On the Prowl (4 page)

Saskia’s head swam. She had never intended this, and she certainly couldn’t figure out how it had happened. She’d just meant to thank him, to show Nicolas that she appreciated the beauty of the ring he’d given her. Okay, maybe she’d wanted to touch him, as well. After all, tonight they would be expected to go to bed together, to seal the betrothal with sex and signal to the entire Tiguri community that they intended to form a mated pair. It was only natural that she’d want to build up to that somehow, to at least learn the shape of her mate’s mouth or the dark, woodsy musk of his scent.

She’d learned those things, all right, had gathered those facts up in the half a heartbeat it took to brush a kiss across her fiancé’s startled lips. Dozens of hammering heartbeats later, she was still learning things, things she wouldn’t have dared speculate on only minutes before. Like the fascination for him she’d felt at the age of eight hadn’t dissipated. Or that the press of his body near hers made her dissolve like sugar in warm water. Or that one kiss could make her crave him like a drug, make her tremble and ache, make her mind race and her thoughts cloud. Saskia hadn’t expected any of those things, but now she needed to find a way to live with them, with him, in a mating he’d agreed to not because he wanted her but because everyone expected it of him.

The sharp pain in her heart had her gasping for breath.

Nic drew away. He frowned down at her, his green eyes assessing her as if he’d heard the sound and understood where it had come from. Please, no. She couldn’t stand it if he guessed so soon. He didn’t need to know how she felt; her feelings were irrelevant to their union. She braced herself to be reminded of that, to hear the truth from the lips that had just spurred her into arousal with less effort than it took to strike a match to flame. Her shoulders drew back and her fingers laced together in her lap. She didn’t want to hear him say it, but she certainly wouldn’t let him see it sting her.

Instead, he laid a hand over one of hers and spoke quietly. “We’re here. We should go up.”

The car had stopped moving, and Saskia hadn’t even noticed. She felt her cheeks heat. “All right.”

She felt lucky she’d been able to manage two coherent words, and she knew better than to tempt fate by speaking again as they exited the car and made their way into the lobby of a posh, modern apartment building an entire world removed from either of their family homes.

Old-fashioned in more ways than just their marriage customs, Tiguri homes all tended to look alike. First, they almost always occupied buildings of historic significance, usually ones passed down through their families for multiple generations. If they acquired a new property, it was new only to them and usually had its own listing in the pages of the local historical society. Façades were elaborate, fitting frames for rooms full of antiques and historically significant objets d’art. Her own mother had an obsession with eighteenth-century porcelains, scattered them everywhere in every one of the Arcos family’s five homes. Here Saskia could picture nothing that would be more out of place.

The building’s lobby, complete with an attentive doorman who greeted Nicolas by name and made polite inquiries about their evening while he called the elevator for them, gleamed with polished marble. Not the predictable and sterile whites and grays she’d seen in so many other Tiguri dwellings, but rich shades of loamy earth and golden brown. The inside of the elevator, too, was paneled in slats of wood that fit together so closely, they resembled vast, solid sheets of mahogany rather than classical wainscoting, the walls above them a shockingly pleasant contrast of dully gleaming steel that reflected light but no images.

Saskia rode up to the seventeenth floor in surprised silence. So far, nothing about this evening had turned out the way she expected. She was beginning to feel like she was on a ship of some kind and the deck beneath her kept rolling and pitching unexpectedly. She wondered how long it would take her to find her sea legs.

When the elevator doors slid open, Nicolas gestured for her to exit before him, then followed closely on her heels. She felt a tingling go through her at the warmth of his hand as it settled into the hollow of her lower back and guided her toward the only door leading off the small foyer surrounding the elevator bank. He drew a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock, pausing to glance at her with a small smile.

“I hope you like it,” he murmured, pushing the door open and steering her through.

Saskia paused on the threshold to stare. She couldn’t help it. The apartment opened before her like a welcoming embrace, less than nothing like she’d expected. Like the building’s lobby, their new home had sleek sophistication and thoroughly modern sensibilities, and yet nothing about it seemed cold or overly slick. Everywhere she looked, she saw clean lines and warm colors, simplicity and luxury balanced and blended into total harmony.

