"Calm down? I'll show you calm, you arrogant son of a b.i.t.c.h!" she screeched, and bucked beneath him like a wild animal. Which was very nearly what she'd become.

Saskia was holding back her change by the skin of her teeth. Her already elongating and sharpening teeth. Her tigress stretched and clawed beneath her skin, demanding release. The beast had no compunction about showing an arrogant mate what Saskia thought of his ideas about crime and punishment. With four-inch claws and three-inch fangs she felt more than capable of taking on the angry male. Even if she didn't win, she'd certainly inflict enough damage to make him pay for the way he had treated her.

She felt her skin begin to ripple and tried to remember why shifting just now would be a bad move. She couldn't focus. Her anger burned too hot. The tigress yowled too insistently.

"Sa.s.s! Saskia!" Nicolas shouted above her, his green eyes burning intensely down at her. She felt his hands tighten around her wrists, shaking her, trying to snap her out of the change. She wanted to tell him he was probably too late.

She felt him shake her again, hard, then felt him wedge his legs between hers, spreading them wide and preventing her from striking him the incapacitating blow she had so looked forward to. He cursed, the sound a distant echo behind the fierce impulsion to let go, to let her beast shape slip through the human covering that imprisoned it. Her body began to twist, the hair on her arms standing erect, beginning to thicken and lengthen. She could feel it coming and threw back her head, her mouth opening to welcome her savage self- Then Nicolas bent down and seized her lips, surging inside and transforming her fury into l.u.s.t with the hard, dominant stroke of his tongue.

Saskia froze for the s.p.a.ce of several heartbeats; her tigress offered only a token protest, growling in surprised indignation, then melting into a purring ma.s.s of heated desire. She stopped fighting to hit her mate and instead fought to get closer, arching her body into his and wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him tight against her. In that breathless instant, she forgot why she wanted to fight him or to hurt him. Her tigress made the split-second switch from killing frenzy to mating frenzy without a whimper of protest. To the beast, pa.s.sion was pa.s.sion and the flavor of it mattered less than drinking it down.

The animal sank back beneath her skin as Saskia gave in to the impulse to join with her mate. She writhed beneath him, no longer trying to get free but wanting to rub every inch of herself against every inch of him. She mewled into his mouth, torn between wanting the intimate kiss never to end and needing to lay her tongue against his skin to take in the rich, spicy taste of him.

She felt the instant when he realized that she no longer struggled to escape him. His body stiffened, then relaxed into the intense focus of a predatory male. His fingers loosened cautiously from her wrists, hands sliding down her extended arms, ready to snap back into place should she attempt to strike him. Saskia had no such plans. As soon as she could, she lowered her arms and insinuated them between their bodies to grasp the hem of her sweater and yank the offending garment off over her head. The touch of cloth between them had become unbearable. Saskia needed to feel his skin against hers. When he drew back to give her more room, she expressed her impatience with an angry hiss.

Nicolas growled in return, a low rumble that originated deep in his chest and that Saskia could feel vibrating against her sternum. The sensation made her shiver and reach impatiently for his sweater next. Too much cloth still lay between them. He took matters out of her hands, stripping bare to the waist, then pressing down over her, letting her feel the rough heat of his lightly haired chest pinning her to the mattress. Saskia purred her pleasure and twisted to rub her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against him, the sound turning to an expression of displeasure when she realized her bra still separated them. Almost before the thought had registered, Nicolas lifted a hand and swiped at the lacy fabric, slicing the garment down the center with one precisely controlled claw.

Her breath hissed out in relief when her nipples made contact with his chest, the buds tightening into painful little points of arousal. She saw her mate's eyes narrow, their green depth all but glowing as he stared at the hard points for a heated instant before swooping down to capture one between his lips. Saskia moaned in reaction, her arms curling around his head to cradle him against her even as she lifted to press herself into his mouth. Nothing in her life had ever felt as good as the hot furnace of his mouth drawing on her with ferocious strength. Sharp little stings of pain only seemed to make the pleasure that much greater, until she found herself whimpering with every expert tug.

G.o.d, how she wanted him.

