Liger Games

Liger Games Jan Darby (c) 2009

Liger Games Jan Darby Published 2009 ISBN 978-1-59578-626-5 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2009, Jan Darby. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Vikky Bertling Cover Artist J Savoy This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Blurb Emily Carter is a professional organizer hired by a state politician to pack up his vacation home in the Berkshires. En route, she is adopted by a liger (lion/tiger hybrid, largest of all cats), whom she names Baby. At night, she’s lulled to sleep by his purr and awakens to find him gone, with a naked man prowling her bedroom. Baby, a/k/a Mark, has been in feline form for several years, having rejected the complications of human existence for the simpler life as a cat. Emily makes him want to be human again, at least for a while. His cat brain views her as a new toy, and he wants to chase her down and play with her. Emily, the very opposite of spontaneous, is nevertheless drawn into his games. Together, the lady and the liger learn to work and play together, evading a fame-seeking blogger intent on getting a scandalous story about the politician.

Chapter One With the police station still four, dimly-lit blocks away, Emily Carter heard soft footsteps behind her. She paused to listen, but there was only silence. She resumed walking, and, once again, the padding sounds echoed behind her. When in doubt, she thought, her best bet was to create an action plan. Lists had gotten her through her parents' funerals ten years ago, the establishment of her professional-organizer career, and countless other crises. She just needed another list: How To Escape From A Mugger In Five Easy Steps. Step 1: Move faster. Emily picked up the pace. The footsteps behind her did, too. After a block, she stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk and fell against the lamppost. Rubbing her newly bruised shoulder, she heard the footsteps gaining on her. She was breathing rapidly, exhausted, and a little light-headed. It was obvious she couldn't outrun her follower, even over the remaining distance to the police station. Time for step two on her list. If she couldn't avoid the problem, the next best choice was confrontation. Convince herself, and the mugger, that she wasn't a worthwhile target. Emily spun to face her unseen follower. "Go away. You're wasting your time. My car and purse were already stolen. There's nothing left for you." Emily waited for the sound of her would-be attacker leaving. Instead, there was only silence. "I'm warning you," she shouted. "I'm not a pleasant person when I get angry, and you're really getting on my nerves." This time, she heard a soft sound, like fabric brushing against a hard surface. An indistinct shape emerged from an alley twelve feet away. Her rapid breathing came to a sudden, startled stop. Whatever had been following her wasn't a man. The shape was too large and too low to the ground for that. Instead, it was some kind of animal. Sort of like a golden retriever, but with mottled fur and a great deal more bulk. It had to be four feet high and eight feet long. And that was without counting the tail, which really needed to be counted, given its size and annoyed swish. Time to revamp her list: How To Escape From A Wild Animal In Five Easy Steps. Step 1: Figure out what kind of animal it was. Her best guess was that it was a wild cat of some sort. A lion or a tiger. She could never remember which animal had the mane and which had the stripes. Not that it mattered; this one had some of both. Step 2: Remember to breathe. After all, there weren't any wild cats in Massachusetts these days. No one had ever been mauled by a tiger—or a lion, for that matter—on the main street of a town right off the Massachusetts Pike. She sucked in a ragged breath, filling her lungs and then exhaling slowly. Step 3: Think rationally. She could not possibly be looking at a wild animal. She was just imagining it. Perhaps a weird reaction to the antibiotics she'd taken for a sinus infection, right before her purse had been stolen. She'd filled the prescription here in this town whose name she'd already forgotten, at a local independent pharmacy, instead of at her regular place. She'd read newspaper stories about struggling business owners purchasing ineffective counterfeit drugs. That could explain everything from her increasingly pounding headache to the hallucination. Time for Step 4: Consider the options. She could turn and run, but she'd probably fall again, and, besides, there was nothing real to run away from. She could scream for help, but the streets were deserted, and the retail buildings around her were dark and apparently unoccupied. That left only thing to do: continue, calmly and deliberately, to the police station, where there would be enough people and bright lights to scare away imaginary threats. Step 5: Act. This was always the hard part of any plan. It sounded easy. Just turn to face the right direction. Except she couldn't. She wanted to, she knew it was the right thing to do, but, for once, she couldn't carry out the actions on her list. Her muscles refused to obey. She could not turn her back on the hallucination. Her eyes were locked with his, and she couldn't break free of his stare.

She dragged her left foot backwards, then the right one. If anyone was watching her, she probably looked like the film of a mummy, being played backwards. She didn't care what she looked like; anything that got her closer to the police station was a good thing. As she moved backwards jerkily, the image that looked like an enormous wild cat, but couldn't possibly be a wild cat, slowly and gracefully padded toward her. He looked incredibly real, but she'd never had a hallucination before, and she supposed that being convincing was the fundamental job description for a hallucination. It stopped every step or two, as if to reassure her, but Emily suspected it was just a skill he'd perfected while hunting his doomed prey. The old "look harmless until it's time to pounce" tactic. She closed her eyes and reviewed her list in case she'd missed something. Breathe. She filled her lungs and slowly exhaled. Check. Next, think rationally. She'd been boringly sane for nearly thirty years, and now she was finally experiencing a little taste of insanity in the form of a hallucination. It would go away eventually. Check. Her options? Unchanged. Check. Finally, the action plan. Keep walking backwards. Check. Before she could take her next step, though, she heard the hallucination approaching. He stopped beside her, not quite invading her personal space, staying about two feet away. She wasn't just having visions, she thought, but hearing imaginary sounds, too: the softness of padding paws, which wasn't as worrisome as the sharpness of claws tapping the sidewalk. After a few moments of waiting for her imagination to maul her to death, she noticed the sounds had given way to complete silence. No people, no vehicles, and—best of all—no wild animal sounds. The hallucination was over. She cautiously opened first one eye and then the other. The hallucination was not over after all. It was sitting beside her, right where she'd heard it stop. The cat nodded at her, in what appeared to be a greeting, as if he'd been waiting for her to pay attention to him. He didn't move, and she had the impression that he was trying to reassure her. Or perhaps he was curious about the woman who'd conjured him up from her imagination. Hallucination or not, he was mesmerizing. He watched her with unblinking, golden eyes. She knew she had a plan, but under his intense stare, she couldn't remember what it was. For now, all she could do was look into those curiously intelligent eyes and wait for him to move, to break the hold his gaze had on her. Finally, he rose and stalked around her, his fur brushing against her jeans, before he began padding away. She took a shaky breath. He didn't intend to have her for a midnight snack, after all. He was now between her and the police station. Time to revise her action plan and move back toward the relative safety of the pharmacy where she'd gotten the defective antibiotics. The cat growled and circled, dropping into a crouch in front of her, effectively blocking her retreat. She froze. He didn't have to growl twice. If he didn't want her to move, she could stand still for an hour. Or two. Twelve, tops. Emily tentatively took a few shallow breaths. The enormous cat seemed to approve of her continued breathing. That simplified matters a little. Standing on the street overnight wasn't going to be fun, but she could do it. Not breathing for all that time would have been more of a challenge. She was starting to relax enough to take slower, deeper breaths when the cat emitted another growl. Or maybe it was a small roar. He sounded more annoyed than angry, though, and Emily knew without a doubt that she'd disappointed him somehow. An annoyed creature of this size, even if he allowed her to breathe, was still a threat. He nudged her, forcing her to turn in the direction she'd been walking originally, toward the police station to report the theft of her car. He took up a position behind her and pushed her between the shoulder blades with his head, until she stumbled forward. "Make up your mind," she snapped. "Do you want me to stand still or to move?" He nudged her forward again, a little less gently, but still without breaking any bones or severing any arteries. He wanted her to do his bidding, but apparently he preferred not to bruise her in the process. For the moment, they both wanted the same thing: to get her to the police station. Maybe it was just her

