Tiger Magic
Page 11

She stopped, the words sticking in her throat. Carly never wanted to drive up his driveway again, to see the house that she was supposed to have moved into next week. She’d never look at it again without experiencing a vision of Ethan, pants around his ankles, thrusting hard and fast into the woman on the counter.
A knife-edge of pain went through her heart. She gasped for breath, and then Tiger’s hand was on her arm, turning her to him. He laid a large hand gently between her br**sts, right over the hurt.
Carly looked up through tears at him. His golden eyes held sympathy, understanding. “You were never his,” he said.
“I guess not.” Carly tried to laugh. Tiger’s hand was warm, his touch over her heart soothing. The image of Ethan blurred, the pain still there but moving away from her immediate focus.
Connor broke in. “Hey, if you need me to drive the car back, I’ll do it.” He held out his hand. “I’ll be careful. Honest. Or, I can wreck it for you, if you want.”
“Sean will take it,” Liam said sternly. He looked around the little group. “And Spike.” His smile came back as he observed the six-foot-six, tightly muscled man with the shaved head and tatts all over his body.
Sean laughed. “Good choice. Can’t wait to watch this.”
Carly too would love to see Ethan’s face when first the handsome Sean and then the edgy biker-from-hell Spike emerged from Ethan’s beloved ’Vette.
Carly had to turn from Tiger to hand the keys to Sean. Tiger stayed next to her, not even a step away. “Be careful,” Carly said to Sean. “Ethan has powerful friends. I don’t want him arresting you for stealing the car, or for scaring him.”
“Don’t you worry about that, lass,” Sean said, closing his hand around the keys. “I’ll keep Spike on a leash.”
Spike growled, a wildcat sound, and showed his teeth in a smile.
“Sure I can’t come with you?” Connor asked hopefully.
“No,” Liam said. “I’m giving Carly a lift home—or wherever she wants to go—and you’re taking Tiger back to Shiftertown.”
“Carly stays with me.” Tiger’s growl cut over Liam’s order. His warmth covered Carly’s side, straight through the white dress that wasn’t so white anymore.
“Hmm.” Liam didn’t jump to tell Tiger to let her go. The others hung back as well, as though hesitating to come between a dog and his treat.
I guess it’s up to me.
“Tiger, honey, I have to go.” Carly rubbed his forearm, then rubbed it again, liking the feel of tight skin over steel. “I’m sorry I dragged you into my problems, and that you suffered for them.”
Tiger stared down at her as though her words were meaningless to him. The stare was intense, unnerving.
“I’ll come see how you’re doing tomorrow, all right?” Carly said.
“Stay with me.” The words were a statement, not a request.
“I can’t. I have to go home. Look at me, I’m a mess. Then I have to find Armand and explain to him why I left him in the lurch today of all days. If I’m lucky, he’ll be sympathetic and give me a few dollars severance pay when he fires me.”
Again, Tiger’s eyes didn’t register the gist of her words, only that she was speaking. When she finished, he tilted his head, like a cat examining its prey. “I will take you.”
“No, you won’t.” Carly tapped his chest gently, avoiding the bandages under the shirt. “You’ll go home and rest, like the nurses said, and take your medication. If you run around the city, you’ll open the wounds again and need another clean shirt. I said I’d come see how you were doing, and I’m not lying. Least I can do.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, tasting the bristle of whiskers. “I like you, Tiger.”
Tiger’s eyes softened as he looked down at her. Carly was aware of the others listening, poised, amazingly still. No human being could stand that still.
Tiger touched his cheek where Carly had kissed him, then he touched her cheek. His fingers were featherlight, though she’d seen him break apart the bed in the hospital as though it were paper.
“Connor,” Tiger said, the deep rumble in his voice again. “Go with her.”
“I said I’d take her home,” Liam broke in.
“No.” Tiger’s word was harsh. “Not you. Not anyone but Connor.”
Liam studied Tiger a moment, then switched his gaze to Connor, who was trying his best to look innocent and neutral. Finally Liam nodded. “All right. Connor.”
“Keep her safe,” Tiger said sternly.
Connor relaxed from his watchful stance. “You got it, big guy,” he said to Tiger. “This means I get to take your bike, right, Sean?”
Sean got in on the growling, looking annoyed, but he pulled out his keys and tossed them to Connor. “Not a scratch, not a speck of dirt.”
“Would I let you down, Uncle Sean? Come on, Carly, it’s a sweet ride.”
They expected her to go home on the back of a motorcycle? In this dress? Well, it was a day for the bizarre.
Tiger didn’t let Carly go that easily. He pulled her close, leaned into her, and buried his face in her hair again. She thought maybe he’d try to kiss her, right there in the parking lot, and wondered what she’d do if he did. Being kissed by Tiger would be . . .
She had no idea, but her body went hot and shivery at the same time. He was strong, powerful, and a little bit crazy.
Tiger straightened up. He didn’t kiss her, but he traced her cheek, staring down into her eyes again before he finally lifted his hand away.
Connor took that as a cue to walk toward the row of motorcycles parked in front of the clinic, gesturing for Carly to follow him.
“See you, Tiger,” Carly said, then walked off after Connor. Her shoes were killing her, so she paused to take them off and sling them from her fingers. She’d be more comfortable riding without them.
When she looked back over her shoulder, she saw Tiger’s gaze still fixed on her; he stood motionless while the others made moves to go. Carly gave him a little wave and turned to follow Connor again, but she felt Tiger’s stare on her back the whole way.
* * *
“Why did Tiger want you to bring me home, and not Liam?” Carly asked as she let Connor into her house.
She tried not to look at the suitcases she’d pulled out of the closet so she could pack to move in with Ethan. Good thing she hadn’t had time to start moving her stuff into storage, even though she’d already put a lot into boxes. Ethan had encouraged her to hang on to her house and rent it out—it wouldn’t be as good as owning a commercial property, but it would bring her some real income, he’d said. He didn’t consider being an art gallery assistant a viable or long-lasting occupation.