When An Alpha Purrs(7)

"No. If I have to eat with you, then we're going to a restaurant."

"Very well. Name one."

He should have known by the smirk that crossed her lips that she would get him back for his ambush, and she did.

"LongHorn."

His steak house competition.





Chapter Six


Exactly how did Kira end up sitting across from Arik in a booth with a menu in hand?

This was the exact opposite of what should have happened. She'd had it  all planned. She'd leave early. Her uncle would tell Arik, if he showed  up, that she was sick. The big guy would forget about her, and she'd go  on with her new life.

Except, he'd suspected she'd do something devious and lain in wait for her.

She didn't know whether to be flattered or call the cops. She also  couldn't help but be impressed he'd gauged her so well. Many of the guys  she'd dated, or who'd shown an interest over the years, never truly got  to understand her. They assumed she was just like all the other girls.

Wrong. Kira was special. And not in the ‘she needed medication to stop  hearing the voices' kind of way. She was unique, she did things her own  way-even if sometimes her own way meant taking a coward's way out. Then  again, Gregory had taught her well. Which led her mind back to thinking  about Arik.

Persistent big guy who was alluring, like a chocolate-dipped cone. She just wanted to nibble and lick.

Ardent interest was all well and good, but what if he turned out to be another psycho just like her ex?

The fact that she'd gotten Arik to agree to take her to a competing  restaurant spoke volumes. Despite his evident dislike at the way she'd  maneuvered him, he'd taken it with good grace.

And now would make her pay. Such a devious and handsome devil.

He asked for and received a booth in the farthest corner where the lighting was dim, a romantic ambiance for lovers.

But we're not lovers.

Yet. Because, truthfully, the man seriously attracted her.

She could have slapped herself. No. Bad Kira. She wasn't at a point in her life where she needed any kind of commitment.

Getting a little ahead of yourself, are we? The chiding of her own inner  voice reined her in. After all, he'd flirted, but who said he was  looking for a relationship? It could be he just wanted a little naked  companionship. Although why he'd choose her, she couldn't fathom.

Kira had no illusions when it came to her image. She was cute, on that  she would agree. However, she was about thirty pounds too heavy to be  considered perfectly shaped, and her hips were a touch wide when  considered against her bust. She had birthing hips, or so her one aunt  said.

That wasn't exactly something Kira considered a compliment or a positive  attribute for her dating resume. She did have nice hair, though, and  pretty eyes. "A nice-looking girl," as her uncle liked to say. Which,  translated, meant she wasn't the type of woman that guys, especially  billionaire tycoon types like Arik, chased after.                       
       
           



       

Unless he liked the challenge.

Could perhaps her refusal to give him the time of day be that which drew him?

"You look way too serious for someone trying to choose an appetizer," he murmured.

The soft purr of his voice should come with a warning label much like  they showed on TV. Please note that the hunk sitting across from you may  cause heart palpitations, clammy hands, wet panties, and a hunger for  things not meant to be eaten in public.

She steeled herself before she peeked up and caught his gaze over the  edge of her menu. "Just debating on whether I want a salad to start or  some stuffed mushrooms."

"Or you could just nibble on me," he said with a wink.

"Arik!" His bold words shocked and did nothing to stem the arousal she  already fought. Heat flushed her, and she could only imagine the color  of her cheeks. It wasn't hard to feign embarrassment and bury her face  in the menu again.

"Oh, come now, mouse. Don't act so outraged."

"You just propositioned me."

"No, I was just being honest about what we're both thinking."

He guessed. No way could he know she desired him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He made a noise. "I don't know why you feel a need to pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"That we're not attracted to each other."

"I don't know where you got that idea. You're an interesting guy, sure, but that's it."

"Liar." And he proved it by grabbing her hand and stroking his thumb  over the skin. She couldn't hide a tremble at the contact. "I touch you,  and you shiver."

She really needed to shave that expressive and sexy eyebrow of his. Maybe then she wouldn't get an urge to fan herself.

"Could be repugnance."

He let out a short laugh. "You and I both know that's not true."

Since denial wasn't getting her anywhere, she changed her tactics.  "Fine. So you're attractive. I still don't think we should take things  any further. We are obviously from two different worlds."

"Yes." He didn't even try to deny it.

What a letdown. She'd expected more argument. Which says what about me  exactly? "So why do this? Why are you so determined to wine, dine, and  screw me?" She deliberately made it sound crude, anything to break the  spell between them.

"Screw? I have more finesse than that, I assure you, mouse. When we do  come together, I promise it will be an event of sensual delight."

"Let's say I let that happen. That we have sex, then what? I've already  told you I don't want to date. I can't." Not until she could be sure the  mistakes of her past wouldn't return to bug her.

"Can't?" It figured he'd hone in on the one word. "Are you seeing  someone?" Funny how he bit the query out, as if angry, and his eyes  flashed amber in the dim light.

Almost catlike. Totally crazy. It was probably some weird trick of the  light, just like people sometimes got red devil eyes in pictures.

"No, I'm not seeing someone. Not anymore. But let's just say my last  relationship terminated in a rather ugly fashion." Understatement of the  century. "Given what he put me through, I need a break from the whole  dating thing."

"Then we won't date. I, too, am not at a point in my life where I'm  looking for a forever after. However, I wouldn't mind a companion for  passionate get-togethers."

It took her a moment, and she might have blinked a few times before she said, "Are you asking me to be your fuck buddy?

He made a moue of distaste. "I think the correct term is my mistress."

Kira couldn't help it. She giggled.

"What's so funny?" he asked, a frown drawing his brows together.

"This whole conversation. You do realize this is totally abnormal, right?"

"On the contrary, I think it is refreshing in this day and age that a  man and woman who find themselves attracted to each other can have a  civilized discussion about engaging in a sexual partnership that doesn't  involve any emotional attachments or long-term commitments."

Said with utter seriousness. A mistress. Negligee wearing, sultry-voiced  hussy who greets her tailored-suit lover. Passionate wild times,  followed by jewelry and a quick escape by him.

The mental image proved too much. She laughed harder.

And, apparently, he didn't like it.

"Stop laughing," he ordered, his stern voice just as sexy as his flirty one.

"Is this where I start calling you sir? Or master?" She chortled and, to  her mortification, snorted, which in turn led to even more mirth.                       
       
           



       

Practically weeping she was laughing so hard, she didn't immediately  note his action until he slid onto the booth seat beside her. She turned  to glance at him, and he took advantage, cupping her chin in his hand.  He silenced her with a kiss.

Suddenly nothing was funny, but everything was on fire.

The hand gripping her chin slid until it cupped the side of her face,  cradling her in the palm of his large hand. Her lips parted at the  insistent coaxing of his. Apparently he wanted a taste because his  tongue trailed the length of her lips, tracing them, before dipping to  dance with hers.

She kept her hands clasped in her lap, fingers digging in tightly. She  feared letting them loose. Knew they would hone in on his body and  stroke the hard planes she could glimpse under his dress shirt. Make a  mockery of her continued insistence they shouldn't get together.

He, however, had no such fear. While one hand stroked the skin of her  cheek, the other palmed the space just below her ribcage. He'd wrapped  his arm around her, her slightly plump frame no issue, not given where  his hand rested, and inched upward.

The fabric separating them did nothing to impede the breath-catching  anticipation of his hand reaching to cup an aching breast. His mouth  sucked her little sound of pleasure. She squirmed on her seat, thighs  pressed tight together. But it did nothing to relieve the building,  aching pressure between her legs.