eyes adjusting to her surroundings, or maybe it was just that surviving an encounter with a wild animal had made her feel invincible, but the streets didn't seem quite as dark and threatening as they had before the cat appeared. Emily resumed her original route. The cat maintained a position to her left, on the outer edge of the sidewalk, with his head and shoulders slightly ahead of her. He almost seemed to be protecting her from the non-existent traffic while herding her in his chosen direction. A real gentleman, she thought. In fact, now that she wasn't afraid he'd kill her, she rather enjoyed his silent, confident companionship. He led her straight to the police station before assuming a position on the steps, blending in with the carved lions decorating the approach to the old-fashioned stone building. She continued on to the brightly-lit main doors to the police station. Just outside, she paused to glance over her shoulder, but couldn't see the wild cat. Definitely a hallucination, then. She must have noticed the lion statues on the way down this street to the pharmacy earlier, and her drugged mind had used them to produce an imaginary but oddly reassuring cat to escort her to her destination. The theory made sense, as long as she didn't dwell on the fact that the statues looked more placid and selfsatisfied than ferocious. They were, at least by contrast, pale white, chubby and small, while her imaginary cat was dark orange, sleek and enormous. **** He purred contentedly while he waited. She was the one. Every instinct he had, both feline and human, proclaimed it. She was the one who… His train of thought petered out. What was it, exactly, he was supposed to do with her? Something fun. He was sure of that much. But, in this form, his thoughts were limited. Good, bad, hungry, tired. He knew those things, and they didn't quite apply to her, or perhaps they all did. For now, all that mattered was that she was his. It would be nice if she'd stop yelling at him. If he were in human form, her attitude would have hurt his feelings and he wouldn't have been able to concentrate on what really mattered: keeping her. Fortunately, ligers didn't need complicated reasoning. They worked on instincts, starting with the most fundamental one: chase anything that moved. He had a new toy now, and she moved in ways that promised them both a great deal of fun.

Chapter Two When Emily opened her eyes the next morning, her sinus headache and the hallucination were both gone. Thanks to a good night's rest, all that remained of last night's disasters was the fading memory of dreams in which she'd snuggled up to a warm, purring cat that was almost as large as the bed itself. It had to have been the drugs, she thought as she threw back the covers. Curling up with a wild animal was a stupid, possibly even a fatal, thing to do. In her dreams, though, she'd felt safe, like a child who could only fall asleep after being tucked in with a favorite stuffed animal. She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the remembered reassurance, before grabbing the notepad from the bedside table to start her daily list of things to do. It was primitive compared to her PDA, but it would have to do. First up was calling the police, and she took care of that immediately. They let her know that her car had been found, abandoned by the side of the road, with the key still in it, but the gas tank empty and her luggage stolen. All she had to do now was to catch a taxi to the impound lot, claim her car, replace her stolen antibiotics prescription, and she could be back on the road to her original destination in a couple hours. Next on the list was a brisk shower, but she lingered under the water, reluctant to resume her trip. She hadn't wanted to take this job in the first place. It involved leaving her home base of Boston for the small town of Wharton, located in the Massachusetts Berkshires . The client was long-time state senator, Gordon Hughes, and, as a self-employed professional organizer still trying to make a name for herself, she couldn't afford to turn down someone as influential as he was. Nor could she afford to linger in the hotel any longer. She had work to do, and the sooner she finished the Senator's job, the sooner she'd be able to get back to her other clients in Boston. She turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. Fortunately, the project in Wharton was a simple one, requiring simple persistence more than skill. All she had to do was empty out the Senator's vacation home before contractors arrived to renovate the place. She'd be starting half a day late, but the house was unoccupied, and, without distractions, she could work around the clock, completing the job as quickly as possible to get back to her other clients in Boston. Emily left the bathroom with renewed determination, only to falter when she noticed that her hallucination had returned. Just like in her dreams, he was almost as massive as the bed he was sprawled across. She closed and rubbed her eyes, but when she opened them again, he was still there. He watched her unwaveringly, seemingly intent on convincing her he was more real than anything she'd ever believed in. More real than her client schedule, and the charts and lists she depended on. She couldn't break their eye contact, even as her thoughts spun frantically, searching for an explanation. She was well rested, and it had been over twelve hours since she'd taken any medication. It would have had to be one hell of a drug to last this long, with this intense a hallucination. Especially since she didn't seem to have any other side-effects; her head was clear, and she wasn't drowsy. In fact, her sinus infection seemed to be improving, which suggested that she had actually taken the standard antibiotics last night. There had to be another explanation. She'd ruled out drug-induced hallucinations, but there had to be at least a dozen other reasons why a wild cat might be staring at her. She concentrated on her list. The cat could be a stress-induced hallucination, but she doubted it. Right before she'd seen him, she'd been anticipating an easy week at a job that was more vacation than work. She might still be dreaming, but a quick and painful pinch on the back of her hand convinced her she was awake. There weren't a dozen explanations for what she was seeing on her bed, after all. There were only two: either she was insane or a wild cat had adopted her. No, really, there was only one explanation: she was insane, and she'd created a wild animal to keep her company in her madness. She'd been working too hard. That had to be it. She plunked herself down on the bed beside her imaginary friend. As long as she was insane, she might as well enjoy the experience. Normally, she'd never risk her life by getting up close and personal with a wild

animal, but since the cat wasn't real, she might as well indulge her fantasies. She patted him on the head. The fur felt just like a domestic cat's, undoubtedly because she was creating the sensory illusions from her own past experiences. She continued patting him, and he began to purr. She slid her hand down his neck to feel the vibrations in his throat. He rubbed his head against her palm, and then rolled onto his side, leaning heavily against her. It was everything she could have asked for. She scratched his throat, working up to his chin. He remained still while she ran one finger around the permanent smile and up, past the whiskers, along his sharply defined cheekbone and around his ear. She was working her way down toward his shoulders when he gave his head a quick shake, fluffing up the facial fur she'd flattened. The movement caused the whole bed to quake, almost unseating her, and sending ripples through the rumpled covers. The details she'd created for the hallucination were extraordinary, she thought. She'd even remembered to add shadows in the right places among all the folds of the sheets and blankets. Last night's dreams of cuddling with him had felt just as real, both as they'd happened and in her memories of them. They hadn't been disjointed and illogical, the way dreams usually were. She'd wanted to hug someone big and warm and strong, and she had. Perfectly logical. At least if she discounted the fact that he was a wild animal, capable of severing her jugular or snapping her neck with a careless move. He hunched his shoulders, as if asking why she'd paused in her patting. She felt the ripple of muscles, and wondered where she had learned enough about a cat's anatomy to create this hallucination. She was an excellent student when it came to categorizing species, but she'd never been any good at the rest of science. She knew virtually nothing about feline anatomy, and, now that she thought about it, even less about the properties of light and shadow for the ripples on the bedspread. What she was seeing and feeling wasn't coming from her imagination. There was far too much detail, and much of it was not the sort of thing she would have included in a fantasy companion. She stared at the cat's head on her lap, his lips slightly parted, with hints of the sharpness beneath. Oh, God. He was real. She was lucky to be alive. She pushed him off her lap, jumped up and backed away from the bed. What was it the experts recommended for confronting a wild animal? There had to be a standard operating procedure. Avoiding sudden movements had to be on the list, but it was too late for that, and she'd survived her initial panicky move. Now what? She vaguely recalled something about eye contact. Avoid it or maintain it? She couldn't remember, and in any event, his stare had captivated her again, so she didn't have much choice. Her breathing was too fast and shallow, and she felt dizzy. Running out of the room in hysterics wouldn't help, and he would probably pounce before she could make it halfway to the door. The room phone was next to his head and its big, sharp teeth. She hadn’t had time to replace her stolen cell phone. Calm. She had to remain calm. He didn't seem all that dangerous. Not that she knew anything about tigers. She couldn't quite define the glint in his eye. It was almost human, though. She could practically read one of his thoughts: Women! They always take so long to get ready in the morning. And then she realized she was naked. Along with impatience, that glint unquestionably included male appreciation for a female body. Much too real and, in the circumstances, unappreciated. She risked reaching out to snag a towel and wrap it around herself. The cat wrinkled his nose in obvious disappointment but didn't seem annoyed by her movement. He continued to watch her closely, almost as if he were worried about her and wanted to be sure she didn't do anything stupid. Since she couldn't remember the dos and don'ts of dealing with wild animals, the best she could do was to treat the cat like the wildest animal she'd had experience with: male clients. They responded best when she assumed control. She spoke firmly. "Look, Buddy." The tiger's soft growl cut her off. On the other hand, maybe a more conciliatory tone was called for her. Business owners quickly learned to be flexible. "I didn't mean to insult you. It's not that you look like a Buddy or anything—I have a very nice

