Night of the Lions (Lions of Manhattan 1)

“What can I do for you, Catherine?”

“Much better.” She cleared his planner and pen from her way and flopped on his desk. “We need to talk.”

Gabe spread his hands in compliance. “I’m all yours.”

Cat cleared her throat as she examined his office with interest. Her gaze skittered from paintings on the walls, the bronze sculptures on the credenza, to the gold-gilded tomes on the shelves. Cat had taken a shower, and her hair was still damp. The fresh smell of soap drifted to his nostrils. She had changed to another of his shirts. This time she had chosen a Lacoste Oxford shirt. She’d rolled the sleeves up to her mid-forearms. The hem hung just above her knees. She had also helped herself to a pair of his white, athletic socks. They wrapped her shapely legs up to her knees. Gabe couldn’t help but smile. He loved the way she had comfortably helped herself to his clothes. He found it very sexy. Intimate.

“You haven’t told me what happened to Duval. Did you get the police involved at all?” she asked.

Gabe tapped his fingers on his desk, resisting the urge to take her leg, peel off the sock and examine it up close and personal to see if her skin was as smooth as it looked. “No. My security personnel handled this matter quietly.”

“You mean you have Duval in your custody?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“I need to see him.”

“Revenge?”

“And questions. But yeah, it wouldn’t hurt to kick his fat ass a bit. That son of a bitch told me I was good for nothing except dancing at the pole. I know I’m green in this private investigator thing, but I’m no stripper material.”

Gabe frowned, straightening in his seat. He hadn’t thought of what Duval might have done to her before Danielson had prevented him from stuffing Cat into the trunk of his car. The realisation sent a sinking feeling through his guts. “Did he touch you?”

“As if.” Cat made a face. “You think I would have let him if I was conscious?”

“I think not.”

“You know Duval?”

“Not personally. I k

now of him.”

“That’s what he told me about you. He said you and him were in the same circle back in Cape Town.” Cat leant forward, curious. “What kind of circle?”

Always in her detective mode. “I love to see you wearing my shirt,” Gabe said to distract her.

“Quid pro quo?”

“You ready to bargain?”

“Ha-ha! I’m wearing three of your undershirts. See?” Cat pulled the shirt down to show him the layers of white V-neck she was wearing underneath the Oxford.

“Are you wearing my underwear, too?”

“I’m not that crazy, mister.”

Gabe purred. This kitten was turning out to be the most interesting woman he had ever met. He patted his thighs. “Sit on my lap and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Cat briefly hesitated. But she slid from his desk and bravely straddled him. Gabe groaned in silence. Lust burnt his veins. Dear God. His cock jumped with anticipation when her bare pussy pressed against his groin. That defied the whole purpose of layering herself in his clothes, didn’t it? He couldn’t wait to peel off everything until she had nothing to hide her body with in his presence. Gabe wrapped his arms around her waist. He didn’t ever want to let her go.

“What kind of circle did you share with Oliver Duval in South Africa?” she asked.

“Shifter.”

“Shifter?”

“Werelions.”