Predator's Refuge (3 page)

The scent of desire emanated from her. Only now, it flourished under his gaze, increasing tenfold, if such a thing could be measured. Tendrils of teasing perfume waved around her body, blending into the golden brown highlights in her hair and winding their way around her hips and breasts. Exuding from her pores and sinking straight into his. Delicious, sensual saturation.

Anton’s heart raced and his tiger spotted its new prey. The animal licked its lips.

The man sheltering the beast fought to stand upright. He clenched his fist around his duffel bag handle.

They said nothing for a moment, just stared at each other. Anyone watching them must think them simple. The lynx, a totally touchable woman, stood about 5’7” with rounded curves meant for caressing. The bright sheen in her golden brown eyes allowed a glimpse at the hungry cat within; he could almost see the lynx, with its tufted ears and soft gray fur, sniffing at him. She’d pinned up her sorrel brown hair in a professional chignon, but as she stared at him, a few strands came loose. They seemed to beg his fingers to wrap around them to see if they were truly as soft as they appeared. Perspiration broke out on her skin, ornamenting her upper lip and brow, and he could taste her heat even from across the reception desk. It made him want to seek out the other hot spots on her body. To lick at the moisture gathering under her plump breasts, to nuzzle under her arms, to feast on the heat between her legs.

He wanted to make her hotter.

Anton, stop this madness!

He searched his brain for the name of the person Ryland gave him. He blinked and stood up like the aristocrat he was raised to be. “I am Anton Gaspar of the house…” He caught himself in time, almost saying he was of the house Árpád. He no longer had a house. “Please bring me to Marc Lennox.”

The lynx woman gawked at his lips as he spoke. He clenched them and something in her face clenched as well. “Um, it’s
Marci
Lennox.
I’m
Marci Lennox.”

With such a heat to plague her, it was astounding she recalled her own name. He narrowed his eyes at her. He then pulled out his cell phone and scrolled quickly through Ryland’s latest texts, looking for the name. “That is impossible. Mr. Snow told me to ask for Marc, the man in charge.”

The warm golden tones in her eyes scintillated with sudden harshness. “It’s Marci, and I’m the
woman
in charge.”

In spite of himself, he sniffed in disdain. In no way could this woman be trusted to run a resort. Her heat, so distracting, would prevent her from getting any work done at all. He’d known female cats in heat before. They could barely recall the instructions for boiling water when under the influence of their sex-crazed spirit animals. Better she run along home and find a nice little lynx boy to satisfy her.

At home, he answered to kings. No chance of calling this frustrated girl “boss.”

Besides, he couldn’t report to a woman, certainly not one who looked and smelled like this. Not if he was to remain celibate and stay sane.

She cocked her head. “Is there a problem, Mr. Gaspar?”

He was about to remind her to use his title, but bit his lip.
You’re not in Hungary, remember?
These people were not of his tribe, and here, he wasn’t anyone special. He’d better get used to it. And soon. Still, his tiger made an appearance and compelled him to play with her. Its voice rumbled into his throat, taking over his vocal cords. “You tell me, little girl.”

Her pretty face reddened, making her cheeks appear as bright as the apples in his father’s orchard in September. “I must be hearing things. Did you just call me
little girl
?”

He dropped his bags and leaned on the counter between them, inhaling the scent that was close to making him forget himself. Ah, hell, he had already forgotten himself. “Come now, Ms. Lennox. I’m sure Mr. Snow wouldn’t want you wasting anyone’s time. Who’s really in charge here?”

“I am.”

“You don’t look … old enough to run a resort.”

Her lynx eyes flashed again. “For your information, I am old enough. I’ve been working at this resort since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Mr. Snow trusts me to do the job … and why am I explaining myself to you anyway?”

Enough fun, Anton. Don’t make the girl mad. She’s already beside herself with the need to fuck
.

Like you are
, his petulant tiger retorted. He blinked and warned the animal away.

“My apologies. I am suspicious by nature. I was raised that way.” He tried to smile, but was worried if he showed his teeth, he’d swallow her scrumptious perfume and eat her to orgasm right there. “I’ve never had a young woman for a supervisor, but I’m sure we can be friends,
cicuskám
.”

