Animalistic (Tiger in Her Bed)

Chapter One

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 barista 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.

Trent’s gaze darted briefly to the napkin before it returned to the woman who had stolen his attention.

Follow her, his tiger demanded, she’s mine.

Trent rose without hesitation. “Sorry, not interested.”

He left without so much as a backward glance.

The hot Manhattan sun began unmercifully beating down the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk. It was late July, which in New York, was the height of the summer. It had been unseasonably hot lately, and quite humid. However, Trent wasn’t bothered by it at all. He had spent three tours in the Middle East during his commission with the Air Force, so the heat was like second nature now. He had been discharged about a month ago and returned to New York, temporarily crashing at his mom’s house. But now that he had found himself an apartment, he would be moving out of his mom’s by the end of the week.

The sidewalk outside the coffee shop bustled with people. A few gave him a once over, mostly women. Trent was used to that. He and his brothers were blessed with good looks, gifted from their parents. Sometimes he felt like his looks were more of a nuisance than anything. Girls wouldn’t leave him alone and guys hated him because he attracted too much attention.

Now, he searched through the crowd for the mystery woman from the café, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. She couldn’t have gotten too far on foot. Then, he locked in on her scent: strawberry and peach. But on this hot day, her scent mingled with other people’s sweat, steam from the subway grates, and all the other various smells of the city baking under a summer sun; the result was confusing. He sniffed again and gambled.

Left. She went left.

Trent headed in her direction. There were a few shops that lined the sidewalk before the building cut off into an alley. Dumpsters were filled to the brim. Junk was strewn all over the pavement. And a homeless person was sprawled in the corner, completely passed out.

Then he saw her.

With two guys.

Christ.

She was being mugged.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” Trent yelled as he ran in her direction.

The woman was clearly rattled. She clutched her purse while her attaché case lay ripped on the asphalt. Papers fluttered everywhere and yellow manila folders were smashed in alley muck.

Upon hearing his shouts, the muggers directed their attention to Trent. The bigger guy rushed toward Trent, cursing profanities as he swung a blade rather clumsily. Trent avoided the knife easily and disarmed him. Trent had been training in Krav Maga, a close combat martial art, since he was a teenager. With lightning-quick movement, he grabbed the guy’s arm and quickly wrenched it behind his back. Bones creaked. The man shouted. Trent applied more pressure to render the mugger helpless and the guy yelped in pain.