Series: Lee Savino
Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
It’s the young woman from the painting. I was wrong. The painter didn’t exaggerate the flawless balance of her features. She’s fifty times as stunning in real life. My bear surges under my skin.
She descends slowly, scanning the room. She’s dressed in a modest white dress that makes her golden skin glow. Halfway down, she catches me staring, and her lovely dark eyes narrow with a glare. Her scent blooms for me, orchids and gardenias, with a bitter undertone.
My chest rumbles as my bear tries to voice his opinions. He’s as transfixed as I am, but unhappy with the medicinal edge of her scent. I step back, grunting to cover my bear’s growl, and rub my breastbone to settle him. For one millisecond, he gets control. I almost spontaneously shift the way I did as a child–far too young and completely out of control. I shove him back down with ferocious will.
Damn.
The momentary loss of control must be a combination of being out here in the woods and seeing the first female I’ve been attracted to in a long time. I will have to be careful this weekend. I can’t have my bear fighting me every time I get a hard-on for a pretty female.
The woman reaches the bottom step, and two hulking men in black suits and clear earpieces step forward to flank her. She lifts her chin to a haughty angle and heads the direction they point. Two more men fall into step behind them.
She looks and acts like a spoiled socialite, but something about the way her bodyguards hover upsets my bear.
No.
He doesn’t like those men near her. He’s never been so vocal. Once again, he wrestles me for control, and only years of subduing him allow me to keep the upper hand.
What the fuck is happening?
I stalk through the doorway, keeping the woman in my sights. This settles my bear. She’s standing beside Thompson now, silent and pouting. They had a tiff, perhaps. Her sugar daddy didn’t give her the Mercedes she wanted.
When we all head to the dining room for dinner, the bodyguards surround her again. One of them holds the chair out for her, like he’s a combination bodyguard / butler, and she sinks into the seat opposite the head of the table.
Something makes me slide into the seat beside her, and she gives me another cold look. She smells wrong–like medicine. Is she sick? Up close, I note the dark circles under her eyes. They’re not enough to diminish her beauty but could be a sign of poor sleep. Perhaps a headache. That would explain the bad temper.
Thompson stands at the head of the table and clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming.” He paces around the table, like he’s our school master teaching us a lesson. “This will be a weekend to remember.”
Everyone murmurs their assent.
He stops behind the young woman's chair. “And I’m so pleased to present my daughter, Paloma, to you all.” He places a hand on her shoulder.
Daughter. My research didn’t tell me Thom had any children. He must have worked hard to keep that information under the radar.
I study Paloma’s face for any hint that she’s related to Thom but can’t find any. Her mother must have been a rare beauty with dominant genes.
“She’s been working hard at her trader position with Thompson Capital, but I convinced her to take some time off,” Thom continues. “She’s done great things at the firm, and I’m so proud of her.” There’s a smattering of polite applause.
Paloma doesn’t appear moved by his praise. If anything, it seems to deaden her.
Thompson picks up his daughter’s hand and kisses it. Her expression never changes. She stares straight ahead as if in silent protest.
If Thompson notices her attitude, he doesn’t seem to care. “By the end of the weekend, I might have another announcement regarding a merger of a more personal variety.”
More applause, this time louder, with an eager edge. A few of the older businessmen lean in and whisper something to their younger counterparts. “...bidding…tomorrow night…” I hear one say. My shifter hearing is sharp enough to pick up on the words, but they make no sense.
What did Thompson mean by a merger of a more personal variety? Something’s going on.
Thompson proposes a toast to his daughter. We all raise our glasses. Paloma doesn’t move to take her glass, and one bodyguard leans over her and prods her arm.
That’s when I notice the purple marks marring her skin between shoulder and elbow. They look like someone grabbed her arm and gripped hard. She lifts her wine glass, and her dress sleeve falls away, revealing more bruises.
My bear rears up. Once more, I almost spontaneously shift. My bear’s going crazy, wanting to burst from my skin. Damn, after all these years living in New York City, I thought I’d learned to suppress that wildness. I blink at my plate, hoping to hide any brightness in my eyes. My fangs sharpen, and I grit my teeth, forcing my bear to retreat. Stay back, I tell him.