’d pass out any second. “Spike? Tiger? What kind of names do you people have?”

  “Yeah, I know, Ellison is a real strange one. What was my mom thinking? Carly, even though it’s a crime to cover you up, you’re going to have to put something on before we leave. If you get arrested for driving around like that, Liam will kill me.”

  “No problem,” Carly said, folding her arms over her breasts. “I have a bunch of stuff here that I bet he was going to burn. Be right down.” She turned away, then looked back at Ethan over her shoulder. “Sorry, Ethan. The panties are mine.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Carly skimmed up the spiral staircase, fuming, not letting herself think. She’d grab her stuff and get the hell out of this house. She might even burn the clothes she’d left here, because she didn’t want any reminders of Ethan the Asshole.

  Tiger, of course, followed her.

  Carly went, not to the room she’d slept in with Ethan whenever she’d stayed over, but to the dressing room off his bedroom that also opened into the hall. I mean, who the hell has a dressing room?

  Ethan did, and it looked like the best-fitted dressing room from GQ. Walnut paneling covered the walls that were filled with drawers and shelves. He had a separate armoire for his suits, a sofa with a side table, and a little wet bar where Ethan could mix himself a drink while he dressed for his night on the town.

  The dressing room was like a walk-in closet on steroids. Carly had thought it the coolest thing when she’d first seen it. Now it looked overdone and ostentatious, like the rest of Ethan’s life.

  Ethan had condescended to let Carly have an empty drawer in a corner near the sofa. She went to it and started yanking out her stuff, pausing to slide a T-shirt over her nudity.

  Tiger’s arms came around her from behind, his hands on the wall pinning her in place. Carly turned around, his warmth like a shelter. Tiger lowered his head to her T-shirt and sniffed.

  “This reeks of him.”

  “Yes, I know.” Carly heaved a small sigh. “But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I have a backup dress at the gallery, but even so, I’m going to be late, again.”

  Tiger didn’t let her go. He brushed his nose from her neck across her shoulder, nuzzling her as he had earlier this morning, the absolute strength of him fixing her in place.

  He raised his head and looked into her eyes. Carly had the sensation of being studied, thoroughly, much more so even than when Dylan had looked at her. Tiger might not know how to kiss, but he could look into a person and see everything.

  His T-shirt stretched over a body that had stopped Carly in her tracks when she’d first seen it. And the second time, and the third. Tiger was made of muscle, but that didn’t stop him from moving so quietly his prey never knew he was on it until too late.

  “You really are a tiger,” Carly said softly.

  Tiger’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t answer. Stupid thing to say. Of course he knew what he was. More than Carly knew what she was.

  Tiger cupped her face in his big hand, thumb tracing her cheekbone. The tenderness in the touch made her heart squeeze.

  Carly moved closer to him, wanting his warmth. She was in only a T-shirt, panties, and heels, no match for the frigid breeze of Ethan’s air-conditioning.

  Tiger seemed to know what she needed. He pressed her back into the wall, his body over hers but never crushing. His warm weight stopped her shivering, and his hand moved from the curve of her waist to her breast, heating, soothing.

  Carly tugged him down and kissed him. As before, he didn’t move his mouth in response, but that didn’t matter. Carly seamed his lips with her tongue, feeling his jerk of surprise when her tongue touched his.

  His hands moved on her then, molding to her waist, her back, her buttocks. Tiger licked her lips in return, copying her movements. They played like that, a kiss and not a kiss, while Tiger ran his hands along her body, learning her.

  Carly caressed his back, finding every plane of it, the solidity of his shoulders, the strength of his spine, the compact mound of his buttocks. At the same time, Tiger touched her mouth with little licks, tasting her while she tasted the bite of him.

  Tiger rumbled in his throat, for all the world as if he was purring. He was a wild thing, containing himself for her. The incredible power he’d shown breaking apart the hospital bed, shredding Walker’s gun, surviving wounds that would kill any other man in seconds, was dampened down so he wouldn’t hurt Carly.

  The sweetness of that made her ache.

  Tiger opened her mouth more with his exploring, until the kiss turned real, Carly hungrily imbibing him. His hands were everywhere, on her hips, breasts, buttocks, moving down her waist, around to her front, between her legs to cup her. The thin panties did nothing to keep out the hardness of his hand, and heat knifed through her.

  “No,” she said breat
hlessly, pulling away.

  Tiger’s eyes opened, flooding with confusion and also pain. Pain?

  “I mean, not here.” Carly pressed her hand to his cheek. “Not in Ethan’s . . .”

  Then again, why not? Ethan had been happy to screw someone else in the kitchen where Carly had cooked, where Yvette and Armand had once prepared Ethan one of their exquisite meals. She shuddered even thinking about it.

  Carly started to pull Tiger back down to her. Why not wrap her legs around this gorgeous man, give herself the best sex of her life in Ethan’s oversized dressing room? Oversized like his ego, compensating for a lack of size elsewhere.

  “Because I don’t want it to be about him,” Carly finished.

  Tiger’s brows drew down. “Don’t want what to be about who?”

  “You and me.” Carly looked into his interesting eyes. “I want you and me to be about you and me. Not a rebound, not revenge, not about Ethan.”

  “Why would it be?”

  The question was genuine. She realized that to Tiger, in this moment, Ethan didn’t exist, wasn’t important. What a great way to look at the world.

  Carly smiled and caressed his cheek. “I like the way you think. But I don’t want a reminder of him. All right? I want this to happen somewhere . . . special.”

  Tiger slid his hand from between her legs, heady friction, to rest on her belly. “Special.”

  “Special.” Carly kissed his lips again. “Like a romantic hotel room, or in my house with the lights low and the music on, after we’ve had some fine wine.”

  From the look on his face, Tiger had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t know how to kiss, he’d never put together sex with a rose-petal-strewn bed and a good vintage. And yet, being in Ethan’s dressing room, half-naked with Tiger while he touched her all over, was by far the most sensual encounter she’d ever had.

  “You never brought a girl flowers and candy?” Carly nuzzled his cheek as he’d nuzzled her. Nice. The bristles of his whiskers tickled her nose, his skin warm.