Tiger said nothing. His golden eyes fixed on her, and his hand around her wrist was warm. But he was still leaving.
“I agreed to marry Ethan because I thought he was safe,” Carly went on. “He wasn’t anything like my dad. Ethan wasn’t a wild drinker or a gambler, he brought home a paycheck, he owned a house, he didn’t have debts, and I knew he’d never walk out and leave me to solve his problems. Ethan prides himself on being Mr. Responsible. I was right about all that, but I was wrong about Ethan respecting me or truly caring about me.”
Carly leaned down to Tiger, her breath coming fast. “Then I met you. And I realized that all my life I’d been looking for safety. A good job, a nice place to live, friends I can trust, the right husband—anything to keep me from that feeling of falling with nothing to catch me.”
“But I’m not safe,” Tiger said. “Nothing about me is safe.”
“I know.” Carly started to laugh, but in a crazy way, not finding anything funny. “And wham, I realized that safety shouldn’t be the most important thing in my life.” She poked his chest. “You make me want to be wild and take chances and grab happiness while I have it. With Ethan I was content, and I admit, a little bit smug. But with you, I’m hot and happy, excited whenever I see you or hear your voice. You walk into a room, and I’m glad. When I woke up with you this morning, I knew it was the best morning of my life. I want more mornings like that, and I want each one to be even better than the last. I lost my dad, I lost the safety of marriage to Ethan, and for about the third time this week, I’ve probably lost my job. On top of it all, I sure as hell don’t want to lose you.”
Tiger watched her with the close stare of a predator. His tiger-striped hair was a mess, his face stubbled with whiskers and still marked with a few bruises from the accident. His black T-shirt under the flannel shirt was marked with sweat, his arms, exposed by pushed-up sleeves, corded with muscle dusted with golden hair.
He was absolutely nothing like the clean-cut, perfectly groomed man Carly was supposed to date, and then marry.
“You’ll never be safe if you stay with me,” Tiger said.
“And I say screw it.” Carly shook off his grasp but only to plop herself onto the slant of his lap. “I’m not going through my boring, safe life wondering whatever happened to you—wondering what would have happened to me if I’d grabbed you and held on to you with both hands. Don’t you get it, Tiger? I want you.”
Tiger kept looking at her. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, Carly had no idea, but she saw the emptiness behind his eyes. Her heart ached from his story of torture and terror, for his life of knowing nothing but anger and fear.
She leaned down to kiss him. Carly intended the kiss to be gentle, to show him how much she cared, but as soon as their lips touched, Tiger slid his strong hand behind her neck, and the kiss turned fierce.
Carly surrendered to his strength, letting his arms take her weight, as he slanted his mouth over hers, exploring, tasting. She ran her fingertips over the line where the false Collar had been, the ridge of skin already smoothing.
Tiger’s hand went to the back of her dress, tugging at the zipper. The little cap sleeves that just covered Carly’s shoulders came down quickly, Tiger’s hands warming her skin, the dress loosening.
Carly tilted her head back while Tiger kissed her neck then traveled down her throat with little nips. He pressed his mouth below the hollow of her throat as the dress eased down to reveal her breasts.
Carly had put on a lace and satin bra this morning, ivory to match the sheath dress Yvette had given her. She’d wanted to be pretty today, all the way to her skin. Tiger made her feel beautiful. Carly, who considered herself all lips and eyes, with a little too much curve on the bottom and not enough on top.
Tiger fumbled at the catch of her bra, but Carly was happy to reach back and release it for him. Last night, they’d been so crazed to make love to each other that they hadn’t gone slowly, hadn’t savored.
Tiger savored her now. He pushed Carly’s body upward so he could lick between her breasts, then tilted his head back to kiss her mouth as she gazed down at him.
“You are beautiful,” he said. “My mate.”
When he said mate, a warmth grew in her heart until it almost hurt. At the same time the warmth brought a flush of happiness, the like of which Carly had never felt before.
Tiger smiled, which made his eyes heat. “Do you see it? The mate bond?”
He moved his fingers to her breastbone, directly over the warmth. When Carly looked at him in confusion, not knowing what he was talking about, his smile grew.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can see it. Like silver threads that bind us, my heart to yours.” He traced the air between them. “It’s like the threads on Sean’s sword, and in Andrea when she heals. But better. The Fae is wrong. This is magic.”
Carly still didn’t know what in the hell he was talking about, but if Tiger meant he felt about her the way Carly felt about him, fine.
She pressed her hand to his chest, liking how his heart beat strong and hard beneath her fingertips. “How do Shifters pledge themselves to each other?” she asked. “Humans say ’til death do us part.”
Tiger growled. “I don’t want to talk about death. Shifters say under sun and moon, I claim you as mate. But we don’t need to say anything.”
“I want to. I like pledges. What is the Shifter woman supposed to say in return?”
“That she accepts the claim, under the Father God and Mother Goddess. But Shifters want the mate-claim to be witnessed.”
“I’ll witness it.” Carly smiled as she touched his face. “Tiger, I accept you as mate.”
Carly thought Tiger would growl again that they didn’t need to say anything—men were always embarrassed by rituals—but his smile spread.
“Yes,” he said, his look one of complete triumph. “Yes. My mate. My mate.”
Tiger dragged Carly up off the stool with him, kisses falling like fire on her neck, breasts, over her heart. He licked his way to her nipple, tasting it, pulling the tip into a point.
Carly ran her hand through his hair, loving the rough silk feel of it. The black locks were smoother than the orange, she observed distractedly. The rest of her focused on the fire of his mouth, the sharp tug of his teeth. Sweet goodness.
Tiger’s breath was hot on her skin, his own body temperature hotter than a human’s. He was a strange and exotic man, touching her so skillfully as he nuzzled and licked until she was crazy from it.
“Upstairs,” she murmured. “We should go upstairs.”
“Not yet.”
Tiger lifted her as he stood up, sitting her on the counter. He placed his hands on either side of her, closing her in, his mouth everywhere on her exposed skin.
Two days ago, Carly hadn’t wanted to go near kitchen counters or even think about what could be done on them. Today, she wrapped her legs around Tiger, pulling him to her.
She pushed his flannel shirt from his shoulders—how he could stand wearing flannel in this heat, she didn’t know, but he was Tiger. The T-shirt next. Carly enjoyed herself pushing it upward over his tight torso, until he tore it off over his head in impatience.
He had a fine body. Firm, muscled, tanned, like liquid bronze over a sculpture of perfect proportions. Carly ran her hands over him, seeing that the bullet scars had lessened further in the course of the day. Soon his skin would be whole and tight again.
Unless the Shifter Bureau took him away, or the Shifters decided to kill him or make him wear that stupid Collar.