“It’s lovely,” she said, and she meant every syllable.

“I’m glad you think so.” He set his keys down on a small entry table. “Let me show you around.”

It took several minutes. The apartment was huge, occupying the entire top floor of the building. Nicolas showed her the enormous, elegant living room, a dining room large enough to host twenty with ease, and a gourmet kitchen complete with eating nook and seating at a center island that probably had its own zip code. There were rooms for live-in help, he explained, though they were currently unoccupied. On the other side of the kitchen, he showed her a smaller sitting room he called the den, a full bath, a library, and his office.

“I do work from home sometimes, so I tend to spend a bit of time in here.”

Saskia stood beside him, taking in the modern, masculine space, the desk already covered with neat stacks of papers, folders, and notepads. “How long have you been living here?”

“Only a week or two. The decorators just finished a couple of days ago.” His mouth curved and his eyes twinkled at her. “I told them if they weren’t out of here before tonight, I’d dock them five grand for every hour they went over schedule.”

“I see that was effective.”

“They finished up five days ahead of their estimate.”

Looking at her fiancé’s powerful form, Saskia didn’t doubt the decorators had worked their behinds off to avoid making him angry. She certainly wanted to avoid it.

“Come on. Let’s see the rest.”

She followed him back into the hall and let him show her three bedrooms, each with its own private bath. The sheer size of the place was beginning to boggle her mind—this was Manhattan, after all!—when he steered her through a set of double doors and waved a hand.

“And this is the last of it. The master, of course. I hope you like it,” he repeated his words from earlier, his gaze focused on her face.

“How could I not?”

The room opened in front of her, huge and yet somehow still intimate. Soft earth tones of taupe and ecru provided a backdrop to rich fields of color provided by the rich chocolate of the window treatments, the navy, gold, and burgundy of the rug beneath the bed, and the deep claret of the bedclothes. The mahogany floors gleamed softly. The white-painted woodwork lightened the space and made it seem open and expansive. Saskia could picture him here, reclining in regal splendor against the fluffy pillows.

But could she picture herself with him?

She shivered.

“You have your own closet.” He showed her the huge space, larger than her childhood bedroom, her clothes and shoes and luggage already neatly arranged on the racks and shelves. “I had your things put away when they were delivered. I figured it would save you some time.”

And keep her from hiding behind the chore while she mustered her courage for what would happen in the rest of the suite.

“Bathroom is through there.” He gestured to a door to the right. “There’s a whirlpool tub. I know you must be tired, but you look like you could use a soak.”

Saskia hadn’t expected that. Oh, she hadn’t believed he’d throw her down and jump on her the minute she stepped into their bedroom, but she also hadn’t thought he would offer her the perfect excuse to delay the inevitable. As much as the kiss in the car earlier had stirred her body into wanting him, now that her brain had seized back control the ability to take a few minutes to center herself—and muster up her courage—held a definite appeal.

“That actually sounds wonderful.” Her voice came out hoarse and timid, not exactly the image she wanted to project. Lifting her chin, she cleared her throat and offered him a passable smile. “I am tired, but it’s been a hectic day. A bath sounds like the perfect way to relax.”

“Take your time.” He settled his hands in his pockets and gave her a nod. “I left a couple of things on my desk, but they shouldn’t keep me long. Enjoy yourself.”

Saskia watched him leave the suite, disappointment and relief warring in her head. She knew all she’d done was delay the inevitable, by an hour at most. She ought to be taking advantage of the extra time to collect her thoughts and prepare herself so that when her new fiancé came to her later he would see only what he needed to see—a calm, willing mate in control of her own emotions.

What those emotions might be Saskia figured he had no need to know.

*   *   *

The first thing Nic did upon reaching the safety and quiet of his office was pour himself a huge glass of whiskey. Three fingers of golden liquid barely had time to splash into the tumbler before he tossed them back with a grunt. God damn it to hell, this was not how this evening was supposed to go.