cousin named Buddy, you know, so it's really a compliment—but I don't know what else to call you." He stared at her with those unnerving golden eyes. "I see. We have a new game. I'm trapped in here until I guess your name." No problem. She knew lots of names. She could do this. As long as she wasn't limited to three guesses before he ate her for breakfast. Come to think of it, she was hungry, too. She hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, what with all the little distractions she'd had. She wasn't really in the mood for games. "You wouldn't happen to be Rumpelstiltskin, would you?" He stared at her, balefully now. "Leo?" Unblinking golden eyes answered her question. "Simba?" She could have sworn that this time he rolled his eyes, clearly offended. He didn't like lions' names, then. Maybe he was a different kind of cat. "Tigger?" This time he growled menacingly and rose on all four paws. "I've had enough of this game, too," Emily announced, with what she hoped was convincing bravado. For the moment, she was stuck here with a wild cat, just like Katharine Hepburn's character in the old movie, Bringing Up Baby. That character hadn't let the panther intimidate her, and neither would Emily. "I'm going to call you 'Baby,' and we're leaving now, and that's all there is to it." The tiger tilted his head to one side as if considering her latest name for him, and then his huge, muscular shoulders shrugged his acceptance. He yawned, displaying far too many sharply pointed teeth in a bonecrunching jaw. Maybe a movie wasn't the very best source of information on wildcat-taming, she thought. She held her breath until he dropped his chin onto his paws. He continued to watch her closely, giving her the distinct impression that he appreciated her naked form. He was just a cat, she told herself. An animal without inhibitions, without any understanding of nudity. Still, she kept her towel around her as she grabbed her clothes to take into the bathroom with her instead of dressing under the scrutiny of those intelligent golden eyes. On her way past the bed, her arm brushed against the cat. Even now that she knew he wasn't a harmless hallucination, his warmth and strength were more comforting than threatening. He radiated a sense of security. Wait. Security? Now she really was imagining things. If anyone was safe in this room, it was him, she thought, and jerked her hand back to relative safety. A few minutes later, fully dressed in the same clothes she'd worn yesterday, she made a mental note to add a quick clothes-shopping trip to her list of things to do in Wharton. Emily emerged from the bathroom to find her cat still sprawled across the entire bed, snoring lightly. Everyone knew it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, and she had a sneaky suspicion it was even more true of sleeping tigers. Or lions. Whatever he was. **** Baby awoke at the sound of the hotel door opening. A single leap, and he slipped through the closing door to keep his new toy within reach. He should have had trouble hiding in the non-existent shadows of early morning, but he'd long since learned how unobservant human beings were. They'd lost most of their self-preservation skills. They didn't pay attention to what senses they still had, ignoring scents that should have sent them running in panic. They couldn't even see what was right in front of them. Or, in his case, what was beside them, lurking in the shadowy shrubbery lining the sidewalks. He tracked his prey, first to the police station and then to the impound lot. Next on her agenda was the pharmacy where he'd first seen her. He didn't bother to follow her little red car there, but took some short-cuts where he'd be less noticeable. He'd seen her pull into the rear parking lot, but by the time it was safe for him to emerge from the sparse downtown landscaping, she'd already disappeared into the building. After checking to make sure the area was deserted and likely to remain so for some time, he padded over to inspect her car. In other circumstances, he might have been more enthusiastic about the little two-seater. It

was just the sort of car he used to admire: red, fast and powerful. At the moment, though, he wished she drove an SUV. He wasn't going to fit into the Mercedes. And the woman—he'd heard the man at the impound lot call her Emily—would use the car's too-small size as an excuse to leave him behind. He placed his front paws on the hood, careful not to scratch the paint, and looked through the windshield at the passenger seat. Impossible. A full-grown liger would never fit in a space meant for a scrawny human being or some lesser type of feline. He wouldn't even fit all that well in his human form. He padded around to the driver's door. He refused to be left behind. He was bigger than she was. If necessary, he could use his strength to prevent her from reclaiming the car when she came out of the pharmacy. He would do whatever was necessary to keep her from escaping. Anything except morph. He'd committed to life as a liger, and he wasn't changing back now, even if he could. A moment later, Emily came down the alley to the parking lot and caught sight of him. "I was wondering if you were going to show up again." She seemed glad to see him. He began to purr, something he had no control over, and which had led to some awkward moments in the past. He couldn't recall the details, but the embarrassed feeling was clear. Not something he wanted to experience with this woman. "Thank you for staying with me last night." She approached him hesitantly and reached out to touch his neck. She gasped, and he knew he'd startled her with the rumbling of his purr. He couldn't help himself. His purring grew louder and his eyes drifted close. Not counting last night, when she'd been asleep and hadn't known what she was doing, no one had touched him in… He couldn't remember how long it had been. Certainly not recently. And never while in this form. No one had dared. She continued to pat his neck, tentatively, and obviously prepared to jump away if he moved. "I was hoping you'd be here.” Silly human. Of course he'd be wherever she was. "I really needed a friend last night, and you were there," she said. "I'm glad I got the chance to say goodbye." Goodbye? He had no use for that word. Hadn't needed it since he'd chosen this form. It was a bad word, though. He remembered that much from the days right after the last time he'd used that word, and none of his usual games had been able to amuse him. "You need to leave now," she said, making a shooing motion. "Go home. To the zoo, or wherever it is you live. People are probably looking for you, worrying about you." His purring continued, even as his muscles tensed with the determination to stay with her. He couldn't let her drive away in her puny car. He was fast, but only in short spurts, not for however long she'd be on the highway. He only had a vague idea of her ultimate destination—somewhere in the Berkshires, she'd said—but cats were better at keeping their prey from leaving than they were at tracking. She seemed to realize he was blocking her access to the vehicle. "I have to go now. I should have been at the Senator's house last night." He shook his head from side to side, remaining steadfastly between her and the car door. "Look," she said. "I let you shepherd me to the police station last night, because that's where I wanted to go, and I thought you'd tear out my jugular if I went anywhere else. Now I know—I hope—that you're not going to hurt me, and I have to leave." She reached past him for the door handle, and he roared, just enough to let her know that he disapproved. She jumped back. "Okay, maybe I can stay and chat for a little longer. What would you like to talk about? " If he could sigh, he would have. Communication was going to be a problem for them, more than for most couples. The door of the pharmacy swung open, and she spun around to stand in front of him, as if blocking him from view. He leaned his head to one side to see past her. A teen-aged clerk was leaning against the wall,

smoking a cigarette. The kid wasn't a threat to anyone. Still, it was time for them to leave. He butted his head against Emily's back to get her attention. She didn't turn around, just made a backwards shooing motion. "Go. Now. I'll distract him." How sweet, he thought. She was worried about him. He purred contentedly. She glanced over her shoulder. "Not now. He might hear you. You've got to leave." He couldn't laugh any more than he could sigh. He settled for rubbing his cheek against her shoulder blades to let her know he wasn't going anywhere without her. She waited until the clerk went back inside the store and then turned to face him, hands on her hips. "We can't stay here forever. If you won't go back to wherever you came from, where you'll be safe, you'll have to come with me. But we have to leave now." She was starting to understand him, but they still had a problem. He rose on his rear legs, stretching out to his full eight-foot-plus length to tower over her. She drew in her breath suddenly, but she didn't scream. He appreciated a good scream as much as the next liger, especially when it was followed by an energetic chase. He needed her cooperation at the moment, though, so he was relieved that she didn't panic easily. He dropped down onto his front paws again. Her eyes, still unnaturally wide from shock, looked from him to the car. "What if we put down the convertible top? It's not really the right weather for cruising, but I think you'd fit that way." He glanced over his shoulder. It might work. "Let's just hope I don't get arrested for transporting a wild animal." She unlocked the car and reached inside to begin the process of rolling down the top. "Or cause a series of accidents when the other drivers see you." Baby froze in place, demonstrating that, while he couldn't blend in with the background of the red car, he was perfectly capable of emulating a children's stuffed animal. It wasn't all that different from when he lay in wait for prey, knowing that the least movement would scare it away. He spent the next two hours squashed into a seat that was too small, in a position he wasn't designed to maintain. Not too big a price to pay to stay near Emily. He'd waited in narrow hiding spots at least that long for lesser prey. Of course, then he hadn't been stuffed into a moving vehicle, with bugs flying into his eyes. Emily left the highway, and continued through increasingly heavily treed areas until she reached the end of a cul-de-sac. She pulled into a dirt driveway that a larger car couldn't have navigated, due to the invasion of overgrown shrubbery. Once within the greenery, he could see hints of a sprawling mansion a couple hundred yards further on. Emily parked in front of the garage. "This is where we'll be staying. You can get out now. Just promise me you won't eat any of the neighbors." Disappointed that she still suspected him of harming innocent bystanders, he turned to look at her. She had picked up a pad of paper she'd taken from the hotel, and was making some notes on it, but he imagined she was also watching him covertly. Peripheral vision. That was one thing he missed while he was in this form. He couldn't watch her without looking at her directly, and his direct stare tended to unnerve most humans. Not this one, though. She might actually have been teasing him with her comment about his eating habits. Teasing an uncaged, unchained, unsleeping liger. Not the sort of behavior he expected from his prey, although it did promise to add to the fun. He growled, not so much at her as at the situation. It would be easier if he could explain. But to do that, he'd have to change form, and there were some things he wouldn't do, even for her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you wouldn't eat anyone, Baby." He purred. There was something pleasant about having a name. He hadn't had one in a long time. He hadn't needed one. The liger part of him didn't need one now either, he thought, but the human part did. She fished a keyring out of her pocket and headed for the side door to the house while he checked out the exterior of their new lair. Large, he thought. Solid. Too many doors and windows in the front, though, which