Intent on urging him faster, she squeezed her legs around his hips, the heels of her gray flannel pumps digging into the small of his back as she ground her pelvis against the arousal she could feel straining between them. Again, the feel of layers of fabric separating them made her furious and she released his head to grab at the waistband of his jeans and tug angrily. She didn't even notice the sound of denim ripping, just allowed her hands to skate appreciatively over the bare skin she exposed.

Nicolas released her nipple with a pop and reared over her, ignoring her furious roar as he efficiently rid himself of the last of his clothing. Saskia's eyes greedily drank in his nude form, roaming happily over the heavy width of his shoulders, the long plane of his torso, and the thick muscling of his thighs. When her gaze skated to his erection, she felt her eyes widen with a mixture of hunger and apprehension. As impressive as the rest of him, his p.e.n.i.s stretched long and thick over the taut muscles of his belly, the head gleaming with proof of his arousal. As if the size of him had left any doubts.

While she stared, her mate moved swiftly to deal with her own unnecessary garments. He flung her shoes in the general direction of her closet, flicked open the fastening of her trousers, and yanked the cloth down and away, taking her lacy panties with them. Clearly uncaring, he tossed everything aside and took a moment to stare at her pale, creamy nakedness before dropping his knees to the foot of the bed and crawling toward her like the hungry predator he was.

Her muscles tensed involuntarily. Instinct screamed at her to run, flee, escape, before she found herself devoured whole. But Saskia didn't want to escape; she wanted to be devoured, and she wanted this man to do it. Under her skin, her tigress recognized its mate and stretched in luxurious welcome.

Nicolas's eyes glowed a bright, intense emerald as he flowed toward her, muscles rippling and flexing in a breathtaking display of masculine power and beauty. Instinctively Saskia gathered herself into a crouch, pulling her legs up under her and shifting her weight forward until she balanced gracefully on her palms and the soles of her feet, her eyes fixed on her approaching mate. With her knees drawn up to her shoulders and her hands pressed to the mattress between her legs, she presented a tantalizing picture to the hungry male. The position stretched her open, placing her s.e.x on vivid display, but her arms partially shielded her, leaving her mate to catch fleeting glimpses of his ultimate goal.

He prowled closer, lowering his head and inhaling deeply to draw her scent inside him. She saw the way his eyelids drooped and his nostrils flared, as if he found her intoxicating, and she felt a surge of feminine satisfaction. He pressed his face to her chest and nuzzled, then trailed a path up to her shoulder with broad swipes of his tongue. When he reached the graceful curve he bared his teeth and nipped sharply. Rather than causing pain, the sharp bite made her purr, and she tilted her head to rub her cheek against his. The crisp rasp of stubble told her he hadn't bothered to shave when he returned to the apartment, and she savored the tactile pleasure of emerging whiskers.

Her mate growled softly, more a promise than a threat, and crowded closer to her. If she'd had a tail, it would have twitched in response. As it was, her tigress made do, sending her body twisting and turning until she dropped to her knees and faced the head of the bed, insinuating herself between Nicolas's arms and backing into him. With her bottom nestled against his groin, she arched her back like the cat she was and rubbed skin to skin in blatant invitation.

Nicolas didn't need to be asked twice.

With a dark rumble of satisfaction, he shifted his weight forward, covering her like a blanket. His chin hooked over her shoulder and nuzzled briefly before his teeth closed around the tender lobe of her ear in a primitive warning. He was done playing. Now he intended to claim his mate.

Saskia shivered at the feel of his big body surrounding hers. Warm skin pressed against her everywhere, his muscled thighs to the backs of hers, hard stomach and chest pinned against her back. His arms braced just under hers to bracket her in place. With his size and strength, he had her trapped. She couldn't have gotten away if she'd wanted to, but escaping was the furthest thought from her mind. She reveled in his overwhelming presence. Her body heated at the mere smell of him, the sensation of bare skin against bare skin making her soften and flood with moisture at her core. She wanted him, woman to man, mate to mate.

Needed him.

Desperately.

