Buying a Mate (BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance) (Quick & Furry Book 8) (2 page)

River slowly made her way toward him, the only man in the small sports bar who had a nice stripe of white hair that stood out against the other midnight strands. A sign of his “disgrace” apparently.

She thought it was pretty. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her description, but it wasn’t like she could change her thoughts.

She padded closer, her high heels clicking against the polished concrete floors. The music/irritating noise blared through the space as the TVs fought the standard pop hits that attacked her ears.

He toyed with the lowball glass, spinning it around and around before tracing the rim with a single finger. His gaze remained trained on the glass, capturing his attention fully. She didn’t think he even watched for her, but that opinion quickly changed when he lifted his head and stared at her. Not just at her, through her, deep and strong, he captured her with his gaze.

Black. His eyes were black or nearly so. And yet they changed in a flash, the color rolling from the dark hue to shades of yellow and then green before finally settling on an alluring blue. He stared at her, blinking slowly before raking her with his gaze and then his orbs were back to darkness.

Those swirling colors had to have been his dragon.

River shivered, the reality of marrying a shifter finally striking her heart. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should find a lawyer to marry. They were used to fighting, right?

He quirked his lips, corner tipping up in a smirk that had her panties growing suspiciously wet. But it wasn’t arousal. Nope. This was all business. Money for his name and a little muscle when needed. That was it.

“River,” he rumbled, the sound slithering through the air and striking her in the heart. The beat tripped, busting out a staccato rhythm before settling into normalcy once more. “Nice to meet you.”

He spun on his stool, slowly turning toward her, giving her a better look at his seated body. He had broad shoulders and a heavily muscled chest, but she’d expected that. What she hadn’t anticipated was the way she felt when he breathed deeply or how her body reacted to the chuff that escaped his lips. Or how her nipples pebbled when a pale tendril of smoke slipped from his nose and curled in the air.

River swallowed hard and straightened her spine. She’d been the acting president of Browning Industries for years. She could get through this meeting without making a fool of herself. She hoped.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, took a deep breath, and then strode forward. She extended that hand, reaching for him. “I assume you’re Taron Jones. I’m River Browning.”

“Uh-huh.” It was a word, but not—an almost purring moan that rumbled through him. His eyes scraped over her from head to toe. No, who was she kidding? He caressed her with his gaze, those eyes not missing a single dip and curve of her body.

Well, he needed to get a good look at all the curves he’d be tied to for three hundred sixty-five days.

River cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should take our seats to discuss our…”

She paused and sought a word that was a little more personable than
business deal
, but Taron beat her to it.

“Future.”

“Future.” She jerked her head in a quick nod. “Right, our future.”

Those sinful lips remained quirked and he snatched up the lowball glass. He threw the contents back in one quick swallow, hissing as the liquid slid down his throat. “Damn, that’s good.”

He thumped the glass back to the wooden bar top and pushed to his feet. She tilted her head back. And back. And back some more.

“You’re tall,” she blurted.

“And you’re a pretty prim package begging to be unwrapped.” The expression in his eyes told her he was more than happy to do some unwrapping.

“Yes, well,” she reached down and straightened her skirt, flattening imaginary wrinkles, “there won’t be unwrapping, will there?”

“You’re the boss.” Glowing blue eyes met hers. “You tell me.”

Yes, she so wanted to say yes. But men like Taron didn’t go for short curvy humans. They liked the women who turned heads and demanded attention. River was happy to hide in the shadows and live her life without problems.

Taron Jones was a walking, talking problem. Who also happened to be at least six feet tall and covered in muscles from head to toe. Big ones. And the way his clothes clung to him should have been illegal. All that cotton and leather stroking him, giving her a glimpse of what she could have but refused to take.

Because the bulge at the juncture of his thighs told her he really wanted to treat her like she was a present on Christmas morning.

And it was a very big bulge.

“No, there won’t be any presents. If you’ll follow me, I reserved a table in the back.”

Taron barked out a laugh. “Sweetheart, this isn’t the kind of place that takes reservations.”