would make it difficult to patrol effectively. The back yard, to the extent he could catch glimpses of it through cracks in the fencing, was large enough to hunt in, but there was no scent of the mice he'd been salivating for. He'd have to settle for the meat Emily had bought at a small grocery store on the edge of town. "I wish the place were a little more isolated, for your sake," she said. "Not that I could tell the Senator that I'd changed my mind about the job now, even if the place were condemned and infested with rodents." Finally, she was talking about something he could completely understand and appreciate. He could use a little snack right about now, and a mouse or ten would fit the bill nicely. He climbed out of the car, and stretched as only a cat can. First, he'd check out his new territory, and then it was time for some fun and games with Emily.

Chapter Three Emily spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the place, making lists and trying not to trip over Baby. He was acting more like a dog, following her everywhere, never letting her out of his sight, staying within a few inches of her. Most of the time, he just watched her. A few times, when she'd become so engrossed in her work that she'd forgotten he was there, he'd startled her by rubbing the side of his face against her shoulders, marking both sides of her, and then retreating to watch her again. After they both had dinner—roasted chicken breast for herself, and unroasted chicken and beef for Baby—she opted to make an early night of it, and headed upstairs to the bedroom she'd chosen to use during the next few days. Baby still followed, which surprised her a little, because she thought of cats as nocturnal creatures and expected him to want to be let outside as soon as the sky darkened. Instead, just as he'd done at the hotel, Baby jumped onto the bed, claiming most of it for himself, but leaving just enough room for her to lie down beside him. She was too tired to find another room, and she suspected Baby would have followed her anyway. She simply stripped off her jeans, and then forced her way under the covers with her back to him, leveraging her feet against his spine to shove him gently onto his side of the bed. He didn't seem to mind her moving him, which was a relief. She still wasn't sure she'd done the right thing in taking him with her. When she'd first seen him in the pharmacy's parking lot, she'd been pleased, despite herself. Logically, she knew he would be better off somewhere else. He didn't belong in the middle of a residential area, but she didn't know where he did belong. He certainly didn't seem to be afraid of human beings, so maybe he'd been raised in a zoo or a circus. She should probably have told the police about him, once she knew he wasn't a hallucination, but she was afraid they might think he was dangerous and shoot him. No, she'd been right to take him with her. She could do some research, find someone who could care for him properly, and then she'd turn him over. Until then, she was keeping him with her, where she could keep him safe. She had to admit her decision might have been influenced by the glow she'd experienced when he'd found her after leaving the hotel. She still felt special when she thought about it. He'd clearly chosen her, specifically. There were plenty of other people in this town, and he hadn't attached himself to any of them. Just to her. Someone who'd never had a pet before, not even a goldfish. She shifted guiltily, and her hip bumped his spine. It might have been better for him if he'd chosen someone else. She'd always been better with things that could be sorted and filed, than with things that had minds of their own. He was snoring softly. He wasn't worried about her ability to care for him. He probably thought he could take care of himself, but she knew he needed her until she could find a permanent home for him. He was her responsibility now. For someone who prided herself on her advance planning, she was developing a troubling pattern of impulsivity. Last year she'd jumped into self-employment without a safety net, last week she'd accepted the Senator's job without fully researching it, and now she was harboring a wild animal. Fortunately, the basic process for any new experience was always the same. Make a list, set the priorities, and do them, one by one. That's how she'd gotten through the first year of her business, that's how she'd prepared for the Senator's job, and that's how she'd take care of the cat. First up was establishing their respective boundaries. She couldn't help him if she didn't know what he would accept from her. Would he let her touch him again? She recalled how safe and warm she'd felt last night, when she'd wrapped herself around his back. Now, even from several inches away, she could feel the animal heat he radiated in the unseasonably chilly spring air. Last night, she'd thought it was just a dream, so she hadn't felt the need to be cautious, and he'd accepted her touch as if they'd shared a bed for years. Perhaps he was used to sleeping with his previous owner. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and brushed her hand along the tips of his fur, from the top of his shoulder to the base of his ribs. He began to purr, and the sudden rumbling caused her to jump before she had

time to realize that it wasn't a threatening sound. He liked being patted. She patted him again, this time with less hesitation, examining the soft fur encasing hard muscle. He continued to purr, and she moved closer until she lay against his spine as she had last night, one arm wrapped around his ribs, running her fingers through the even softer fur on his belly. His purr rumbled on, transmitting from his huge body to hers. She felt an odd combination of sleepy euphoria, and wondered if this was how cats always felt when they purred. If so, it was no wonder they slept a lot. Her eyes drifted shut, and she knew nothing but the sound and feel of Baby's purr. Emily awoke abruptly a few hours later. Something had startled her out of a deep sleep. She held her breath, straining to sense anything out of the ordinary. The room was pitch black and silent, except for Baby's quiet, even breathing. He was awake, too, she thought, but he didn't seem unduly concerned, which, in turn, reassured her. He'd probably moved in his sleep, unexpectedly bumping up against her and waking both of them. She checked the clock. Two a.m. And she needed to visit the bathroom. Emily slipped out of bed. "Go back to sleep, Baby. I'll be right back." He lay his head back down on the bed, which she took for assent, and she went out into the hallway. On the way back to the bedroom a few minutes later, she heard movement inside. It sounded as if Baby, despite his show of disinterest when she'd left, was now pacing like the wild, nocturnal creature he was. She stepped inside the room, expecting Baby to greet her with a demand to go outside. The curtains were open, although she thought she'd closed them earlier, and they let in faint moonlight which fell on the distinct outline of a large man. A large, naked man. A distant part of her mind was telling her to scream, but instead of panic or hysteria, her predominant emotion was curiosity. There was something compellingly familiar about him, the elusive feeling that they had once been close, and she ought to know who he was, but she couldn't quite place him. "Who are you?" she asked as calmly as if she confronted men in her bedroom every night. After all, this was nothing, compared to being adopted by an enormous, wild animal. "Mmmm." The man shifted from foot to foot. "Me." The voice, or at least what she'd been able to catch in those two syllables, wasn't familiar. The part of her that was encouraging her to scream grew louder, threatening to drown out the part of her that said she had nothing to worry about. "Me," he said again. "Baby." Emily remained frozen in place for several long moments. "What did you do to Baby? If you hurt him—” "Baby safe." She leaned to her right, trying to see the far side of the room without getting any closer to him than necessary. She was startled to realize that most of her fear was for Baby, not for herself. If he'd left the mansion when this man came in, and was roaming the town's streets, someone might see him and call the authorities. Even with the best case scenario, they'd use a humane method to trap him and turn him over to the first place that would take him. What if they stuck him in a badly run zoo? She wouldn't have any say in where he was placed, once he was out of her control. Besides, capture wasn't the only option. An over-zealous law enforcement officer might shoot an apparently wild animal on the assumption he was dangerous. Shoot first and pat his soft fur later. She'd seen that sort of thing reported on the news once, when a bear had made itself at home in a suburb of Boston. And it was all this intruder's fault. She couldn't afford to let him see how nervous he made her. She had to act like it was perfectly normal for a naked man to appear in her bedroom at midnight. "Where is Baby?" "Gone." "You'd better leave before he comes back," she said. "He doesn't like strangers. And he's got big teeth." "Will go." He took a step a step forward. "Relax." "I was fine until you showed up," she snapped. "And I'll be fine once you're gone."