“What does that mean?”

He allowed one side of his mouth to curl up in a half grin, enjoying her flustered sputtering more than he’d enjoyed anything in a long time. Certainly more than he enjoyed matins or tranquil walks in the cloister. “Nothing special.” It wouldn’t do to tell the new boss he’d called her
my kitten
. Not that she was his. He wasn’t in the market for a lady lynx. He could hear his brother Gabi now. “A lynx, Anton? You are a tiger, a prince among shifters. Stop slumming it.”

God love Gabi. He might be his favorite brother, but he was an incurable snob. As for Istvan, well, Anton tried never to listen to anything his youngest brother said. Istvan wouldn’t have advice on courtship. He didn’t court his women; he beat them into submission.

Dismissing painful memories, Anton eyed Marci. “Very well then, boss. Show me where to begin.”

She walked around the reception desk, her disconcerting gaze trained on him the whole time, as if worried he might pounce. Or was she worried she might? Anton wasn’t sure, but had a feeling he was going to like toying with the nervous kitten too much for his own peace of mind.

Damn. Maybe he should never have left the monastery.

Chapter 2

Heat.

As a terrible, intimidating heat scorched her core and wound its way through her bloodstream, Marci wiped at her moist upper lip.

She tried to ignore the tiger at her back as she led him to his new cabin, but it was like being a snake charmer trying to ignore a poised serpent. She just couldn’t let her guard down.

As the savage streak of fire tore through her body, her Canada lynx’s keening cry rang in her ears. It pounded on Marci’s stomach, clawing at her, even biting her sensitive insides.
Him. Him. I want him!

Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ears with a shaking hand, she struggled to maintain the decorum of a businesswoman, and not of a flesh-hungry animal. What was wrong with her? She’d forced her lynx to behave, but the animal was crying as if in pain. And its plaintive howls were directed at him.

Anton Gaspar. The stranger with the brusque manners, ones that bordered on the misogynistic.

Him? I don’t think so, fur ball. Get back in your cage
.

Why would the lynx assault her over this guy? Sure, he had nice looks. No. She mentally corrected herself.
Nice looks
did not describe Anton Gaspar. She couldn’t even describe him as handsome.

In her books, dangerous men did not earn the label “handsome.”

The tiger shifter towered over her, almost knocking his head on a couple of lower door frames. He had to stand 6’5”. Marci wasn’t tiny but felt small next to his girth. She had trouble dragging her gaze away from his black hair, cropped so close to his head, and found herself already dreaming of traipsing her fingers over the short hairs near his ears. Clear, green eyes penetrated hers every time she dared to dart a quick glance in his direction. Somehow, he seemed to see everything, making her want to writhe in discomfort. He looked like a bruiser with his enormous muscles and broken nose. His cargo pants and long-sleeved T wouldn’t restrict him in a fight, but still managed to cling to each plane of brawn on his body. And the black wardrobe only emphasized the aura of coiled danger around him. As he walked, he clenched his fists a lot and leaned forward a little, as if on the hunt.

A tiger prince. Well, no matter what they called him in Hungary, he was the furthest thing from Prince Charming she could ever imagine. She saw him for what he was: aloof and judgmental and condescending.

All those negative qualities aside, her mouth ran dry just walking with him.

Inhaling several cleansing breaths, she led the way to the cabins designated for employee housing near the far end of the resort. Many of Ryland’s staff members chose to live on the island rather than ferry back and forth to the mainland. As she unlocked the door to cabin 47, she surveyed the pristine interior. “So, I imagine this cabin is much more modest than what you’re used to.”

He arched a brow at her, looked her up and down, and grabbed the doorknob. Rather than let her go in first, as she’d expected, he pushed the way inside the cabin, scanning the area. It took her a second to realize he was looking for hidden threats in the cabin.

Where did he think he was? A New York back alley in 1975? “Um, it’s quite safe here,” she said under her breath.

He turned to her, unfazed by her tone. “I’ve learned from experience to assume nothing is safe. Please, enter,” he said as if he owned the place.

