Page 3 of Loving the Lion

“Sixteen.” She twisted the strap of the backpack she carried between her hands, the action betraying her nervousness.

The woman’s voice wobbled only a little as she spoke and Bachar was impressed. She had come into shifter territory looking for a person who had entered that territory without permission. Yes, tourists were allowed and even welcomed. It was how shifters made their money. But others who tried to hide their presence was another matter entirely.

“He is an adult.”

“No, he isn’t.” She shook her head furiously. “He is still a child.”

“Not in the shifter world.” He watched as she tried to hide the expression on her face. Trying, without much success to hide the fact that she was lying to him about something. As he sat there not saying anything, her distress rose, and his animal took over, offering her reassurance. “We do not harm the young.”

“I know.” She met his gaze, and he was pleased to see that she wasn’t afraid of him. Intimidated a little, but not afraid.

“Are you in charge of the boy?”

She nodded her head, the movement causing her hair to fall around her face. It was such beautiful hair. A thousand shades of brown, it made him itch to tangle his fingers into the silky mass and hold her head still as he devoured her mouth with his.

“Yes. Our parents are dead.”

“I am sorry.” He bowed his head to show his sympathy.

“Thank you.”

The man from earlier appeared, this time carrying a huge tray. He sat it on the table between the chairs, taking a post on the right side of Bachar.

“I thought you might be hungry after your long car trip.” He indicated the plates filled with breakfast pastries and the pot of what smelled like hot chocolate. It looked delicious, and she was hungry.

Oh, yeah, the small voice inside her taunted her. Breakfast isn’t all you’re hungry for. You want to climb onto his lap and see how those luscious lips taste. Feel the strength of his hands on your body as he pounds inside you, making you beg for release.

“How did you know I drove?

He raised one of his dark brows at the suspicious look on her face. “What other way is there into my territory?”

Well, he had her there. Although she was certain she’d heard a helicopter earlier as she’d driven up the steep mountainside. No doubt the shifters had some type of air transportation being so far away from any major city. It was probably reserved for their special guests. Guests, she thought with a frown, who wore high-heeled shoes and short skirts in the middle of winter.

Another short space of silent and then he asked, “Would you mind pouring me a cup?”

He leaned back against the chair, waiting. She hesitated only a moment before complying with his request—or should she say order. She doubted he’d ever made a request. What choice did she have? This man was the key to finding her brother, so she supposed she needed to be nice to him. Channeling the lessons she learned by reading Miss Manners as a teen, she took a deep breath and tried to erase the image of her hurdling the white ceramic pot at his chauvinist head.

Leaning forward, she used her right hand to lift the pot. It was so heavy, she had to use her other hand to steady it. She appreciated the larger than normal cups the hotel had provided as it made it much easier to fill them. Once she had filled two of the mugs, she lifted one and handed it to the man who held her and her brother’s future in his large hands. She took hers and cupped her hands around it, savoring the warmth. The hotel was large and spacious and somewhat drafty. Looking at the two men before her, she remembered that a shifter’s body temperature ran higher than humans. Seeing them perfectly comfortable in their sweaters, she thought that might be true. Despite the warm coat she was wearing and the heat from the fire, she was still cold.

Or maybe she was just tired. It had been a grueling two days on the road and before that she’d been on the verge of exhaustion. Between her brother and her job, there had simply been no time for rest. For living.

Taking a sip, she savored the sweetness of the drink. It was the perfect balance of milk and chocolate. She watched as Bachar took a large swallow of his, the muscles in his throat fascinating her. She was surprised he would enjoy such a drink. He looked more like a black coffee drinker to her.

Just to prove she was not completely enthralled by him, she looked at the man standing so silently by his side. “Would you care for some hot chocolate?” She made her voice as pleasant, okay, even downright sexy, as she could. Why? Because she wanted to wipe that superior look off Bachar’s face.

The man gave a small start. She was rewarded for her daring behavior by the quick glance he gave her and the stiffening of Bachar’s body when he realized his guard was looking her over.

Bachar drained his mug and tried to tell himself that this woman with her round body and soft white skin was no different from any other woman. But his hand shook when he set his drink down, and his muscles tightened with the need to touch her.

And he’d be damned if he’d sit here and watch as she made time with another shifter.

“Khalas.” Bachar’s lineage did not originate in the middle-east, but he found using parts of the language stress relieving. He slammed the mug down on the table, glaring at the man who stood beside him. “You are not here to flirt with my men, Miss Wilder.”

Sally took a sip of her hot chocolate. He thought that was flirting? She studied him before she spoke again. “So, will you take me into the mountains?”

“Yes.”

“Bachar.” Tarek started to interrupt him, and Bachar knew exactly what he was about to say. There was no need for the woman to travel into shifter territory. If her brother had not already been found and taken into the care of a shifter, he no doubt would be as soon as Bachar put the word out. And he would now fall under Bachar’s direct protection so no harm would befall him until he was returned to his sister.