He took another step forward, and she wasn't sure whether he was heading for her or for the doorway beside her. "I'm warning you." She decided to retreat herself, rather than get trapped inside the bedroom with him, and she moved into the doorway. "You'd better leave right now, before Baby comes back. He's a tiger. A wild one. He'll tear you apart if you come back." "Liger," he said. "Lion. Tiger. More." "Bear?" she said. "Lions and tigers and bears? Oh, my? "No bears," he said. "Human. Danger." "I trust Baby," she said firmly. "He wouldn't hurt me." "Mmm." He was right in front of her now. He said her name, slurring the beginning, so it sounded like "Mmm-ily." She backed up until she hit the wall in the corridor. She couldn't remember whether the stairs were to her right or her left, and if she went in the wrong direction, she'd be trapped. He was inches away from her now. "Mmmily. Mmmust know." He placed his hands on the wall, beside her face, and bent toward her. Just when she thought he was going to kiss her, like any other man would have done, he rubbed his nose against hers, with the same slow, determined movement that Baby used when he rubbed his face against her shoulders. "Mmm." He turned his head to place his cheek against hers. "Mmmine." His beard was surprisingly soft against her skin, almost like Baby's fur, and she reached up to stroke his face. "Mmmore." His eyes closed, and he waited expectantly. She caressed the other side of his face, and he tilted his head toward her touch, as if that was all he wanted from her. His breathing grew shallower, though, and she knew that it wouldn't be long before he wanted more than she was willing to give. She withdrew her hand. "No. You need to leave." "Mmmore." This time, he sounded impatient, but he didn't try to take from her. He waited for her assent. "I'm sorry," she said. "This is insane. I don't know anything about you, and you don't know anything about me." "Mmm-emily," he said. "Yes, you know my name, but I don't know yours." "Mmmark." "Mark?" she said. "That's your name?" He nodded. "That's a start, I suppose." He grinned. "Play now?" He sounded so eager, she almost laughed. She had to convince him she was serious. She had enough to deal with, taking care of Baby and doing her job for the Senator. She didn't have time for a naked man, not even an appealing one. "No," she said, in the same firm tone as she would have used to train a pet. "You have to leave now." He took a deep, shuddering breath and then pushed away from the wall. "I like a challenge." A moment later, he was gone. He moved as stealthily as Baby. She didn't hear him on the stairs, didn't hear him leave the house, but she was certain he wouldn't be back. He'd gotten past Baby this once, but it wasn't likely to happen again. Emily shivered as she slipped back into her bed. The sheets were cold, and she missed the warmth of Baby lying beside her. **** Mark made his way down the stairs and as far away from Emily as he could get without leaving the house.

He ended up in a living room, outfitted with a large-screen television and comfortable seating. He curled up on the overstuffed sofa and willed himself to relax. He'd thought they could have a little fun, without his losing control. And then she'd almost touched him. If she had, if she'd even brushed against him lightly, he wasn't sure what would have happened next. Perhaps nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps something more than either one of them could cope with. He wasn't ready to risk it. He was even more certain that she wasn't ready for the truth about him, least of all if she found out in the middle of such intimate circumstances. He hadn't meant to change into human form. It had happened involuntarily, when he'd awoken and realized she was missing. In his drowsy state, he'd let himself think about how nice it would be to touch her without his fur in the way. Skin on skin, as a man touched a woman. And then his human instincts had taken over, seeking out human games. He listened intently to be sure she'd stayed upstairs and hadn't followed him. He needed a few minutes before he could morph back to the form that was safer for both of them. Humans made everything so complicated. They couldn't just enjoy the moment. They had to think, and explain and decide. They needed words, and he hadn't used them in so long. He didn't trust himself to explain the simplest of ideas, let alone something as complicated as what he was. He heard some movement upstairs, but it seemed contained within the bedroom. He tried swiveling his ears into a better position, but they wouldn't move. Not yet. His muscles were starting to relax. A few more minutes, that's all he needed, and everything would be back to normal. He tried to simplify his thoughts. He was safe here, and Emily was staying upstairs in the bedroom. She hadn't either screamed or run away when she'd first seen him. That was good. His presence tended to cause a little panic. Not usually when he was in this form, but he supposed finding a naked man in one's bedroom at midnight was almost as shocking as unexpectedly coming face-to-face with a liger. He stretched tentatively. He was too tense to change, as long as his arousal persisted, but the movement helped relax him. He growled irritably, and the feeble sound frustrated him. So many human emotions, all robbing him of the patience he needed right now. The simple parts of his brain demanded that he go back upstairs and finish what he'd started with Emily. The more advanced parts of his brain were in control now, though, and cycled repeatedly through all the reasons why he had to stay down here, away from her. He couldn't control his shifting yet, he couldn't explain who he was, and he couldn't risk her finding out the truth on her own. Before he could go back to her, he had to be in control again. He had to become Baby. He enjoyed her patting, and that would have to be enough, at least for tonight. Tomorrow, however, was another story. He would spend the day polishing his rusty skills until he could morph—or not—at will. Then, when he was certain he could control his physical form, he and Emily could have some real, human fun.

Chapter Four By mid-afternoon, as she was sorting the contents of the kitchen, Emily convinced herself that the naked man, not the liger, was the hallucination. Nothing more than a wet dream, conjured up by her own fantasies of the perfect lover. The perfect lover wouldn't have left, though. He would have finished the job, she thought irritably, and set a can of tomatoes in a carton marked "stale," only to realize she hadn't actually checked the use-by date, and she wasn't sure how many other cans had received the same absent-minded treatment. As she was dumping the cartons onto the counter to start over, there was a knock on the kitchen door. Through the window, Emily caught glimpses of a tall woman and patches of faux fur. Emily hesitated. When the Senator hired her, he'd warned her repeatedly about the importance of maintaining a low profile while working on his vacation home. His ownership of the mansion had been hidden through a series of real estate trusts. No one outside his closest staff knew about it, and, now that Emily knew his secret, he expected her to make sure no one else found out. The vision in polyester pile didn't look like a reporter. She didn't seem the type to maintain a low profile, either, but it was probably too late to ignore her. The woman had leaned to one side to peer inside the window over the sink and was waving enthusiastically. Emily opened the door, just enough to be polite, without inviting the woman inside. "I'm Candace," she said, stepping closer and peering past Emily into the kitchen. "I live next door, and I saw your car in the driveway, so I thought I should welcome you to the neighborhood." "That isn't necessary." Emily took an involuntary step backwards, overwhelmed by the woman's enthusiasm. "I brought you a housewarming gift." Candace whipped a hand-crafted basket from behind her back and held it out. "Didn't have time to wrap it, though." "I don't live here," Emily said. "I'm just doing some work here for the owner." "Senator Hughes, you mean." Candace peered into the kitchen again. "Isn't he amazing?" So much for the Senator's closely guarded secret, Emily thought. "I don't know much about him." "I only know about his career, of course. You'd think he'd have said hello to his closest neighbor, wouldn't you, but I've never met him. Up close and personal, I mean. Have you?" Candace waved her hand. "Never mind. Of course you've met him. He wouldn't entrust his house to a stranger." Continuing to evade the woman's questions would only make her more curious, Emily thought. And she was fairly certain Candace wasn't a reporter, not dressed as she was in a leopard-print sweater edged in fake fur, black velour pants and leopard-print sneakers. Even if Emily was wrong, the basic facts were dull enough to dissuade anyone who was looking for something scandalous. "The Senator knew my parents, and that's probably why he hired me when he needed someone to empty out the house. He's planning to have it completely redone." "I've always wanted to see the interior of the Senator's house," Candace said. "Even if it's just the kitchen. Houses can tell you so much about their owners." Emily opened the door wide. "As far as I can tell, this one just says its owner can afford to hire a professional decorator and housekeepers. There aren't any truly personal items here." "Really?" Candace peered around the room, and seemed to deflate. Even her fake fur seemed to have lost its artificial luster. "The rest of the house is this bland?" "Pretty much." Candace nodded toward the boxes on the kitchen island. "Do you need any help?" The Senator hadn't said anything about subcontractors, just that she needed to keep his secret. Candace already knew who owned the house, and Emily could use an assistant to make up for the time she'd lost yesterday. Emily gestured for her to come in, and closed the door behind her. "I've started sorting the contents of the pantry. One box for expired foods, one for things that can be donated to charity."

