Masks of a Tiger Page 2

  But if he thought she was going to apologize he had another think coming. She pursed her lips and bit her tongue to stop herself from saying that out loud.

  He gave her another, long, hard stare that would have had her squirming had Grisha not had such a tight hold on her, and then he threw his head back and laughed.

  "Trust you, Grisha. I'll be interested to see how long it'll take you to tame this one." Grisha's hold on her tightened further, and she glared at Ink's departing back and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  When the door banged shut behind Ink, Grisha let her go and studied her for a moment. She defiantly stared him down, and he sighed and mumbled something in a foreign language before he held out his hand.

  "Now, show me that wrist."

  Chapter Two

  Neeve's expressive face showed every one of her emotions, and Grisha wondered briefly if she had any idea how easy she was to read. He'd bet his last dollar that she didn't and that she would be horrified if she knew. She breathed easier without Ink in the room. Grisha, on the other hand, had a hard time to hang onto his composure. When she had leant back into him, seeking and accepting his protection, albeit subconsciously, his tiger had almost purred his satisfaction. Her slight curves had fitted perfectly against his hard frame, and he'd had to resist the urge to lick the rapidly beating pulse point in her neck.

  His cock had hardened to the point of pain when she wriggled against him, and he'd known the instant she noticed. She'd tensed and grown very still. Even now her heartbeat reached dangerously high stats, and as much as she tried to control her breathing, the heavy scent of her arousal hung in the air between them. Her eyes darted to his groin repeatedly, before she pointedly stared at his chest. Oh yes, prickly she may be, confused and in denial, most definitely, but she was also fiercely attracted to him.

  Grisha forced his excited tiger to stand down and gestured her over to the sink. As much as he'd like to lose himself balls deep inside her body, she was hurt, and he needed to find out why she felt the need to mark her delicate skin.

  He turned on the tap, and she flinched when he held her wrist under the steady stream of cold water.

  "I know it hurts, but this will take the paper off without taking more of your skin with it." He growled low in his throat as the true extent of her injury became apparent. A nasty red burn mark spread across the delicate area of her inner wrist, a blister already forming in the center.

  "It's not as bad as it looks." She tried to pull her wrist away, and Grisha knew his tiger was showing in his eyes, when he cupped her chin and forced her to look up at him. Her emerald eyes widened, and she blinked rapidly.

  Damn infuriating woman.

  He never had this much trouble keeping his beast under control, but this little redhead raised all of his protective instincts.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "Why, what?" She bit her lip, and that defiant look he was beginning to know well was back in her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She yanked her chin out of his hand and pulled on the tight grip he had on her arm. "Let me go. You're giving me frost bite. So, I'm clumsy. It's a burn. I'll get over it."

  "Clumsy? Holding your wrist over a candle long enough to give you a second degree burn is clumsy? I wasn't born yesterday, sweetheart. Now hold still, and let me tend this properly."

  She looked as though she was going to say something else, but his tiger's warning growl made her gasp. She threw him a worried look and then shrugged her shoulders in a good attempt at feigning nonchalance. Too bad for her that his shifter senses picked up her hurt, confusion, and innate sadness loud and clear. One way or the other he was going to get to the bottom of this—today.

  "You really don't need to do that."

  He ignored her protests, and she shrieked when he picked her up and set her on the long kitchen counter. He pulled her legs apart and stepped inside her thighs. With her almost straddling him and his arms caging her in either side, she had nowhere to go, and she swallowed hard, as he leant in close enough for her breasts to brush his chest. Her nipples beaded into hard little bullet points, and he took great delight in rubbing his shirt repeatedly over them, as he reached behind her for the first aid kit he would need. The very feminine whimper of need she couldn’t quite hide shot straight to his groin, and his balls drew tight. He allowed himself a shallow thrust into her clothed core, the scent and heat calling him home, and his tiger prowled to be set free.