Her breath caught in her throat as he moved behind her with elegant power. A twist of his hips, a curve of his spine, and she felt his erection slide between her swollen lips, searching for her entrance. She tilted her pelvis eagerly, choking on a gasp when he found his mark and began to sink into her. The broad head of his c.o.c.k spread her open, stretched her to receive him. She felt a sharp sting, then a steady, itching burn as her body struggled against his invasion. The rough texture of the spines that encircled his glans rasped against her inner walls and made her whine, high and desperate. Instinctively she shifted as if to escape, and her mate snarled a warning. Saskia panted, pleasure and discomfort blending in a tangled mess of overwhelming sensation. She needed more, needed to get away, needed something so badly she could taste it, dark and bitter at the back of her throat.

Her fingers scrabbled at the bedclothes and she shifted her weight forward, trying to slide out from under her aroused mate. Nicolas roared and thrust his hips forward, even as his head dropped, teeth closing hard over her shoulder to pin her in place. She felt him enter deeper, working his way into her with shallow digs of his hips until, with a lunge, he broke through her internal barrier and slid home on a single, powerful thrust.

Saskia screamed. It started out as a sound of shock, of outrage at the physical insult to her body, but within the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat it became a primitive expression of exultation. Nicolas echoed it with a yowl of his own. She heard the savage satisfaction in his tone, the possessive note that told her he knew no other man had ever claimed her, and she shivered in reaction. Her virginity had never mattered to Saskia; she had kept it merely from a lack of motivation to be rid of it, and because in the back of her mind she had always felt as if she already belonged to Nicolas. The fact that he noticed and gloried in being the first to touch her thrilled her to her core.

Impatient to experience more, she pressed her shoulders down into the mattress and wriggled her hips with obvious demand. Her mate purred and laved the skin where he had bitten her moments before. Then he set his teeth to her again and held her still as he began a hard, steady rhythm of claiming.

She choked back ragged cries of pleasure as his body moved deep and strong inside her. His spines, designed to stimulate her to ovulation, rasped against her inner walls with every withdrawal. The sensation was like fingernails on her c.l.i.t, one part pain and three parts ecstasy. She thrust back against him, trying to match his demanding tempo, struggling to wring every drop of sensation from the fierce mating.

The sound of high-pitched whines and sobs almost distracted her until she realized they came from her own mouth, broken and ragged because of the way she had to struggle for breath. She might as well have been running a marathon, because every ounce of oxygen became a rare and precious resource. Under the sounds she made she could also hear the rough slap of flesh against flesh as his hips thudded against her backside on every powerful thrust. She heard the raw, wet sounds of her s.e.x clasping around him, and the animal grunts he made as he worked furiously over and within her trembling body.

She lost all track of time. They could have strained together for hours, or days, or seconds; Saskia had no idea. All she knew was that this, this was what her tigress had been craving, hungering for, since the moment she set her eyes on her childhood crush all grown up and glorious. The beast within her had needed to be taken, claimed, possessed, and the disappointment of the night before had driven her to the brink of her self-control. Now that control had snapped, and Saskia had become a creature of pure l.u.s.tful instinct, a needy, greedy female at the mercy of her ferocious mate.

Oh, how she gloried in it.

The firm grip on her shoulder didn't hurt in the least; instead it acted like a live wire from her mate's mouth straight to her quivering p.u.s.s.y. Every swipe of his tongue, every sting of his teeth, every draw of his mouth as he swallowed and purred and pinned her in place made her muscles clamp around him like a fist. In fact, she clasped around him so hard, it amazed her he could still manage to pull out far enough to power his mind-numbing thrusts.

Her breath worked in and out like a bellows, making her head spin and her throat go raw. She strained for air, strained for pleasure, strained for more until she thought her heart would burst, and she didn't even care. All she cared about was this moment and this man. This mating.

The climax snuck up on her. It stalked her like another tiger, crouching low in the camouflage of the forest, waiting and watching for its moment to strike. The moment came, unexpectedly, when strong white fangs released their grip on her shoulder and grazed a careful line up the curve of her neck to the sensitive hollow behind her ear. Hot breath stirred the tendrils of hair that curled there, caressed the tender skin into trembling softness. Then, a tongue came out, swiping at the tiny trickle of blood at her shoulder, following the path of the tendon back to that magic patch of flesh, and lapping away a salty film of sweat. A cry tore from her throat, rough and aching, and her body clenched, quivering endlessly on the edge of the precipice. Until her mate shifted, pressed himself high and hard inside her, parted his lips, and let his teeth graze the delicate sh.e.l.l of her ear. In a soft, toneless, airless whisper, he purred one word directly into her head and heart, and Saskia leapt blindly into climax.

