Bought by the Puma (Studly Shifters Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter 3: Torn Between Duty and Mate

The first thing Whitney acknowledged when she began to wake up was the pounding headache that made her feel as though her head was splitting open. It hurt to even attempt opening her eyes but she managed, finding herself staring at the ceiling of her room.

For a moment, she thought she was in her apartment, lying in her lumpy bed with her worn duvet that didn't have a cover on, suffering from a very bad dream. But then, she realized that the ceiling was painted white, not pale blue and there wasn't a damp patch in the corner by the window.

This wasn't her apartment.

Then it all came flooding back to her. Going to the club, getting drugged, almost getting sold to a sexual sadist but being rescued by a gorgeous specimen of a man who looked after her and made sure she didn't make a fool of herself.

Make a fool of herself. Whitney put her hands over her face in mortification. The drug had still been in her system and had been playing havoc with her. One minute, she was normal and the next, she was horny as hell. Then, she had nearly ripped Simon's clothes off coming on to him.

Whitney had no idea how Simon had managed to get her to sleep but she was grateful. There was nothing worse than aiming above your league and coming up short, leaving you to deal with the ramifications afterwards.

If it were any other day, she wouldn't have any chance at all with the man; he probably preferred slimmer, fitter birds, not overweight women who had lost sight of her toes a while back.

While Whitney normally didn't have a problem with her weight and loved her curves, being in the company of Simon had got her hot and bothered and self-conscious about what she was carrying.

She made a mental note to sign up for the gym and actually use the membership.

Slowly sitting up, her head still pounding, Whitney slipped from the bed and pulled the robe around her, aware that it was open more at the chest than she was comfortable with. Tightening the belt at her waist, she stood and tottered towards the door. Somehow she managed to get down the stairs without falling down them.

Halfway down Whitney was aware that Simon was in the lounge, standing at the window with his back to her. He was wearing his jeans but was shirtless, showing a delicious-looking back with wide shoulders and a slim waist. His hair was damp.

The couch had a sleeping bag and a cushion on it, which answered Whitney's unanswered question where he slept since there was only one bed in the whole cottage.

"He never turned up."

Whitney jumped when she heard Simon suddenly speak. But he wasn't speaking to her. Then, she realized that he was on his cell phone. Not wanting to interrupt - and her journalist side wanted to hear what he was talking about - she tiptoed back up to the top of the stairs and sat on the top step.

Simon didn't appear to have noticed that he was being eavesdropped on.

"It was a ruse, sir." He said grumpily. "From the sound of it, he heard a girl was on his tail and wanted to get rid of her. Yeah, a junior reporter. He had the manager drug her and tried to have her brought by one of those sick bastards at the warehouse last night. I've got her with me now, sir. She's asleep upstairs. No, I'll take her home myself. I want to make sure she stays. No, the assignment hasn't changed, just a few alterations. The outcome is still the same." He listened for a moment. "Yes, sir. I'll get onto that as soon as I've woken the girl."

Assignment? Whitney's mind was working. What assignment? It had to be something to do with Grattidge, she was sure of it. Someone else was as interested as her in the damn man.

Maybe this could be helpful for her. She was going to put that story to her paper. Maybe not today but in the next few days. Then she would be on her way up.

"How long have you been there?"

Whitney jumped, her heart stuttering in its surprise. Simon was standing at the foot of the stairs, glaring up at her. Whitney pulled the robe over her knees, very aware that she was naked underneath, and licked her lips.

"Long enough." She answered. She glanced at the cell phone now attached to Simon's hip, trying not to stare at his bare chest. "You work for the government, don't you?"

"That's none of your business." Simon's nostrils flared. "It's best if you don't know anything at all."

"You're going after Bryce Grattidge." Whitney's mind was working. "The government wants him eliminated."

Simon growled and climbed the stairs, reminding Whitney of a wild animal prowling for its next meal. For a moment, his eyes glowed golden but it was gone before Whitney could figure out what was going on.

"Stop trying to guess, Whitney, and get dressed. I'm taking you home." He stopped a few steps below her, towering over her as he glowered. "And if I see any article mentioning any of this conversation or Bryce Grattidge, I'll have you locked up for obstruction."

"I knew it!" Triumphant that her hunch was right, Whitney stood. "You are the government!"

Simon growled. He nodded towards a chair by the wall, which had Whitney's clothes folded on top.

"Get dressed. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Simon's eyes widened and he gave her an incredulous look.

"Are you deaf? We are leaving in twenty minutes." He arched an eyebrow and pointedly looked at her garments. "Unless you would like to go now, wearing just a robe?"

Whitney felt heat licking at her skin. Blushing, she pulled the lapels closer together and lifted her chin defiantly at Simon.

"I could help." She countered. "I'm very savvy with a computer. If I have my laptop, I can help you get to him..."

"I'm fine using a computer." Simon cut her off sharply. "And I'm not involving any civilians."

"But we're both after the same thing."

"No, we're not." Simon leant forward, his eyes piercing hers. "You're after a story. You are certainly not writing a story on any of this."

"Who said anything about writing a story?"

Whitney mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that Simon would believe that. But from the look on Simon's face, he clearly didn't.

"You said yourself last night you were on a story. And journalists always say they are going to be keeping schtum but it never happens. I'm not risking it." Simon clasped her shoulders and turned her round, gently pushing her into the bedroom. "You go home and forget about the story. If you run anything on Grattidge, you will end up in prison."

Whitney darted to the side and caused Simon to stumble as he pushed at air. He righted himself and turned to glare at Whitney, who planted her hands on her hips.

"You'll throw me in prison for doing my job?" She demanded.

"I'd throw you in jail if it means you won't jeopardize a government operation." Simon snapped back. "Do you want to spend ten years in prison for that?"

