Wild Invitation

doing the looking was someone he’d like to eat up in small, delicious bites. “I’m going to court her first.” But he already considered her his—because not only did Annie Kildaire arouse his most primal instincts, she was his mate…and he was a possessive kind of cat.

Chapter 4
    ANNIE WAS READY by eight the next morning. Feeling jumpy and overexcited, she checked her clothing in the mirror one more time. She’d taken Zach’s advice and layered it up, beginning with a plain white tee and a thin V-necked cashmere-blend sweater that felt divine on her skin. On the bottom, she’d worn her favorite jeans, along with a pair of hiking boots, in case the drive turned into a walk. Completing her outfit was an insulated puffy jacket.
    “I look like an egg.” Caroline had made her buy the cheerful yellow garment, insisting it brightened her face. Annie had agreed because it looked sunny. But it wasn’t exactly flattering. Oh well, she thought, peeling it off and putting it on the little backpack that held her camera and water, it wasn’t as if this was a date.
    Sweet dreams.
    The memory of Zach’s voice sent desire skittering through her veins. All she could think about was what it would be like to have that voice whisper in her ear while those strong hands touched her with bold confidence. “Oh, man.” She pressed a hand flat to her stomach. “Calm, Annie. Calm.” It was difficult to listen to her own advice when she’d spent the whole night dreaming about him. The tattoo she’d glimpsed on his biceps fascinated her—in her dreams, she’d stroked her fingers over the exotic lines of it, pressed her lips to that muscled flesh…and then touched another, harder part of his body.
    “A whole
day
,” she almost moaned, and went to shove a hand through her hair before realizing she’d pulled it back into a ponytail. Now she glanced into the mirror and made a face. She’d eschewed makeup—who went to a forest with makeupon?—but had given in to the urge to slick on some gloss. It plumped up her lips…except that her lips were already plump. “Argh.” Too late, she remembered why she never used gloss. She was searching for a tissue to wipe it off when the doorbell rang. “Who on earth?” Running to the door, she pulled it open.
    A leopard in human skin stood on the other side. “I was hoping to wake you,” he drawled, leaning against the doorjamb. “But you’re all dressed.” He tried to look sad, but the wicked lights dancing in his eyes made that impossible.
    “You’re early,” she said, unable to stop staring at him. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, hiking boots, and a soft gray sweatshirt stamped with the San Francisco Giants emblem. Casual clothes, but his hair was still damp from the shower and his jaw freshly shaven.
    It was all she could do not to run her fingertips over that smooth skin and nuzzle the masculine scent of him into her lungs.
    “I woke up early—had somewhere I wanted to be.” He smiled at her, slow and persuasive. “Are you going to invite me in?” Raising a hand, he showed her a brown paper bag bearing the logo of a nearby bakery. “I brought breakfast.”
    She knew she shouldn’t let him get his own way so very easily, but stepped aside in welcome. “What did you bring?”
    “Come and see.” He waited for her to close the door, then followed as she led the way into the kitchen through the living room of her apartment. “You like to read.”
    She saw him glance at the paperbacks on the shelves, stacked on the coffee table, placed facedown on the arm of her sofa. “Yes.”
    “Me, too.” He put the bag on the counter and slid onto a stool. “Why are you standing over there?”
    She looked at him from the other side of the counter. “I thought I’d make coffee.”
    “Okay.” He kept the bag closed. “But you’re not seeing what’s in here until you come around to this side.”
    He was definitely flirting. And she was definitely playing with fire by allowing it to go on. Because if there was one thing she knew about predatory changeling men, it was that they were quite ferally possessive—and belonging to anyone was simply not on her agenda. Of course, she was also getting
way
ahead of herself. He was only flirting. It wasn’t as if he planned to dragher off to the chapel. “What do you read?” she asked, telling herself it was okay to try to flirt back, that this pull she felt toward him was nothing more than sexual