He whispered, "Mine."

She woke feeling as if either she'd just been in a car crash and trauma had wiped away all memory of the incident or someone had snuck into her room while she slept and beat her soundly with a baseball bat, for some reason concentrating rather obscenely on the sensitive area between her thighs.

Wincing, Saskia rolled and stretched and discovered her muscles would scream in protest. She groaned, the sound oddly hoa.r.s.e, and memory came rushing back. With about the same force as the previously mentioned baseball bat, this time aimed right at the back of her head.

She was mated.

Quite thoroughly, from the feel of it.

Flipping onto her back, Saskia pulled the rumpled blankets to her chin and scowled at the empty bed beside her. Judging by the light spilling in through the windows, she had dozed until mid-afternoon-hardly surprising given the vigorous bout of pre-nap exercise-but the scene before her bore a disturbing similarity to that morning. Once again, she had been deserted in her own bedroom, her mate nowhere to be found.

Clearly, the two of them still needed to discuss a thing or two.

Saskia pushed herself into a sitting position and winced at the tenderness between her legs. When she slid her feet to the floor and took a tentative step toward the bathroom, she actually groaned. She'd known that the use of a bunch of unfamiliar muscles in an unfamiliar activity might leave her a little sore, but this seemed excessive. She could barely walk.

Hobbling carried her into the master bath, where she used the toilet, hissing in a breath when the tissue came away stained pink with blood. Knowing that a ruptured hymen led to virginal bleeding was one thing, but seeing proof of it in her hand felt like something very different. She felt a little contemplative as she stood at the sink washing her hands, then removed the few remaining pins from the tangled ma.s.s of her hair. It had fallen halfway down her back sometime during the wrestling match with Nicolas, and sleeping on the resulting birds' nest hadn't done her any favors. She brushed it out quickly and secured it in a no-nonsense ponytail before returning to the bedroom to dress.

She couldn't quite decide how she felt as she tugged on comfortable, stretchy yoga pants-about all her body would tolerate at the moment-over a plain set of cotton bra and panties. She had always thought that joining with her mate for the first time would leave her feeling content, at peace, secure in her mating and her place in the world. Instead, she felt as if she'd opened a door with excitement br.i.m.m.i.n.g over, only to find herself stumbling into a dark room without having any idea where to find a light switch. Sure, the s.e.x had been better than anything she'd ever read about or heard spoken of or even contemplated in the furthest reaches of her subconscious, but that didn't mean she had any idea how she ought to feel about it.

She tugged a soft jersey pullover on over her head and stared into the full-length mirror that decorated the inside of her closet door. Her face looked pale, and with her makeup from the morning a distant memory, the dark circles had returned to the skin under her eyes. She looked tired and vulnerable and a little uncertain. Was that really the way she wanted to appear when she went to beard her tiger in his den?

Was there really anything she could do about it?

Making a face at herself, Saskia closed the closet door and once again padded barefoot out of the master suite, searching for her mate. This time, at least, she managed to find him.

He'd left the door to his office slightly ajar, lamplight spilling out into the hallway. The interior room lacked windows, so when she poked her head inside she saw Nicolas's face lit by the glow of the banker's light atop his desk and the tall floor lamp beside it. He didn't look up when she stepped closer, but she saw his fingers tighten around the pen he held and she knew he had sensed her presence.

She pushed the door fully open and hesitated on the threshold. She felt like she should say something, but she couldn't think what. Did she apologize for screaming at him earlier? It didn't seem appropriate, considering she'd meant every word she'd said; and thanking him would feel ridiculous, not to mention pathetic. She supposed she could ask him what he was doing, but she wasn't sure she cared. What she really wanted to know was what he was thinking, but she couldn't ask him that for fear he might tell her.

Was it supposed to be this hard to talk to the man she'd be spending the rest of her life with?

Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, and Nicolas finally raised his head. For a minute, they stared at each other, neither speaking. It felt like the longest minute of Saskia's life. Then Nicolas carefully laid down his pen.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice even and very controlled.