  "Don't, please." The tiny plea broke through the mist of animal lust, and he pulled back enough to see her expression. "I'm not what you need, trust me."

  Tears shimmered in her eyes, and Grisha cursed.

  "And you would know what I need how, exactly?"

  Again she tried to pull her hand away and shook her head.

  "For the last time, Neeve, let me deal with this, or so help me I will strip those damn leggings off you and paddle your bare ass right now and here."

  "You wouldn't dare." Her protest was far too breathy, and her pupils dilated to such a degree her green eyes were almost black. She released the breath she'd been holding on a loud exhale when he cupped her mound. The fabric was damp with her arousal, and he pushed one finger through the thin material and into her channel. She squirmed against his hand, and her fingers curled into his shirt, whether to pull him closer or push him away, she didn't seem to know herself.

  Their eyes locked, and Grisha smiled.

  "Don't ever dare me, sweetheart."

  She looked as though she was going to say something else, but he stopped her with a finger against her lips. She frowned but obeyed instantly. Only her eyes threw daggers at him, and Grisha had a tough time not letting his amusement show.

  "Good girl, now that's not so hard is it?"

  The annoyed growl she made in response was the sexiest sound ever, and he could almost see his tiger salivating in response. His damn beast needed to learn when to shut up. His tiger was starting to act as though this messed up woman trying her best not to flinch as he rubbed the burn cream into her wound, was the one. Craziest notion ever. He wasn't looking to settle down, and he damn well didn't need a sub as bratty as this one. Regardless of how much her scent called him. Regardless of how the tears of pain she refused to let fall, settled in his gut, or the way her shallow breaths made him gentle his touch. By the time he'd finished bandaging her wrist she looked about ready to pass out. She put up no resistance when he picked her up and carried her over to the well-worn couch on the veranda. It faced the forest, and for the moment at least, they had the place to themselves.

  Night had fallen in earnest, and the music and rumble of voices carrying through the chilly air were the only indication that the party under the marquee was by now in full swing. He took his jacket off, draped it around her shoulders, and she accepted it with a murmured thanks.

  "Don't move. I know just what you need."

  ****

  Neeve could no more have moved if her life depended on it. Seated on the veranda, with his jacket round her shoulders, his spicy, earthy scent surrounded her and kept the demons at bay. She could almost pretend they were alone, not at the fringes of a family gathering that celebrated a woman becoming someone's property. If only he weren't who he was. She'd recognized the name immediately when Ink had called him Grisha. He had to be Grisha Sergewski. Not only was he one of Club Ink's exploration facilitators he was also was well known for his skills with fire. He ran classes in safe fire play, and his sheer fury at her injury, and insistence of dealing with it, all made sense now.

  He would never understand the demons that drove her, and even if he did, he was a Dom. That made him an overbearing asshole who would want to control every aspect of her life, and there was no fucking way she would go down that route. No fucking way at all. If there was any tying up to be done in the bedroom, then it was Neeve getting the handcuffs out, not the other way round. She didn't give up control for anyone, no matter how much her body lit up at his touch, or her pussy leaked
her juices just by the way he called her sweetheart—as though he actually meant it.

  He couldn't mean it. They'd only just met, and as much as she'd like to jump his bones and give into the overwhelming sexual chemistry between them, she couldn't take that risk. He was dangerous to her equilibrium, those charcoal eyes of his seeing straight into her soul and stripping her bare with just one look. It was the same look that Nathan gave Estelle, and Ink gave Cherie, and her body's reaction to that look scared her shitless.

  No man would have that control over her. She wouldn't let him, no matter how much her body craved him, no matter how much his smile made her want to please him. When he'd called her a good girl, in that deeply seductive voice of his, she'd wanted to sink into the knowledge that she'd pleased him, even as the barely functioning, rational side of her brain called her a fool.

  She didn't hear him approach until the scent of coffee registered. He crouched in front of her and pressed a mug of the steaming elixir of life into her frozen hands.

