My Shifter Showmance (Shifting Reality 1)

“What?” Saint followed him out. “What did I do?”

“And then there were four,” Margo muttered as she quickly finished her glass of wine. She’d be an alcoholic before this trip was over. What had Saint meant? He didn’t want to tell the others she was only here because they wanted to work with her production office?

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“I could have told you about Bryan, but Naomi Blaze a man? Totally didn’t see that one coming.” Joseph stood, looking at Thomas warily. “I also had no idea that Chi was your cousin, Mr. Lyons. If I’d known—”

“You’d what?” Thomas smiled, appearing fascinated. “Ask my permission?” He chuckled. “I’m a bit overprotective, I admit, but females of the feline shifter persuasion can more than take care of themselves, as I’m sure you’re already discovering. I’m not worried about my cousin. I only hope you survive the visit.”

“Funny, cousin.” Chi grabbed Joseph’s hand and pulled him out of the room. Margo saw the enraptured smile on his face and knew he would be fine.

“And then there were two.” Thomas’s voice had dropped to that purr that drove her crazy.

She was in so much trouble.

Chapter Five

She was alone with Thomas Lyons. Her feminine instincts told her danger wasn’t far behind. Margo stood and put on her most professional smile. Without the others nearby, perhaps she could discuss the contract, maybe pack her things in time to share a bus ride with Naomi/Nathan. Even that was preferable to humiliating herself by losing her composure in front of this man. Especially in front of the cameras.

“None of that, now, Margo. Not between you and I.”

That was all the warning she got before she was spun around and lifted in the air to settle, breathless, straddling his lap. “Mr. Lyons, I think we should talk about—”

“Hush.” Thomas curled his fingers into her hair, pulling her down to meet his searching lips before she could get another word out. Margo’s last thought was, Oh hell, before the kiss scrambled her brain.

He growled, the pressure of his lips opening hers as he sought entrance. God, his taste. And the way he was kissing her, exactly the way she’d always imagined he would. Greedily, hungrily…perfectly.

Her sex pressed against his thickening erection, and through their clothes she could feel the heat of him. He was blazing. She slid her tongue across his fangs. His body jerked in reaction, and she did it again, loving the fact that she could make him respond to her. Make him as crazy as he was making her from one simple kiss. Who was she trying to fool? She’d been crazy for him since the moment she’d seen the first video. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his arms, wishing she could touch his bare skin, desperate for more contact. Closer. Harder. More.

“Margo, baby…” He’d pulled away. Why had he pulled away? She looked at the agonized need tightening his expression, her brows lowering in confusion when he shook his head. “I never in all my years imagined saying this, but we should stop. We shouldn’t do this here. And if you keep grinding against me, I won’t be able to stop myself from tossing you on this table and taking you right now, in full view of our online audience.”

Audience. The cameras. Hell. Chi and Liam were gone, but Margo knew each room had its own grouping of stationary cameras. She’d been grinding? Mortification stung her cheeks. She imagined the people online watching her behavior, maybe even her coworkers, and she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.

He stood, holding her struggling body easily in his arms and strode swiftly to the kitchen, nodding at the Goth servants before heading into the large pantry room and closing the door.

The lock turned with a click of finality, and Margo bit her lip. Would Darcy fire her for her inappropriate behavior? She huffed out a dark laugh. Her boss would no doubt wholeheartedly approve. As long as it got her those Shifting Reality rights.

He swept his hand out, drawing her gaze to the deep pantry filled with dry goods and empty jars. It was nearly the size of her bedroom in the insanely expensive cubbyhole she called an apartment. And the ceiling was so high, stocked to the rafters, that they actually had a sliding ladder leaning against one of the shelves.

Thomas caressed her jaw with his thumb, bringing her attention back to him. “There’s no sound equipment, no cameras here. Just you and I. Talk to me, Margo, please.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking frustrated. “If I were Saint or Mac, I’d have a way to know what you’re thinking. Know why you look like you regret what just happened.”

“If you were Saint or Mac, I wouldn’t be in this pantry.” She spoke without thinking, flinched as she saw his pleased expression. Shit. Why didn’t she just tell him she only regretted he’d stopped? That she’d wanted to smother herself in chocolate and whipped cream and be his dessert? She sighed. “What I mean is— Hell, I don’t know what I mean. I think we should go to bed. Separately. To separate beds. Alone. We can talk about the reason we both know I’m here in the morning.”

Work, keep saying it, this is for work. Contract not coitus. Contract not coitus.

“I smell you.”

She crossed her arms defensively and looked at him askance. “I’m sorry?”

Thomas shook his head, his eyes going dark as he took a deep, lung filling breath. “Just, now that there’s no distraction, I can really smell you. It’s rich. Spicy and sweet. Like pumpkin mousse or, well, I’ve never smelled anyone quite like you.”

Pumpkin? “You smell nice too. I’m assuming we both shower. What’s your point?” She was being belligerent, but she couldn’t seem to help it. She was having a hard time accepting how easily she’d lost control. The old Margo would no doubt have thrown caution to the wind, damned the cameras and danced for him on the table, perhaps torn off his buttons with her teeth. Which was one of the reasons she’d been buried beneath mountains of to do lists and restrained hairdos for the better part of a decade. The old Margo was nothing but trouble.

So was Thomas Lyons. His pupils had dilated, his strong features had sharpened and his cheeks looked flushed. He looked…feral. Wild. Like he was ready to pick up where they’d just left off, whether she liked it or not. Her slender thread of control began to fray once more. She should leave now. The pantry. The castle. The country.

Thomas blocked her way to the door. Did his fangs look longer? More intimidating? He towered over her, backing her up until her shoulders hit the ladder. He took her wrists in his hands and lifted her arms over her head. She gripped the rungs of the ladder, clinging instinctively, fascinated by the predatory look in his eyes.

“My point,” his voice was rough, needy, “is that you aren’t going anywhere, kitten. Regardless of what your mind is telling you to regret or run from, your body is speaking loud and clear. And it wants what I want.”