It made Saskia shiver. "Fine."

Another awkward silence.

"Did you sleep well?"

She nodded stiffly. "Very well."

"Good."

He stared at her, his eyes dark green and impenetrable as virgin jungle. She could almost see the vines and bushes blocking her path.

Saskia cleared her throat. "I, uh ... I thought that ... since we both missed lunch ... I thought you might be hungry. I could make something to eat."

She held her breath, hoping he would recognize the offer as her tentative overture of friendship. Not that "friendship" seemed even remotely to describe their complex relationship, but it was the best Saskia could do while she still nursed both anger at the night before and the soreness from their earlier encounter.

He waited a long time to answer, so long that she wondered what she would do when he rejected her, but his words, when they came, almost rea.s.sured her.

"That sounds good. I just need a few minutes to finish up here."

As rea.s.surances went, it wasn't much, but Saskia would take it. At this point, any positive sign made the engagement between them feel less like a chain around her neck.

"Great." She tried a tentative smile, had no idea if it succeeded. "I'll just go get started."

Nicolas watched his mate walk away from him with an impa.s.sive expression on his face and the feel of his own claws digging into the flesh of his thigh behind the concealment of his large, heavy desk. The expression was meant to keep her from seeing how quickly and deeply her presence disturbed him, and the self-inflicted pain was to keep him from leaping over the polished furniture and dragging her to the floor for another round of primitive mating s.e.x.

Christ, she got to him like a drug. No man would ever need heroin if he could just spend five minutes in Nicolas's mate's addictive company. Not that he intended to let another man within fifty feet of her anytime this century. Even her father would need to be evaluated on an individual basis. Never in this life had Nicolas felt possessive of a woman before, but when it came to Saskia he felt himself turning into a jealous monster. What the h.e.l.l was going on?

Tossing aside his pen, Nicolas ran a hand roughly over his face and scrubbed restlessly at his short-cut hair. Less than twenty-four hours since their engagement, and the woman had him tied up in knots so tight, he didn't think anything but a chain saw could hack them loose. This did not fall in line with his plans.

He snorted. Every time he saw her, his plans skittered further and further out of his grasp. He reminded himself of a clumsy puppy chasing an ice cube across a kitchen floor, only he wasn't having nearly so much fun. Instead, he felt himself running in circles, somehow ending up further and further away from his goal of a peaceful, orderly, traditional life with the peaceful, orderly, traditional mate he had selected. About the only traditional thing he'd discovered about Saskia was that she'd somehow managed to come to him a virgin, a fact that had blown his mind a few hours earlier and that still had the power to make his d.i.c.k hard just thinking about it.

He hadn't been expecting that, he admitted, and the sharp, sudden scent of blood, the abrupt tensing of her muscles, the unexpected resistance he'd encountered inside her, had nearly given him a stroke. He'd known his mate had been raised strictly by parents who still valued the old Tiguri ways; it had been one of the reasons he'd agreed Saskia might suit him. But he'd never expected innocence. What woman these days made it to her late twenties without ever having s.e.x? Tiguri or no, his mate was beautiful and tempting and so stunningly sensual, he wanted to hide her away from all the men who must have noticed it just watching her walk down the street. How was it that none of them had managed to seduce her before this afternoon? Nic knew that if he had met her some other way, just run into her at a party or a club, he would have chased after her like a hound on a rabbit and he wouldn't have stopped until he'd had her under him, until he'd tasted all that hot, wild pa.s.sion he now knew bubbled beneath her elegant surface.

The memory of it made him grateful to be sitting down. It weakened his knees even as it hardened his d.i.c.k. He recalled the way she had fought him so fiercely in the beginning and the moment when his last, desperate attempt to subdue her had flipped that internal switch and transformed her anger into l.u.s.t. He'd been able to taste the change on her tongue, a spill of heavy sweetness washing away the metallic tang of her rage. He'd felt the way her body softened and yielded to him, the way she began to struggle not to get away but to get closer, to feel and experience more of the electricity their two bodies generated.

