My Boss Is A Lion

Kidnapped and Claimed

Her Tiger Billionaire

Raven’s Bride

Her Lion Billionaire

Bad Dick

Naughty Librarian

Lions of the Serengeti: Yazmina’s Lion

Naughty Boys

Scorched

Tamed

The Man with the Dragon Wings

Tiger In Her Bed

Hot Like Fire, Cold As Ice

Animalistic

My Boss is a Lion

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A real woman should have curves, Trent thought as he zeroed his attention in on a lady by the counter who was ordering her own coffee.

There.

Like her.

The bar

ista handed her a tall Styrofoam cup and a brown box, which contained a cream cheese brownie from the pastry case. Even her coffee was topped high with whipped cream. She didn’t seem like one of those girls who always fussed about her weight. She took a tentative sip, eyes half-closed, as she savored her drink. Her figure was lush, tantalizingly voluptuous. She looked healthy, as if she enjoyed what life had to offer. Trent loved women like her: low maintenance, humble, and approachable.

But she was more than that. She was a natural beauty. Pale skin. Glossy raven hair that she kept short above her shoulders. Her attire was formal; she was wearing a black career suit with a sheer white blouse. Sensible shoes. Minimal makeup. She was beautiful without trying too hard.

Damn. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She was his kind of girl.

Unlike the two bottled-blonde chicks who came to his table uninvited. He stopped at the coffee shop to get his latte fix and while waiting for his order, two college-aged girls swooped in and tried to introduce themselves. Trent wasn’t really paying attention to them. That woman in the black suit was the one who caught his interest.

But she paid the cashier and left before he could say anything.

It was clear she worked in an office, but Trent couldn’t decide what kind. In addition to her purse, she carried an attaché overstuffed with folders and papers. He caught a quick whiff of her scent, even from a distance. As a weretiger, he possessed a keen sense of smell.

Damn. She smelled so good. Fruity. Like strawberries. Or was it peaches? Maybe it was her shampoo or her soap. But whatever it was, she made him excited. He knew he had to have her, whoever she was. The beastly part of him wanted her too. His tiger became frisky the moment she entered the coffee shop. His alter beast wanted to play.

Badly.

“So, Trent, do you want my phone number?” Even though he didn’t respond, one of the girls wrote her phone number down on a napkin and slid it across the table to him. A coy smile accompanied her flirty expression.