"I can do that," Candace said, pushing up the fur-trimmed sleeves of her sweater. "And then you'll give me a tour of the house?" Emily thought back to the basic inventory she'd done yesterday. There weren't any truly personal items anywhere in the house. Even the medicine cabinet held only a few over-the-counter standards. Plus, the entire place was about to be redone from scratch, so anything Candace saw now would be different in a few weeks. "Just a quick trip, no poking in closets or anything." Candace nodded at the pantry that was the source of the canned goods they were sorting. "Won't that make it difficult to do my job?" "We'll manage." Candace swept a shelf of cans from the pantry shelf into a plastic bin and carried them back to the kitchen counter for sorting. "Tell me something that most people don't know about the Senator." "Like what?" "I don't know." Candace checked the bottom of a can of beans. "Does he wear boxers or briefs?" "I can't talk about any personal stuff," Emily said. "Besides, he didn't leave any clothes here." Candace looked up from her sorting. "Not even a change of underwear?" "Not that I saw." "That's interesting." Candace patted the hem of her sweater near her hip, and then stroked the fake fur there, as if the repetitive motion helped her to think. "More interesting than his choice of underwear?" "Definitely," Candace released her hold on the fake fur. "Who doesn't stock their vacation home with a few basics?" "I don't know," Emily said. "I've never had a vacation home." "Me neither," Candace said. "But that's what I'd do. It would make packing quicker and easier, especially if I wanted to be able to get away on the spur of the moment." "The Senator's got people to pack for him," Emily said. "And I'm not sure he's got the luxury of doing anything on the spur of the moment. I've seen his schedule." "Mmm," Candace said. The sound reminded Emily of her late-night visitor. "I was wondering about something," Emily said. "Did you by any chance happen to see a naked man in the neighborhood last night?" "No." Candace's eyes lit up. "Please tell me streaking is coming back into vogue. It's one of the great disappointments of my life that I was too young to experience it the first time around." "It's possible, but he wasn't running when I saw him." Emily paused in her sorting to watch Candace's reaction. "He was standing in the middle of my bedroom." Candace leaned across the foodstuffs between them and whispered, "Was it the Senator?" "Of course not." Candace sighed and resumed working. "Then I suppose it was an ugly old pervert." "Not exactly. He was about my age and quite good looking. If he hadn't just broken into the house, I'd never have guessed he was a criminal." "How come I never find a gorgeous stranger in my bedroom?" "He wasn't exactly gorgeous, just…” Emily couldn't put her finger on what was so compelling about him. There was something familiar about him, something masculine and strong and graceful. "Just male." "I could live with that. But—no offense meant—you seem to be the type of woman who would send him away without sampling the goods," Candace said. "What a waste." Emily pretended to be absorbed with finding an elusive sell-by date on the package of pasta in her hands. "It's just not fair." Candace raised a can of condensed milk and pointed it in the direction of her own house. "Exciting events always skip my house and head straight for the ones around me. Did you see the damage to the Senator's garage door? A couple weeks ago, someone broke into it. In broad daylight." That end of the driveway was so thoroughly shadowed by the house and the overgrown landscape that Emily doubted there was much difference between broad daylight and deepest midnight. Still, it was less than

comforting to think that her naked man wasn't the only person breaking into this house. "Was anything taken?" "I don't think so," Candace said. "I called my cousin—he's a local cop—when I saw the damage, and he checked it out. He thought it was probably just a random break-in. That sort of thing happens around here. We have so many unoccupied vacation houses, and sometimes a drifter will borrow one of them for a few days." Emily looked up from the boxes of dried pasta. The Senator wouldn't be happy if he knew his house was in the middle of a surprisingly high-crime location. "Wait. That sounded worse than it is," Candace said. "Wharton isn't a dangerous place. Nothing valuable is ever taken, just a few old clothes usually. And it never happens to an occupied house." "Except last night." Candace looked away and rubbed the fur at her hip. "Did he take anything?" "Not as far as I can tell." "No clothes were missing?" "The closets and dressers were empty when I arrived," Emily said. "Maybe whoever broke into the garage took all the clothes." "Oh, well." Candace smoothed the fake fur at her hip once more, and then picked up a can of tomato sauce. "It's not like the Senator would miss anything that was taken. You were going to donate all the clothes to charity, anyway, weren't you?" Emily nodded. "No big deal then." Candace said. "We've got our own thrift shop here, you know. Wharton Wares, it's called. Nothing fancy like you might find in Boston, but it meets the local needs. I volunteer there a couple days a week, and I'm sure we could use anything the Senator is discarding." "I'll check it out," Emily said. "I was planning to donate most of the things locally." "Anything you need to know about this town," Candace said, "just ask me. I've been here forever, and I know everyone here. I could introduce you around." "That's very kind, but I'm sure you've got better things to do." "Not really," Candace said with a self-mocking smile. "That's the problem with being an independently wealthy single woman: I've got nothing better to do than study politics and meddle in my friends' affairs." "I don't have any affairs," Emily said. "I'll have to find something else in your life to meddle with, then," Candace said. "Maybe we could start a Neighborhood Watch, and set up a stake-out for the folks who've been doing the local break-ins. If we're lucky, we might even catch your gorgeous naked midnight visitor." "He wasn't gorgeous." Candace shrugged. "At my age, anyone who's male, naked and standing in my bedroom qualifies as gorgeous." **** Baby lurked in the shrubbery, waiting for the woman to leave. There was no real rush. He could wait. He was good at waiting. He might even doze a bit. Naps were good. Not as good as his new toy, though. Before he'd shifted, Emily had wrapped herself around him, rubbing his ribs and belly while he purred. Life didn't get much better than that. Finally, the other woman emerged from the house and passed within a few inches of him. He sniffed the air, but she was downwind, and he couldn't get a good read on her. She looked up suddenly and froze, proof that some survival instincts hadn't been bred out of humans. She turned slowly, then searched the shadows until she caught sight of him. He waited for the screaming to start. Or at least the backing up and running. He liked it when they ran, because then he could play with them for a while. Exercise was good for both cats and humans. "A liger," she said thoughtfully. "I never thought I'd see one up close and personal." Confused by her lack of fear, he snarled at her.

"Don't bother," she said. "Cats like me. And if you were going to eat me for lunch, you'd have pounced already." He rose onto his back legs, towering over the hedges, and was gratified to see some doubt appear on the woman's face. "Well, then," she said, sidling toward the house next door. "You're in a snit, and I really should get going. I've got, um, things to do. Lots of things to do." He waited until the woman turned and disappeared through the shrubbery, before dropping onto his front paws and making his way to where he knew Emily was. He stopped at the back door and reached to open it. His paw slid off the knob. He tried again, without any more success. He leaned back on his haunches and stared at the doorknob. His brain knew how to use it, but his paws didn't get the signal. He swiped half-heartedly at the doorknob. A little more energy and he'd knock the damn thing off, getting it out of his way permanently. Of course, if he did that, Emily would be angry with him, and then she wouldn't want to play. No, there was another way. He backed away, seeking out a secluded corner of the back yard. Once there, he stretched. Tentatively, and then with more confidence. He knew how to do this. Close his eyes, feel the muscles stretch then tighten, compress, transform. A brief sense of disorientation and then an overwhelming sense of disequilibrium while his spine realigned vertically. He kept his eyes closed, letting muscle memory do the work until he was standing on two feet, arms hanging loose at his side. Just like riding a bicycle, he thought. And just like a novice biker, he was unsteady. Instead of tilting to one side, though, he began to lean forward, drawn by the memory of walking on four legs. Without conscious thought, his stomach and thighs adjusted his stance before he lost his balance. He opened his eyes slowly, prepared to close them again if the dizziness returned. The transitional disorientation was annoying, but not enough to stop him or his two brothers from switching forms. His only sister had always hated the feeling, though, saying it made her feel seasick. The last he'd heard, she'd made the opposite choice from his: she never transformed into her alter-ego, a Maine coon cat, preferring to remain human at all times. He'd teased her about the monotonous normalcy of her "monogamous" lifestyle, but she'd said it was better than the heartbreak that came with playing around. It had been ten years, at least, since he'd seen any of his siblings. Were his brothers still using their feline forms to play pranks on the neighbors? Had his sister ever married? And if so, had she ever told her husband of her ability? Maybe he should track her down and ask for her help in explaining the situation to Emily. His eyes were fully open now, and he was overwhelmed by all the color in the yard. Life as a liger was black and white, both visually and emotionally. He caught the whiff of something citrusy, in an artificial sort of way, but was unable to identify it with his fundamentally inadequate human nose. Baby would have known exactly what was causing the odor, and where it was coming from. He didn't care enough to transform back and find out. Emily was inside the house, alone, and he wanted to play. To get to her, he needed to be human. He took a step in the direction of the house, and his bare foot came down hard on a sharp pebble. Looking down, he realized his feet weren't the only parts of him that were unprotected. He was naked. Not a problem for a cat, but a considerable detriment for a man who was trying to convince a human—especially a female human—to trust him. He had to get some clothes before he could talk to Emily, and it would be easier to hunt for them as Baby. He stepped back into the shadows to revert to feline form. He dropped onto four paws, but didn't wait to settle fully into his fur before setting set off through the back yard of the house next door. A few blocks away, he found a woman hanging clothes on a backyard line. He waited until she went indoors, and then pounced. A single, strategically placed bite to the cord, and his prey fell to the ground, lifeless. He chose a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that looked like they might fit him. He waited a moment, giving them one last chance to escape, but they just lay there, not even twitching. He quickly gave in to the boredom,

