Taking the Stage

half-remembered warmth of her fur on Roseatre’s hand the only mark of her presence.

“Let’s eat.” Anthony strolled toward the trees, following some path that must be visible only to cat eyes before pausing. “Oh, and lose the shoes so you don’t break that sexy little neck of yours.”

He continued up the path, leaving her to decide whether to follow or not. But she slid out of the shoes. She had no choice in that matter. It was an order.

Damn the key.

The ground was warm and soft under her feet. She padded after him, the tropical setting relaxing the wariness from her spine. The muscles in her legs were sore and tired. The constant rehearsal of a new routine took days for her body to acclimate. The repetitive leg lifts and the need to grip his tiger’s back once she mounted left her thighs quivering.

For more than one reason.

She waved the lusty thought aside. Anthony vanished ahead of her, hidden by the lush curtains of nature. The deeper they plowed, the farther away the casino seemed.

The trees gave way to a grotto housing a large pool of water, agitated by the waterfall spilling into it. Rocks, small and large, sprawled along the shore. Above, next to the falls, Nalini yowled a greeting, and she wasn’t alone. Three more tigers appeared around the pool, rumbling sounds of welcome and looks of curiosity on their faces. This was their land.

Roseatre was the interloper.

Amidst the tropical paradise, a table-shaped rock sat a few feet from the water, with comfortable chairs surrounding it. Platters of food were set up, each covered by a dull brass lid, rather than silver.

“Oh.” The sound burst out of her and she wanted to slap herself upside the head. No wonder Anthony hated her silver stilettos. “You’re a were.”

He paused, a grin quirking the corner of his generous mouth. “You just figured that out?”

“Yes. I mean, no. The shoes. It’s why you don’t like most of my shoes. They have silver stilettos.”

Patient amusement creased the lines around his eyes. Anthony gestured to the table. “Hungry?”

Despite where his hand pointed and the humor in his eyes, he wasn’t just asking about food. Desire needled through her and Roseatre sighed.

No more avoiding this elephant in the room.

Or tiger, it would seem.

“What do you want from me?” She stayed at the edge of the clearing, far enough away that even if she wanted to touch him, she’d have to move to do it.

“Is that a trick question?” He fell into one of the chairs, legs stretching out. His pose was a teasing mockery of indolence.

“You know who I am.”

“I do.”

“And I know what you are.” Well, I do now and lickable abs or not, you’re so far off limits I’m surprised that I haven’t been struck by a bolt of lightning.

“You do.” His tone was deceptively mild.

And maddening.

He hitched an elbow on the back of the chair, the motion stretching the sinuous muscle across his golden chest. Her gaze dipped to his navel and back up.

Damn. Why does he have to be sex on a stick?

And when could she beat herself with it?

As if aware of the direction of her thoughts, Anthony just smiled and crooked his finger toward her. “Do you really want to know what I want?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to come over here. Sit and eat.”

Immediate compulsion rippled through her and she started walking before she could fully process it. She had enough presence of mind to take a different chair, even as she wondered what it would be like to sit on his lap.

The stone was like ice against her super-heated bare ass, but she embraced the cold. It brought clarity. Clarity that punched through the lazy atmosphere of sex and pleasure her cat exuded.

He’s not my cat. But she ignored that churlish inner voice.

Anthony frowned, his gaze skating her over from head to toe.

“What?” She demanded when he said nothing. She’d done what he wanted.

He motioned to the first covered platter and Roseatre opened it, obediently revealing a heavy selection of roast beef, ham, chicken and pork. Her stomach growled vociferously at the first sweet scent of meat.

She was starving. She spared a glance at Anthony, his firm gaze stabbing at her. His fingers tapped lightly against the stone table.

“Feed me.” It was a command. Bastard.

She plucked a slice of warm roast beef from the platter and knelt into the gap dividing them. It was that or stretch over his lap. Her fingers stroked across his lips, but his gaze never left hers as he opened his mouth, accepting the bite and then sucking deliciously on her finger until he’d suckled the last bit of juice from it.

She waited until he was done before she reached for another bite. He’d told her to feed him and so she would. She had no choice in the matter, but it didn’t change how sensuous his lips felt on her skin or how the slightest tug of his teeth clenched her belly.

It had to not matter.

But her traitorous body didn’t give a damn what the slave bands told her she had to do. It wanted to do these things and clung to the excuse.

He brushed his lips against her knuckles as she waited, poised, an offering of chicken this time on her fingertips for his pleasure. His blue eyes widened in slow shock.

Roseatre sighed.

He’d figured it out.

“Why did you surrender your free will, princess?”

Chapter Eight

Anthony would be lying if he said he didn’t love the image of Roseatre on her knees, wearing only his blue shirt, coated in his scent and the musk of her own desire. Surprisingly, no matter how tempting a vision she made, face flushed from their exertions on the stage crowned by the swirl of midnight highlighted by that single lock of pure white, he wanted her kneeling because she wanted to be there, because she had no desire to be elsewhere.

Slave bands.

What drove an Amazon to put them on? She had to have volunteered. He had no doubts about that.

“Why?” He repeated the question when she didn’t answer him.

Her hazel eyes shuttered, darkening to autumn brown. The muscles in the slender column of her neck convulsed. But it was sadness and regret, not temper that stole across her expression.

“It’s not important.” Her mouth twisted on the lie. He didn’t need his nose to scent it for what it was. Plucking the piece of chicken from her fingers, he popped it into his mouth and chewed. The succulent meat tasted more of cardboard than the Indian spices he’d requested.

He snapped a hand out to catch her arm as she reached for the meat platter. “No.”

A quizzical look knitted her dark brows. But she offered no resistance, even if her nipples prodded through the T-shirt, reminding him that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Anthony ignored the demands of his body, however, the tiger inside him leaned forward with a cautious sniff.

They both wanted the whole story.

“It’s very important to me. I can order you to tell me and I suspect those wicked little bands will have your tongue dancing, but I don’t want to do that.”