She ignored him and turned on her heel, shoes clicking against the hard floor as she strode toward their booth.

Their
reserved
booth.

She easily slid into place and turned her attention to him, raising a single brow. She flicked her eyes to the small paper sign on the table and then back to him, a silent challenge.

“I stand corrected then,” he murmured and settled in the seat across from her. “You’re one of those women who always gets her way, aren’t ya?”

River carefully unrolled her silverware and then placed the napkin across her lap. She smoothed it into place, taking a moment to answer the imposing male. He was a shifter. He could scent her lie if the Internet was to be believed.

So, she went for a partial truth.

“Yes.”

Yes, she always got her way… After she destroyed every ounce of opposition. Being a bastard Browning meant two things: 1. she was constantly challenged and 2. she learned the only way to conquer her challengers was to be smarter—and meaner—than her competition.

That
was why she always got her way.

And in this negotiation, she had no doubt she’d win.

She just had to remind herself jumping his bones as a signing celebration wasn’t allowed.

Dammit.

* * *

Liar
. Taron let the word roll through his head but didn’t say it aloud. She looked like she was ready to bolt any second and he needed her cash more than he needed her pussy.

But hell, did he want it.

She was temptation personified in that straight-laced dress and jacket with her hair done up all prim and proper. She looked like business-class, cast iron bitch all the way. They’d see how long that lasted. He bit back the lazy smile that wanted to crawl over his lips. She was the sort of challenge he liked. Especially when the deck was stacked in his favor.

1. She needed an unsuitable shifter husband, and he was about as unsuitable as they got. Even down to eyeliner...hell, he’d worn worse before. The eighties...

2. She was short on time. He was right here, ready and willing for anything she wanted.
Anything
she wanted.

3. She was his mate, which meant he had to play this right.

Wait, what? Dammit fuck. She was his mate.

As soon as she’d entered the bar, which apparently was her idea of a clandestine meeting in a rough area of town, he’d known. Her scent wound around him like the steel jaws of a trap, holding him rigid as his dragon fought to be free. It roared in triumph, every instinct demanding he grab the female, hightail it out of there, and get her somewhere high and safe where they could claim her.

Claim. Bed. Married.
He had to shake his head to get the dragon back on track. After a few seconds, he’d been able to move, but still the damn thing wanted a look out his eyes at her.

“Mr. Jones?” Her velvet-smooth voice brought him back to reality. She lifted her hand self-consciously to her nose. “Do I have something on my face?”

He’d been staring.

“It’s Taron.” He shook his head and then smiled to take the sting out of his brusque answer. Sometimes the dragon came through a little too much. “And no, not at all. I was over-awed by the vision of loveliness in front of me.”

Her lips did this funny thing. Compressed then wiggled, like she was trying to hold in a laugh. Her eyes, honey-brown he realized, flashed with amusement. “Tell me, does that line work often for you?”

Business-class with a high level of perception.

“No,” he grinned, flicking her a glance out from under his hair. Automatically he tilted his head to the side so the white stripe, the only outward sign of his shame in human form, was in shadow. “I’m a dragon, we’re blunt. I’ll try and curb it.”

She smiled, seeming to relax a little. “No. Blunt is good. We know where we are then. Stay blunt. Okay, what are you ordering? The menu looks good.”

She actually seemed interested in his answer. He hid his surprise by pretending to study the menu. He already knew what he planned to order — the biggest steak they had. Maddox had advanced him some cash so it wasn’t like his expensive tastes would hit her in the wallet. If he was on his own, he’d have ordered three.

He looked up, caught her with his gaze and let the dragon through a little. “You don’t want me to be as blunt as I want to be.”

Her breathing caught, hitched a little, and the deliciously sweet scent of her arousal flooded the little booth. He bit back his groan and took her hand, feathering his thumb over her wrist. “Because right about now all I want to do is pull you into my lap and find out how much of a facade that suit is. I’m betting you’ve a healthy dose of naughty secretary under the cool-headed CEO thing you got going on there.”