dragged them home and hid them in a secluded corner of the yard.

Chapter Five Emily returned to work in the kitchen after dinner, intent on finishing the Senator's job as quickly as possible. She had other clients back home, and she still had to figure out what to do about Baby, which was going to add to her time here in Wharton. She was going to miss him when this job was over. She'd already grown accustomed to the way he checked in on her from time to time, prowling around whatever room she was in, like a security guard making his rounds. No, she thought. Not like a professional, someone who was paid to care for her. It felt more personal than that. He was acting more like a protective lover, reassuring himself that she was both nearby and safe. Around midnight, Baby returned to the kitchen. He restlessly sniffed the perimeter of the room without finding anything of interest. He padded to a stop directly in front of her and stared until she acknowledged him and stopped filling a box with donations for the food pantry. "I know it's late, Baby. I'm almost done in here." He leaned forward, using his head to push down the flaps of the box and hold them in place, effectively preventing her from putting anything else inside. "Okay, you win." The last few things in the kitchen could wait until tomorrow, she decided. She was tired, which led to wasted effort, and she'd be more efficient after a good night's sleep. "Time for bed." He immediately perked up and herded her up the stairs and into the bedroom. He flopped onto the bed, watching her intently as she slipped out of her jeans. When she slid under the covers, Baby turned his back to her and let his head fall onto the pillow. She wrapped her arms around him, as she'd done the previous night, and immediately fell asleep. Some time later, she was startled awake. Still groggy, she didn't remember what had interrupted her sleep, but she immediately noticed that Baby was gone. Probably doing another one of his restless prowls around the house. He couldn't have been gone long; the bed was still warm. Maybe he wanted to go outside. She headed down the stairs to see if he needed her to open the kitchen door for him. When she arrived, something felt wrong. Baby wasn't there, waiting impatiently to be let outside, but he could be in another room, so that wasn't the problem. The windows over the sink were closed and locked. She tugged on the back door, confirming that it, too, was securely closed. She distinctly recalled checking the deadbolt before she'd let Baby lead her up the stairs, making certain it was working. It looked exactly the same now, and a quick tug on the door confirmed that the lock was still doing its job. Next to the lock, though, she noticed a crack in one of the door's glass panes. She was fairly sure it had been intact earlier, but couldn't swear to it. If the damage had occurred just now, it would explain why she'd woken up. Calling the police would be a waste of time without more evidence that there had been an attempted break-in. There wasn't much they could do, anyway. They'd take a report and then suggest that she check into a hotel for the duration of the job. She couldn't do that, not until she'd found a new home for Baby. Besides, she wasn't afraid of a mere burglar, not with a liger as her protector was no need to panic and do something that would just prolong her stay in Wharton. The lock had held, after all, and Baby would keep her safe. Now that she thought about, Baby must have heard the sound of the breaking glass too. That would explain why he'd left the bed. He'd come down to check it the noise, decided there was no danger and then completed his usual rounds of the remainder of the first floor while she was coming downstairs. He was probably back upstairs already, hogging the covers, sound asleep again. That was where she should be too. She had a lot of work to do, and the earlier she started, the more she could check off her to do list and the sooner she could return to the city. Making a mental note to arrange for the cracked glass to be replaced, Emily turned her back on the outer door. Standing across from her, just inside the hallway, was the naked man from last night. Except he wasn't naked tonight. He had clothes on—a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt—but they looked awkward, the fabric twisted and not falling properly, as if a child had dressed him. She hesitated, remembering how fast he'd moved before. If she tried to run, it would only encourage him

to pounce on her, like he had last night. Better to talk to him, see what he wanted, stall for time until Baby heard her voice and came to investigate. "What are you doing here?" "Intruder," he said. "I scared him off." She hadn't expected such arrogance. Did he really think she'd believe there had been another intruder? He wasn't her hero, he was an intruder, somehow getting past the deadlock, cracking the window in the process. That made sense. "Did you call the police?" he said. She could lie, but he seemed to be able to read her, watching her with as much intensity as Baby did. She shrugged. "The Senator wouldn't appreciate the publicity." "Your safety is more important than the job." He sounded irritated with her casual response, and entirely oblivious to the risk that an investigation would lead to his own arrest. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about." She felt a bit silly when she realized she was reassuring a trespasser that she would be safe from him, but she couldn't help herself. He looked so worried about her. "I've heard that it's fairly common for unoccupied vacation houses to be targeted by homeless people looking for a place to stay the night. Now that the intruder knows this place is occupied, he won't be back." "I don't like it." "I appreciate your concern," she said. "But I can take care of myself. You can leave now." "Not yet," he said. "Have something to say." While he struggled to find the words, she said, "You're not supposed to be here." "Yes, I am." He spoke with such conviction that she almost believed him. "Why are you here, then?" This time, he hesitated. He kept his gaze locked on hers, and he looked mildly confused, as if he couldn't think of the correct words to explain his presence. "I was invited." "You're a friend of the owner?" "I was invited," he repeated. "Ask Candace. She knows me." If he was a friend of the Senator, it would explain how he got into the house—he'd been given a key. It would have been nice if she'd been told about him, but the Senator tended to limit information to those who needed to know it, and he frequently set unreasonable restrictions on who needed to know what. "I have to explain." He looked away for the first time since she'd entered the room, clearly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to startle you last night. I wasn't expecting to run into you." "I understand." The Senator really needed to expand his definition of who needed to know what was going on in his vacation home. "If you'll let me know which room you're using, I can do my work without bothering you. You won't even know I'm here." His head snapped up and his mesmerizing eyes caught her. "I'll know." It wasn't just a casual line, Emily thought. He was as aware of her as she was of him. Candace would tell her to invite him upstairs with her, but Emily couldn't do that. She had a plan for her night, her week and her life, and he wasn't any part of the plan. She forced herself to sound professional. "I'll try to be quiet while I work, so I won't disturb you." "You work too much." He stretched, his hands grazing the trim around the kitchen's doorway, and then dropping back to his sides. He rolled his shoulders, and his twisted t-shirt fell into place, the wrinkles smoothing to reveal the contours of his chest. "Don't you ever play?" She caught hints of a lightly furred chest beneath the t-shirt and couldn't help thinking how much fun it would be to touch, to rub her face against, to press her own chest against. She was startled by how much she wanted to play with him. She never indulged in casual sex, never even considered it. Until now. He kept his distance, watching her, patiently waiting for an answer. The decision was hers. Emily could list a dozen reasons why she should keep him at a distance. To begin with, she didn't know anything about him, and she didn't mix business with pleasure. She couldn't list any reasons why she should accept his invitation, except that she wanted to. She did know