From reading his expression, Whitney knew that he was serious. He would send her to prison if he so wished it. She knew she wouldn't be able to cope behind bars. Whitney gulped but didn't back down.

"Let me help you and I won't write it." She said.

"I told you, it's too dangerous. And this is not for civilians."

"Tough. I can help." Whitney put her hands together in a plea. "Please, Simon, let me help. Then I won't write the story."

She knew what she wanted and she was determined to get it. That story was hers and Whitney was prepared to do anything to get it. And if it meant being in the company of the most gorgeous man she had met in a long time who was broodier than a goth teenager, then she would do it.

It certainly helped if the person she was going to be 'working' with was easy on the eye.

Simon closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."

Whitney's heart lightened. He was agreeing to it. She didn't think he'd go for it. But he was.

She refrained from jumping into his arms and hugging him, settling for a smile and a gracious nod.

"Thank you."

Simon glared at her.

"But if you go back on your promise, I'll drive you to jail myself."

"I promise." Whitney grinned and winked. "You can monitor everything I do."

Simon growled.

"That'll be the day."

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Whitney was surprised Simon had actually agreed to her terms. He was letting her help. But she was under no illusions that Simon was doing it because he was easily taken in; chances were he agreed because he considered her a threat and wanted her to stay close by in order to make sure that she didn't write the story about Bryce Grattidge and the sex slave auctions.

So the fact that he didn't bat an eyelid when Whitney gave him a list of things she wanted from her apartment - she couldn't go around in his robe and her party clothes weren't adequate for several days - and her laptop was at the top of the list before her clothes and toiletries. Maybe he was planning on putting a bug on it so he could monitor what she typed. Whitney made a mental note to check when she got it.

Still dressed in the robe but with her knickers and bra on underneath, Whitney planted herself on the couch and flicked through the TV. It had Sky and Whitney went through boring commercials and flat soap operas before settling on trash TV.

Her previous boyfriends had complained about her love of reality TV, particularly the courtroom dramas, but Whitney had ignored them, enjoying seeing real people acting like complete idiots.

It was refreshing to know she wasn't the only stupid person on the planet.

After an hour and a half of watching reruns of her favourite show, Whitney's stomach started rumbling. It was then that she realized she hadn't had any breakfast. She hoped Simon had some food and it wasn't rabbit food. While she ate her greens, Whitney didn't particularly like them.

The kitchen was too clean for her liking, almost sterile. Whitney guessed that was how Simon lived his life; sterile and OCD, not leaving anything out of place and over-cleaning everything. It was the complete opposite to Whitney who, while keeping things relatively clean, wasn't the tidiest of people.

He was going to have a field day when he saw her apartment. At least she had done her washing and put the laundry away.

She filled the kettle and began checking through the cupboards, looking for coffee. She found teabags instead and put one in a clean mug. Then, she retrieved the bread and popped two into the toaster. A quick look in the fridge revealed a half-empty bottle of milk, butter and bacon and eggs. Whitney took them all out and set about making breakfast.

Her meals weren't necessarily healthy at times but Whitney knew how to cook. She always made sure that she home-cooked everything, eating out or having takeaway once a week. It didn't stop the pounds piling on but Whitney was happy with the fact that she knew how to cook. Especially breakfast. She could cook up a storm and make it taste like the top cuisine.

A hunt of the other cupboards found a tin of beans and potatoes. Whitney also found some onions that were just on the good side. Chopping the onions and potatoes, she put them into a sizzling pan she had placed on the hob and sprinkled in some mixed herbs. Then she used another pan for the sausages and eggs, grilling bacon in the oven.

Simon would be hungry and there was no harm in making food for both of them.

Whitney served the food evenly onto both plates, her mug of tea beside hers, and then looked around for the cutlery. She opened the drawer nearest the sink and found two sets of cutlery. She was fishing out the knives and forks when Whitney noticed something sticking out from under the steak knives holder.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached for the slip of paper and pulled it out. It wasn't a bit of paper, she realized, but a Polaroid. There was a crease down the middle and it looked tattered but Whitney recognized Simon, sitting shirtless on a beach, sunglasses covering his eyes. He had his arms round a blonde woman wearing a blue bikini, leaning against him as they laughed.

Simon was gorgeous before but seeing him like this had the temperature of the cottage going up several notches. Whitney felt her core clench and arousal lick at her skin.

If Simon ever smiled like that at her, she was going to end up in a molten puddle on the floor.

"Thinking of using that in a story?"

Whitney squeaked and spun around, slapping a hand to her chest. Simon was standing by the couch, two backpacks and a computer case at his feet. She hadn't heard him come in. He was glaring at her, his eyes going to the Polaroid.

"I wasn't..."

"Yeah." Simon sneered as he approached her. "Like a reporter never had an agenda."

Whitney was too hurt by the comment to react to Simon snatching the photograph away. She wrapped the dressing gown tighter around her like a barrier between them. This side of Simon she didn't like. Obviously, this woman was someone he was close to, someone he wasn't willing to share.

Someone who had hurt him if the pain in his eyes was anything to go by. Whitney reached out and touched his arm.

"Who is she, Simon?"

Simon snarled and shook her hand off.

"None of your business." He ripped the photo into four pieces and threw them into the trash can. "I'm going back out. Your things are here so you've got things to do." He glared at her. "If you even attempt to leave, I'll know."

Whitney's temper rose.

"You can't keep me here." She snapped. "You'll be as bad as the men who kidnapped me."

Simon grunted.

"Just be glad I'm not sending you back as damaged goods."

Whitney could only stare as Simon stormed across the lounge and out the front door, slamming the door behind him. Her appetite now gone, she went across to the couch and sat, rubbing her arms around her middle and taking deep breaths, tears stinging at her eyes.

She would not cry. She would not.

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