Blind Tiger
Page 7

“Of course.” Though I wasn’t entirely sure I meant that. Until and unless my Pride was officially recognized, my loyalty remained with my men. If Abby knew something and Robyn wasn’t in any danger, I was inclined to let her keep her secret.
“Thanks.” Faythe hung up, and I turned my thoughts to the meeting as I drove, mentally going over every potential mistake I’d made during my presentation.
After several hours on the road, long after the sun had sunk beneath the western horizon in my windshield, I waved goodbye to Teddy Di Carlo at the territorial border, just east of the Mississippi state line. He nodded at me, acknowledging that I had officially vacated the Southeast Territory, but didn’t crack even a hint of a smile.
Pride cats, in my experience, were entirely too serious.
A few miles later, I pulled into the state welcome center to use the restroom and buy a drink from the vending machine. As I was backing out of my parking spot, sipping from a bottle of sweet tea, a familiar scent suddenly washed over me.
I slammed on the breaks, my pulse racing in my ears, and movement in the rearview mirror caught my attention. A set of eyes blinked at me in the dark. From the cargo space in the back of my car.
“Damn it!” I slammed the gearshift into park and twisted in my seat so fast that tea sloshed over my hand. “Robyn? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hi. I’m sorry.” She flinched, and even in the dark, I could see guilt etched into the tiny worry lines forming around her frown. “I was going to hitch a ride into the free zone, and you would never have known I was here, but I drank two bottles of water and a huge mug of coffee before I settled in here, and now I really have to pee.”
“You…? What…?” I dropped my bottle into the drink holder, and more splashed over.
“I have to pee. Like, right now. Sorry, but it’s an emergency.” She climbed over the back seat and plopped down in the third row.
“Robyn, why are you in my car? And why do you smell like—?” Me. My scent clung to her, as if she’d been rolling around in my bed for hours.
With that thought, the image appeared in my head, helped along by the fact that her hair was disheveled from hours spent huddling beneath something in my car.
Robyn held something up, and I squinted into the near darkness at my spare shirt. “I found a change of clothes in a bag, and I covered myself with them. So you wouldn’t smell me.”
That took me a moment to process.
The only female stray confirmed to exist in the US—the Territorial Council’s most guarded asset—had snuck out of her gilded birdcage and rolled around in my scent.
I shifted in my seat, struggling to stay focused on the problem because I’d never smelled a more arousing combination of scents in my life. Instincts I’d learned to control years before suddenly roared to life deep inside me. From the wild heart of my shifter half, which I’d managed to bottle up, but could never truly tame.
No. You cannot have her, my human half insisted. She’s going to get you killed.
“Robyn, you can’t be here.” I spoke slowly. Careful to keep my thoughts out of my voice.
“I know that tone,” she said as she climbed over another seat back and landed in the second row. “You can yell at me all you want in a few minutes. Right now, I have to pee.”
“You’re not getting out of this car. I’m driving you straight back to—”
She opened the door and stepped into the parking lot.
“Damn it!” I spit as I pulled the SUV into the parking space and slammed the gear into park again. “Robyn!” I whispered fiercely as I got out and race-walked after her, across the dark expanse of crunchy February grass, trying not to notice how well her angry stride showed off her ass. “Get back here!”
A man looked up from helping his young daughter open a can of soda at the well-lit bank of vending machines.
“Robyn!” I caught up with her near the women’s restroom and grabbed her arm. “You can’t just leave. And you sure as hell can’t involve me in whatever rebellion you’re launching.” I had a battle of my own to fight, which left me with neither the time nor the energy for hers. No matter how badly I wanted to kiss her and find out how she tasted.
She pulled her arm from my grip, staring up at me, and I wondered how any man in the world had ever refused those gorgeous blue eyes anything. “We’ll discuss this after I empty my bladder.”
“Get in the car.” I reached for her again, and she stepped away, eyes flashing fiercely.
“I’ll shout for help,” she threatened through clenched teeth, nodding at the man and his daughter. “You can spend the evening in jail for assault, or you can let me go to the bathroom, after which I’ll willingly get in your car.”
Before I could answer, a family of five came out of the bright visitor’s center into the dark night, clutching pamphlets advertising things to do on vacation in Mississippi.
Robyn wasn’t bluffing. I could see that in the way she watched the family.
“Fine. Go pee. But if you try to run, I will chase you.” Which would give me a legitimate excuse to watch her backside until I caught her. “You’re going back to Atlanta even if I have to drag you there.”
“By my hair?” she demanded softly, brows arched to make her point. Then she opened the door to the women’s room and slipped inside.
I waited outside the door with my arms crossed over my chest, ignoring the blatant stares of the other motorists. I was well aware of how the situation looked from the outside. The big bad man in the suit won’t even let his wife or girlfriend go to the bathroom in peace. But they had no idea what was really going on.
Every second that passed raised my blood pressure. If the sun were still up, I might already have been recognized, and every moment I stood there increased the chance of that happening.
I could not afford to be on the news again. Not like this.
A toilet flushed inside the bathroom and water ran softly. An electric hand dryer roared for a second before soft footsteps headed my way. I pulled open the door as she got to it and was rewarded with Robyn’s surprised face staring out at me.
“That’s creepy,” she said, flicking several mineral-scented drops of water off her still-wet hands. Into my face.
“I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘courteous.’” I wiped the moisture off my face with my left hand. “That’s what most people call it when one person opens a door for another.”