  "Here, drink that. You're going into shock."

  "I'm not." He ignored her whispered denial, and raised the cup to her lips instead. He cupped the back of her head, his long fingers massaging her scalp, and she sipped the brandy laced fluid obediently.

  "Good girl, drink it all." His voice had dropped an octave, and Neeve's skin tightened in need. She tried to scoot away from him, but he anticipated her move, and in the flash of an eye he was sitting on the couch with her on his lap. His strong arms tightened around her when she tried to get off. "Stop it. You will just hurt yourself, and I can still put you over my knee."

  He chuckled into her neck when she snorted in frustration, and she glared at him.

  "Sure, use your superior strength to make your point. Get off on beating up on women, do you?"

  She regretted the words almost the minute they left her mouth, and she didn't dare look at him. He went so still, she couldn't be sure he was even breathing.

  His arms tightened around her for an instant, and then he sighed. One of his large hands trailed slowly up her side, until he reached her neck. He gently massaged the knot of tension away.

  "Look at me, sweetheart."

  The growly whisper was impossible to ignore. She forced her gaze upwards, and the grim determination on Grisha's face took her breath away.

  "Who hurt you, Neeve? Give me the name of the fucking bastard, and I'll tear him limb from limb."

  The steely determination in his eyes, and the controlled, almost careful, way his chest rose and fell sent shivers down her spine. The tight grip he had on his emotions and the quiet way he studied her made her feel as though she was the prey he was about to pounce on. Rather than fear coursing through her veins, it was an entirely different emotion making her breath hitch and her nipples tighten. He noticed of course. He seemed to notice everything, and his gaze dropped briefly to her breasts. They ached under that quick visual as though he had run his hands over them, and Neeve shook her head.

  "I wouldn't give any man the satisfaction of being able to hurt me. I told you, I'm not a sub."

  Grisha closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they glittered with barely suppressed fury. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

  "If that is truly the way you feel, then why are you still sitting on my lap? Should you not be running away screaming?" He lifted his hands away from her, as if to make his point. "Yet here you sit. Why is that I wonder?"

  "I … I… I'm not. … I mean…" Neeve hated how wobbly her voice sounded. Why was she still sitting on his lap?

  "I'm sorry." The words flew from her mouth before she knew she was going to say them. "I shouldn't have said that. I don't know why I did, really."

  Grisha nodded, once. That was his only reaction. Hands placed on the couch either side of his legs he didn't move, just watched her with that unwavering attention that pinned her, as though he had tied her to him with invisible bonds.

  "Thank you for taking care of this." She lifted her wrist and tried to smile at him, but her attempt wavered as his expression darkened. He took hold of her hand and turned it over. He bent his head and pressed a kiss into her palm. His hot breath sent tingles up her arm, and she clenched her hand into a fist. He kissed her knuckles, one at a time, before he pressed his lips against the bandage. He licked a path up her inner arm, leaving the most delicious tingles in its wake, and Neeve could almost forget who this man was and what he stood for. When he finally raised his head and looked at her, Neeve struggled to draw breath into her lungs.

  "Why do you feel the need to mutilate this beautiful skin, sweetheart?"

  "I … you wouldn't understand. And it's none of your business."

  He raised an eyebrow and smiled—a slow, sexy as sin, I-can-see-straight-through-your-bullshit-smile—that broke through every one of Neeve's carefully constructed layers of witty comeback, years of pretense, and cut right into the pain she carried with her, lest she ever forget what happened.

  "Trust me."

  The whispered statement hung between them, and Neeve shook her head.

  "I don't know you. How can I trust you?"

  "Because sometimes it's easier to tell someone you don't know." He cupped her chin and dug his fingers into her skin hard enough to hurt. "And because I get the whole need to mark skin thing, but you need to do it in a safe manner. I leave marks that fade, never scar. Marks that tease, and arouse, and get you so damn turned on, you'll have the hottest sex you ever had. Marks that will proclaim I own you, at least whilst in a scene. Think on that, sweetheart, next time you stare into the flame."

