Tropical Tiger Spy (Shifting Sands Resort 1)

“I swear,” Jimmy wept. “I was just told to drive these people back, that's all I know!”

Lies! Tony's tiger insisted.

Jimmy changed underneath his fist into a squirming, snarling weasel, all clashing, razor-sharp teeth as his clothing fell away in Tony's hands.

Just as fast, Tony was changing, his clothing ripping from the striped fur and Jimmy's clothing shredded before his claws. The weasel was ripping at his front legs, all teeth and claws and crazed frenzy, and Tony swiped at him with a paw and missed as it swarmed at his face, snapping teeth across his sensitive nose.

Before he could react, Scarlet was moving forward with more speed than she ought to have in human form and she had the weasel by the scruff of the neck. Then she was suddenly holding a very naked, terrified-looking Jimmy with one hand at his neck as if he was no more than a misbehaving schoolboy.

“You!” she said ferociously. “I will deal with you myself!”

She met Tony's eyes and Tony could not figure out what animal he was seeing there, beyond sheer power.

I am going for my mate, he told her, in the silent animal speech that some shifters could use. He had no doubts that she would understand him.

Scarlet's eyes narrowed, as if she was going to argue with him, but instead, she only said out loud, “You will go faster through the jungle than the road. Follow the ridge east. The estate is on the opposite side of the island.”

Without pausing, Tony was off, every muscle of his huge tiger body tensing with one purpose: to rescue his mate. Behind him, he heard Jimmy whimper in fear.

Chapter Seventeen

Amber felt under-dressed before she even walked in the ornate double doors to Alistair's house. The armed guards flanking the doors made her feel even more uncertain. It seemed odd that there were so many of them.

The foyer was as big as her entire cottage, and decorated with things that Amber immediately recognized as valuable and couldn't deny were tasteful. It was like a museum; clearly tailored to Alistair's personal taste for the rare and unique. Antique masks lined the walls, as well as colonial paintings that Amber felt like she ought to recognize. The furniture was all rich, solid wood, beautifully carved and subtly stained; Amber guessed that Alistair had never even seen the inside of an Ikea store.

She paused. A stairway led off to her right, curving up to a second floor. The dining room was open to the left, a decadent-smelling meal already laid out on a table long enough to run footraces.

“I'm not sure I should...” she stumbled, gesturing to her dirty sandals and worn shorts.

“My dear,” said Alistair, and his hand at her elbow felt a little tight. “I insist. You are my... guest.”

Amber went, because she didn't know how to deny what she tried to tell herself was a request. Although she could sense Alistair's interest in her, she didn't want to encourage it... and she wasn't sure how to discourage it politely. He wasn't like Jimmy, leering and making her feel dirty, but there was an uneasiness in Amber's stomach that she wasn't sure he deserved. Maybe it was just because she kept comparing him to Tony, and no one could measure up.

“Alright,” she said, and she let the billionaire lead her to the table and pull out her chair. He even put her napkin in her lap. Maybe it was a Costa Rican custom, she wondered, thinking back to her breakfast service.

Breakfast had been very, very long ago, and when the servant put a plate of artfully arranged lampchops and tender vegetables before her, she fell into it eagerly.

“Your arboretum is amazing,” she said, as her eating politely allowed. “I have never seen such an extensive collection of rare plants.”

“It is charming to have someone who is enthused about it,” Alistair said with an artful laugh, clearly enjoying his own food. “You are a botanist, then?”

Amber laughed. “I studied botany in college,” she explained. “But mostly I just work in a garden shop. A very rural garden shop, where most people are concerned with strains of corn and pest control by the barrel. The most excitement I get is building hanging baskets of flowers in the spring. When it comes to exotics, all I get are aloe and jade plants. I love to read about things that grow in this climate, but I am a rank amateur when it comes to this stuff!”

“You undersell yourself,” Alistair said, with a strange smile. “I find you very knowledgeable, and a delightful conversationalist.”

Amber blinked at him and mumbled some shy thanks. Had she conversed all that much?

A servant took her plate, and she was startled into looking up at him. He seemed an awfully... military looking person to be waiting on a table with a towel over his arm, with short cropped hair and a thick, muscled neck.

“Dessert?” Alistair offered. “I believe the chef has prepared a crème brule.”

But the meal felt odd in Amber's stomach. She felt like her cat was on her metaphorical shoulders, every strand of fur on end, shrieking warnings in her ears.

“No, thank you! I'm... uh, on a diet. We really should call Jimmy to come collect me. I've imposed on you so much already.”

She was on no kind of diet at all, but she had enough curves to convince him that it was the truth with a big-eyed smile and a pat at her belly.

“Let me show you the study and the private collection before you leave. It will take Jimmy some time to get back with the van,” Alistair said, so mildly and logically that Amber couldn't figure out how to protest it.