“Wh—”

The look on her face was priceless. Shock. Outrage. Hunger. Desire.

“So guys,” the bright bubbly voice of the waitress broke through their little moment. “You ready to order?”

He watched as River snapped back, rebuilding the walls around herself he’d been busily tearing down. She snatched her hand back and looked up at the girl.

“Yes, please. I’ll have the grilled chicken salad, no fries, no dressing. Taron?”

He smiled, ignoring the hot look the little blond waitress was giving him from under her lashes.
Give it up, doll. I’d snap you in a heartbeat. “
The largest steak you got, doll-face. Just show it the flame and slap it on a plate.”

“You got it, handsome.” She leaned forward, giving him a good view of her silicone-enhanced cleavage in what she obviously thought was a come-on. “Listen, I get off in an hour, if you’re not busy…”

Fuck’s sake, humans were so self-centered and fucking rude at times. And the females could be more vicious than dragons. He could taste River’s distress as she pretended to study the dessert menu as though the other woman hadn’t practically spread herself over the table in offering.

“I am very busy.” His voice was cold and hard as he reached out to snag River’s hand again. “I’ll be taking my
fiancée
home.”

Both women’s eyes widened and the waitress flounced off. Her muttered comment about his parentage and sexual predilections was easy for his shifter-enhanced hearing to pick up. At least she hadn’t made a comment about River. She could insult him all she liked, but a word about his newly discovered mate would have to be dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly.

“Dragons also tease,” he advised her softly, totally ignoring the scene with the waitress, and lifted her hand so his lips were against her soft skin. God, she smelled so good it made him wonder how she’d taste. His dragon felt the same and he lapped at the soft flesh between her knuckles, forked tongue teasing the sensitive spot. He didn’t miss the way her fingers clenched or the hitch in her breath. She wasn’t unaffected. Good.

With reluctance, he let go of her hand. He’d pushed hard enough and it was time for a tactical retreat. “So, boss, you tell me, how we playing this?”

How were they playing things? River had Taron standing in her entryway, duffel bag at his feet, and she still didn’t know. She hadn’t quite gotten past the drooling stage, and yet, two days after meeting, she somehow found herself with a dragon in her penthouse condo, ready to move in.

Hell, since his whole life fit inside one duffel and said duffel rested on the gleaming marble, he’d already
moved
in.

To her condo.

With her.

All the sexy. In her condo.

But she wasn’t going to touch. She had to remember that. Even if everything in her begged to cue up “Let’s Get it On” by Marvin Gaye.

One year of marriage. One year of celibacy. One year of nights spent with her battery-operated boyfriends.

One year. One year. One year.

Right. She could do this.

“Boss?”

Her attention snapped back to Taron and she realized she’d been staring at his, uh, package. “Uh, what?”

Like only the sexiest of men could do, he quirked a single brow and then added one of those smirks that had her panties growing wet, and she jerked her gaze from his.

“Just wondering how this is gonna play out. We talked about me moving in.” He slowly came forward, his heavy boots thumping against the stone floor. River shuffled back, attempting to keep space between them. “But we didn’t talk about where I’m sleeping.”

“Uh…” The color of his eyes slipped from one to the next, changing hues as his dragon slithered forward and then retreated. She continued her backpedal, not wanting him to get too close. If he got his hands on her, if he licked and tasted her again, she’d be lost. Lost. With a capital
L
and a lowercase
I will mount you like a pony
.

Which, now sounded a little weird in her head and she refused to latch onto the imagery.

Taron continued his approach as she shuffled away. At least, until her ass collided with the lovely accent table in the hallway, cutting off her retreat.

Then he was there, heat bathing her front without truly touching her. Oh, he was close, all that warmth a mere inch from her body, but they didn’t come into contact. “I was wondering where I’ll lay my head at night.” He leaned forward and placed one hand on the table. “Am I crashing on the couch?” He placed the other on her opposite side, bracketing her. “In a guest room?”