  He let go of her so suddenly she felt bereft. As smoothly as he'd placed her on his lap, he moved her off it, until she was sitting on the couch looking up at him. He pulled a card out of his trouser pocket and placed into her hand. He leant down to do so, and Neeve's stomach flipped over as he drew so close their breaths mingled. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation of his kiss—a kiss she suddenly craved with every fiber of her being—a kiss that never came.

  "Look at me, sweetheart." His lips hovered over hers, when she opened her eyes, and he smiled. Arms either side of her body, he obliterated her view of anything but him, but her senses drank in the sight and feel of his powerful body. He'd rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, and opened a few more buttons on his shirt, exposing a smattering of dark hair on his chest, and Neeve's mouth watered. The contrast of the white shirt against his dark skin mesmerized her. She took in the play of muscles as he straightened away from her. With his tie loose around his neck, and his hands now pushed into his trouser pockets, he was the image of disheveled elegance.

  "When you're ready to trust me, look me up, Neeve."

  He turned on his heel and jumped off the porch with a grace and light footedness completely at odds with his big, powerful body. She watched him stroll off, more confused than ever, clutching the invite to Club Ink as though her life depended on it.

  Who was this man, really? And did she dare find out?

  Chapter Three

  "Okay, enough. What is the matter with you these days?" Estelle turned the tap off and took the overflowing kettle out of Neeve's hands. She poured most of it down the sink and then set it on its stand to boil. "And don't tell me it’s nothing, Neeve. You haven't been right since the collaring ceremony, and you still owe me an explanation as to how you did that."

  She tapped on the just healed patch of skin on Neeve's wrist and then perched her hands on her hips. "Come on, this is just between you and me." She winked and bumped her hip against Neeve. "Ya know, like the good old days. Let's pretend we're on a night in." She glanced at the baby monitor through which Janus' sleepy snuffles could be heard. "We haven't managed that in a while, after all."

  "You've been busy." Neeve's flat reply made her oldest friend frown, and she forced a smile on her lips. "Not that I blame you. Your priorities have changed, I get that. And little Janus is adorable." She glanced at the delicate collar on Estelle's neck and hastily looked away. "I just h
ope he's worth all the … the stuff."

  "That's what this all about?"

  Neeve shrugged her shoulders, and Estelle sighed.

  "And that from the girl who once said just tie yourself to his desk, that'll get his attention." Estelle giggled in remembrance, and Neeve's lips, too, twitched into the semblance of a smile. She had made that particular suggestion after they'd both had one too many, and Estelle had confessed her unrequited lust for her boss, Nathan Fielding. "And the girl who signed me up to Club Ink's online sessions, I might add. What happened to that girl, Neeve? When did you get all serious and judgmental on me?"

  Again Neeve's eyes darted to Estelle's collar, and Estelle touched it with a small smile.

  "Does this bother you that much?"

  Neeve nodded, not trusting herself to not blurt out her true feelings. Estelle was her oldest and closest friend. She didn't want to alienate her.

  "Why?" Estelle asked.

  "Why doesn't it bother you? A bit of kink is fun, but to allow yourself to become a man's property, to be collared? How could you do that?" Estelle took a step back in surprise at the harsh questions, and Neeve flinched at the hurt expression on her face.

  "I'm sorry. It's none of my business really. Forget I said that. I know you're happy, but I could never be like you."

  "Like me?" Estelle laughed and turned around to pour the now boiled water into the tea pot. She added the tea leaves and swirled the pot around once.

  "Neeve, have you ever wondered why this bothers you so much?" Estelle turned back around and studied her. "Why you've never settled down with any man?"

  "Because all men are assholes, maybe? And I have no intention of settling down," Neeve said.