Like any successful businessman, Nic had mapped out a strategy for his future, one that began with taking a suitable mate. He’d looked through the field of potential candidates, evaluated their strengths and weaknesses, and even weighed the opinions and concerns of his father in his decision. Now that Stefan had decided to step down as head of the Preda clan, it had become Nic’s responsibility to lead the family in a manner that respected the centuries of history behind the name. That he would wed a purebred Tiguri was never in question, and with their dwindling population his choices had been limited to brides from the handful of noble families that still maintained their bloodlines and heritage with jealous fanaticism.

Stefan had suggested five names, but his preference for the daughter of Gregor and Victoria Arcos had not been difficult to detect. It had also been easy to understand. While the Preda clan had been content to linger in the eastern parts of Europe, gobbling up wealth and property as the grip of the Soviet system began to dissolve, the Arcoses had migrated west and dug their claws into the meaty flesh of the United Kingdom, France, Spain, Italy, and the other big-name nations. Uniting the two families now would create a business and social power that spanned most of Europe. As Nic was the CEO of Preda Industries, the idea almost made him drool.

As he was a man, the first sight of a grown-up Saskia Arcos had finished the job.

He realized now that the photos he’d looked at hadn’t done the woman justice, which just demonstrated how potent a force he now had to deal with. Her classical features and elegant figure showed up just fine on film, but the cameras hadn’t been able to capture the creamy glow of her skin, the sweet charm of her shy smiles, or the way her red-gold hair seemed to shift and shimmer like living flame whenever she moved. They also hadn’t prepared him for her warmth, the physical heat that radiated off her when he stood close against her, or for the sweet intoxicant of her scent. Just the memory of it, the few molecules that lingered on the lapel of her jacket, made his eyes drift shut as he drew it in on a deep inhalation.

Complexity defined her scent, weaving together layers of sweet and bitter, spicy and delicate. Nic’s acute tiger senses detected hints of bergamot and sandalwood, myrrh, lily, and moss. Each note seemed to whisper to him, telling seductive tales of warm nights and deep forests, of passion and feminine power. He wanted to bury his face in the soft curve of her throat and feast on the incredible bounty of her, which was doing very little to aid him in gaining control of himself and his carefully mapped future.

His nose had not been given a vote in his decision-making process, Nic reminded himself. He’d chosen Saskia based on more practical considerations. The alliance with the Arcos clan had topped the list, followed closely by the fact that he knew from her parents and his father that she had been carefully raised to be the kind of wife a man like him required. It might sound like something out of a nineteenth-century melodrama, but the truth was that a man in his position, both financially and socially, needed a mate who knew how to navigate a path through a variety of different social milieus. As the head of an international corporation Nic might have dinner with presidents and kings one night, and as the
ther
of his streak he might spend the next instructing a roomful of adolescent weretigers on the traditions surrounding dominance challenges and territorial marking. His mate would need to charm heads of state and still be able to put cocky young males in their place.

She would also need to form a united front with him against the blatant distrust and hostility of the local Other population. Nic had known when he and his father had made the decision to move the company headquarters to New York that the Council of Others who ruled the city would not welcome their presence. No Tiguri had claimed territory in the American city in longer than even the old families could remember. One reason for that had probably been that with so few Tiguri out there, the tiger shifters had never needed to expand their range to the New World. There was plenty of space in Europe and Asia for the remaining families to support themselves and still keep out of one another’s way. They’d been doing so for millennia; no one saw any reason to rock the boat. But the other reason likely had more to do with the deep, instinctive fear and hatred the Lupines harbored for the Tiguri.

Wolves hated tigers; always had, always would. Even in the animal world, their territories never overlapped for long. Tigers drove out the wolves and claimed pack lands for themselves, or wolves abandoned undesirable lands to the tigers and shunned their company. Depending, of course, entirely on who happened to answer the question about the antipathy. As wolf populations had dwindled in Europe and Asia with the rise of humans, so, too, had the Lupine populations declined. Many Lupines had immigrated to the Americas early on in the development of that nation, and they had staked their claim on New York long before the Tiguri had found any reason to care about that distant country. For centuries, the Tiguri had willingly left America to the Lupines, but in today’s world a businessman couldn’t afford to ignore Manhattan, and Nic Preda was very definitely a businessman. A savvy and determined one.