She walked into the cabin but his guttural accent was so enticing to her ear, she tripped on her heels. He steadied her by grabbing her elbow.

Her lynx jumped inside her, trying to claw its way out of her throat to get to him. Horrified, Marci yanked her arm away from him.

Lynx, go away!

Gaspar’s lips turned up in the closest she’d seen him come to a grin. Her gaze followed the almost imperceptible curve of his lips. They were interesting lips, the top one somewhat fuller than the bottom one, making him appear as if he’d been gnawing on it. Something in their seductive line made her want to beg for a taste of them.

“To respond to your earlier comment, Ms. Lennox, this cabin may be modest, but it suits me. And for the past two years, I have lived very modestly.”

“Marci is fine.”

“
Is
Marci fine?” he teased through a mirthless face.

Hell, no
. She’d never met a man like him before, and had never met a tiger shifter, period. To say nothing of the fact he was making her lynx misbehave in a way it never had. Damned if she was going to show it. Ryland put her in charge, and by all that was holy, she was not going to let this man under her skin. Her very hot skin. “She’s quite fine, thank you very much.”

She took up a spot in the corner of the room, away from him, and brushed her finger along the dust-free dresser surface. Struggling for something to say, she clung to what mattered most to her: the resort and how it was run. “So as a staff member, you have unlimited access to the employee buffet and lounge. We also have a staff pool, although it’s closed for the season, and a weight room. Mr. Snow is very generous with his employees and likes to make sure we have whatever we need.” She arched a brow at him. “We expect and reward employee loyalty. Mr. Snow takes great care to make sure he doesn’t hire people who will disappear after three months. I hope you plan to stay, or will your noble duties take you away?”

“My plan is to stay. There are no downtrodden nations I wish to conquer at this time.” His face held its severe contours, but his celadon eyes almost danced for her.

Was that a twinkle she glimpsed? She must be seeing things. This was not a man who twinkled.

“Funny,” she remarked without humor. She reached a discreet hand toward her collar and loosened it. “I’ll take you to payroll to get set up in our system and need to introduce you around. I assume you’d like some time to relax and freshen up first? You must be jet-lagged.”

He kicked his bags toward the bed and walked over, coming to within uncomfortable inches of her. The small space between them sizzled with an energy she didn’t understand and almost feared. “I am fresh, Ms. Lennox, and have no wish to inconvenience my
lady boss
. Lead on.”

His blasé tone made it sound as if he were in charge. He wasn’t, dammit. Marci raised herself to her full height, grateful her pumps added a couple of inches to her frame. “I will lead on, thank you. But wouldn’t you like a nap … or something?”

His pouty upper lip curled with amusement. “What sort of
or somethings
do you have on offer?” The moment the words escaped his lips, Gaspar squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, as if he hadn’t meant to say them. As if he regretted them.

He should regret them. His manner of speaking was inappropriate and unprofessional. Yes, it was also making her heart palpitate, but that was neither here nor there. She looked away from him, forcing down the huge lump in her throat and rolling her shoulders to alleviate the knot at the top of her spine. Swallowing madly, suddenly thirsty enough to drink the contents of an oasis, Marci turned away and led him to payroll.

Let them deal with him for a while.

His somber figure followed her like gathering clouds, and her lynx turned inside her, locked on his every move.

* * * *

Marci left Anton in the payroll office, where no fewer than three female staff members were vying for his attentions, and stood outside. She glared at him through the glass door, turning quickly when he glanced at her. Winded and raw for some bizarre reason, as if she’d swum across Lake Gemini’s cold expanse on a late autumn morning, she leaned on a nearby accent table for support. Though she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help staring. At the way he held the pen. At the way his long fingers moved. At the way he grinned and nodded at the smitten payroll clerks.

His every motion intrigued her lynx to no end. His every movement seemed programmed to distract the animal. He could have blown his nose into a tissue and the stupid beast would have been fascinated by the exact volume and velocity of his blow.

“Sheesh,” she muttered.

“What’s up?”

She looked up and noticed her friend Charlotte Moffatt walking over. She offered her pal a weak smile. “Nothing.”