Nicolas groaned and sank back in his chair. He could almost feel her sweet flesh wrapped around him again, so tight and hot he'd almost lost his mind. h.e.l.l, he had lost his mind. Otherwise, there was no excuse for the rough way he'd taken her. Even when he'd registered her broken barrier, he'd been unable to pull back, unable to slow down, unable to do anything but rut hard against her. He'd staked a primitive claim on her, marking her with his scent and his teeth. He remembered the feel of her soft flesh under his jaw, recalled the taste of her blood in his mouth, the way she'd uttered the tigress's version of a purr, a deep, rumbling reowwwr escaping her with every exhaled breath. He shuddered, the sensory memory literally washing over him like an ocean wave, dragging him under and flipping him a.s.s over elbow until he barely knew which way was up. That was how his mate made him feel, and to Nicolas that was utterly unacceptable.

He shoved away from his desk, unable to sit still any longer. Obviously, the time had come to set down some rules for his new mate. She needed to understand the way he intended for this relationship to work. He had every intention of caring for her, providing for her, and treating her with respect, but if she thought he would allow himself to be led around by his d.i.c.k, she was sorely mistaken. He would make it clear now that he had taken charge of their union and he would steer it in the direction he deemed most appropriate. If she had a problem with that, she'd better start learning to cope, because Nicolas Preda had a plan, and he intended to see it through.

Five.

Nic had himself back under control a few minutes later when he made his way into the kitchen. The sight of his wife-politically incorrect and cliched as it might be-standing barefoot at the expansive counter contributed nicely to his newly acquired calm.

She looked at ease in the s.p.a.ce, her cla.s.sical features and feminine delicacy somehow striking a pleasing balance with the slick, dark modernity of the utilitarian room. She held a large, sharp knife comfortably in one hand, the other guiding a pile of cleaned and stemmed mushrooms into the path of the flashing blade. She barely hesitated when he approached, offering a tentative smile across the granite peninsula.

"I thought a stir-fry would be quick and easy," she said, and he noticed the small prep bowls of neatly chopped vegetables spread around her.

He tried to look pleased. "The vegetables look ... pretty."

She laughed. "Don't be scared. The beef is marinating in the fridge."

Nic relaxed in relief. "Ah." He lifted his head, sniffing at the fragrant air. "Something already smells pretty good."

"I put the rice on first. It should be ready by the time I have everything else cooked up."

"How long?" He didn't really care. As hungry as he was, he just wanted to keep her talking, and the subject of food seemed like a safe territory to explore.

She glanced over her shoulder at a digital timer. "About ten more minutes."

He nodded and slid his hands into his pockets, scanning the room for something else to say. When in doubt, he told himself, offer a.s.sistance. "Is there anything I can help with?"

"No, I've got it under control." She kept working for a couple of minutes, then glanced up with a tentative smile. "You could get us something to drink, though. I wouldn't mind if you wanted to keep me company."

Right. Drinks. Nic could handle that. He glanced at the clock on the double oven. Just after four. That meant the sun was over the yardarm, right?

"How about a gla.s.s of wine?"

"That sounds nice."

Crossing to the well-stocked cabinet against the wall, he scanned labels thoughtfully before reaching for a heavy green bottle. "Red okay?"

"Mm-hm."

He busied himself with the production of opening the wine, letting it sit on the counter to breathe while he pulled down a pair of balloon goblets. The cozy domesticity of the scene, each of them working at their ch.o.r.e, companionably sharing the family s.p.a.ce, eased a bit more of his tension, and Nic found himself almost relaxed and he took a seat on the stool at the other side of her work surface.

"Where did you learn to cook?" he asked, pouring them each a gla.s.s of wine.

She thanked him for hers but left it on the counter as she moved on from mushrooms to carrots. "I'd love to say Paris, mostly because I wish I'd gotten the chance to spend that much time there, but oddly enough, it was in Bern."

"Switzerland?"

She gave a small grin. "Yeah, not exactly famous for the cuisine, is it? But it's true. My school was just a couple of miles outside of the city, so I got to go there a lot. I spent so much time in this one little bistro that the owner finally got exasperated at my taking up s.p.a.ce and decided to put me to work. She dragged me back into the kitchen so she could show me how to make my own crpes, and after that she had trouble getting rid of me."

"You enjoyed it?"