a little bit about him, actually. He was a friend of the Senator's, and he had left last night when she asked him to. Knowing that Baby was nearby gave her added confidence. She took a step toward him. "I don't know how to play." "I'll show you." He took a step backwards and spreading his arms wide, making space for her to pass without even brushing him on the way to the stairs. "But only if it's what you want." She didn't know what she wanted. She had work to do and she needed a good night's sleep to be efficient tomorrow, but she also wondered what it would be like to toss away her plans for just one night, and play for a few hours. He took another step backwards, toward the stairs. She had to decide now, or he'd be gone. One more step, and he'd disappear into the shadows, and she'd never see him again. Her movements were jerky, reflecting her indecision, as she moved toward him, just close enough to keep him in sight, close enough to watch for any sudden movements he might make. He continued backing up until he was at the base of the stairs, leaning against the railing. "You first," he said. This was it. She had to decide. Stick to her usual routine or try something a little different. A little daring. She hesitated, and he just waited, watching her with the same intensity that Baby did. He remained still, even as the rapid pulse in his neck betrayed his real excitement. He must have hidden his real reactions last night too, when he'd left her. It hadn't been as easy for him as he'd made it seem. He'd wanted her as much as she'd wanted him. She'd been ready for him physically, but he was right that she hadn't been ready in other ways. She'd needed time to think about what it would mean to do something different, to act spontaneously, to go into a sexual relationship that had no substance, that was nothing but recreation. At least subconsciously, she'd thought of little else since last night. And she'd made a decision. She was ready for something different. She deserved a little fun, a brief reward for all the hassles she'd been through in the last few days. A good plan built in some flexibility. Tomorrow, she would work. Tonight, she would play. She crossed the hallway and slipped past him to stand on the first step, her eyes level with his. She knew he could have caught her, pulled her to him, but he remained still, watching her relentlessly, but not trying to control her. She leaned forward, her lips touching his tentatively. A soft growl emerged from his throat, but he didn't move. "Come upstairs and play," she said, taking his hand to pull him away from the railing. He didn't budge. "There's no rush. Kiss me again." This time, she wasn't timid. She tugged on his mouth as if she could pull him up the stairs with the force of her kiss. He pushed away from the railing, and joined her on the first step without breaking the contact of their lips. She continued to kiss him, backing up the stairs and down the hallway. He followed her lead with both his mouth and his footsteps. Once they were in the bedroom, she faltered. He was supposed to be showing her how to have fun, and she'd been doing all the instructing. "Please," she said. "Show me how to play." "Mmmmm." He reached for the buttons of her shirt and undid them, slowly and a little clumsily, as if he weren't used to clothing. Judging from his own lack of attire last night and minimal clothes today, perhaps he wasn't. She tried to help him, and he made an annoyed sound in his throat. She let him finish with the buttons by himself, and waited patiently while he slid the fabric down one arm. She grew impatient and jerked the rest of the top off her and tossed it aside. He stared at her breasts until she began to wonder if he'd ever seen a naked woman before. Perhaps this had been a mistake, but he was already exciting her more than any of her carefully researched and tested lovers. It was about time she tried a little spontaneity. She touched his collarbone, where she wanted him to touch her, and this time, the sound he made was a

low, drawn-out and distinctly feral growl. She froze, but he didn't seem to trust her to remain still, because he took both of her wrists and held them firmly against the wall, on either side of her head. She tugged, not so much to free herself, but to test his reaction. He didn't let go, he didn't tighten his grip, he just watched her breasts jiggling in front of him. He'd seen more than his fair share of naked woman before, she thought. He was teasing her, enjoying her reactions. She teased him in return by holding herself still. He waited with such obviously quashed eagerness that she gave in and wiggled for him, setting her breasts swaying again. "Mmmine." He placed his face against her breasts, tickling the nipples with his soft beard. She squirmed involuntarily this time. He pulled back to watch her intently again. When she stopped moving, he tilted his head to one side, as if deciding what new game to play with her. He bent forward, and she felt his tongue, slightly rough against the skin along the bottom of her breast, where it curved out from her ribs. He licked her in one long, uninterrupted movement, all along the skin of her breast, to the edge of her nipple, then around it twice, before continuing up to her collarbone. Her skin burned through the dampness. She moaned, which seemed to be the signal for him to lean back and watch her reaction. He stared at her breasts until her breathing returned to normal, and then he set to licking her other breast. After making his first tour of it, he switched to shorter, harder laps of his tongue, covering both breasts. Thank goodness they had all night to play. He seemed prepared to do this for hours, and she was prepared to let him. Except he kept missing her nipples. They were almost painfully tight and dry, compared to the glow of the surrounding skin from his pleasantly rough, damp attention. She couldn't wait for him to find them on his own. She squirmed against his hold, trying to move the tiny distance to where his tongue was working on skin still moist from his previous explorations. It would be even better if he would lick her nipples, just once. He stopped what he was doing and leaned back, as if checking his work. "Mmmmore?" "Oh, yes." She had this one night with him, and there was so much to enjoy. "Please." "Where?" "My nipples," she said. "Don't mmmove." "I won't." He released her wrists and waited for a moment, as if seeking proof that she wouldn't try to escape. She held her hands where he'd placed them, fully aware that she was giving him permission to do whatever else he wanted, if only he'd suck her nipples. He bent toward one nipple, and she held perfectly still, waiting for that damp roughness to touch her. He hesitated, close enough that she could feel his breath, but nothing more. She moaned, and he stepped back and away from her, his gaze flitting to where she'd remembered to keep her hands raised and pressed against the wall. He bent his head to her again, and this time his tongue flicked first one nipple and then the other. Better than before, but not enough. He withdrew to watch her again until, apparently satisfied that she would stay in place between licks, he played with her nipples, sucking briefly on first one, then the other, and then stepping away to watch her squirming reaction. With anyone else, she might have been too self-conscious to appreciate the pleasure coursing through her, but all she wanted was for it to continue, and it seemed even better knowing how much Mark was enjoying it too. She should let herself have fun more often. She wasn't sure how much longer she could force herself to stand against the wall, how much longer until she'd drop her hands and the game would end. Her arms were starting to ache from the stretched position, and her legs were threatening to collapse, but she wasn't ready for it to end. "Mmmore?" he said. Unable to speak, she moaned. "Pussy," he said. "Want."

She couldn't even imagine the games he would play with her there, but she had to find out. She nodded her permission, and he pulled her panties down her legs to pool at her ankles. She kicked them away and then moved her feet apart to maintain her balance. She wiggled restlessly, waiting for him to decide what to do next. "Mmmily," he said, and while he spoke there was a rumbling in his chest that reminded her of Baby's purr. "Mmmine." A purring man, she thought dreamily. What more could a woman want? He wrapped one hand around her pussy, his palm warm against her skin. He wasn't so much holding her in place, she realized, as trying to make sure he didn't miss anything. He wanted to feel all of her most intimate reactions to him. She wanted to feel him too. One hand slid down the wall and reached for where his cock rose in front of her. Like a mirage, though, he eluded her, and her hand grasped only air. At the same time, he let go of her, and the heat radiating from him faded. She opened her eyes, and he was standing several feet away, staring at her pussy with the most wistful expression she'd ever seen on a man. "Mmmust leave," he said. She raised her hand back to its initial location beside her head. "Don't go." "Mmmust," he said. "Baby." She listened for the sound of the liger's paws in the hallway, but heard nothing. "It's okay," she said. "He's not really dangerous. I want to keep playing." He sighed, a long rumbling sound. "Mmme too." He moved closer, sucked her nipples until she was moaning incoherently, and then whispered, "Close your eyes and don't mmmove." Emily shivered, wondering what new game he was playing. Her body was tingling in anticipation of his next move. She remained in place for as long as she could, even as she lost some of her arousal, confident that Mark could bring her back to a needy state in moments. She strained to hear some indication of where Mark had gone. He moved more quietly than a ghost, though, and there was nothing but silence. Eventually, she had to accept that he was gone, and he wasn't coming back to finish what he'd started. Bastard. She should have known his unannounced arrival boded nothing but trouble. Her past lovers might not have been as amazingly sensual as he was, but they hadn't left her this restlessly aching either. This was just one more bit of evidence, as if she needed it, that spontaneity wasn't as much fun as it was cracked up to be. Emily crossed the room to the bed. She should have stuck to her usual method of choosing men as carefully as if she would have chosen a business partner, doing background checks, interrogating them, and then only if they meet all her criteria, cautiously letting them into her life. Emily was lying in bed an hour later, unable to sleep and still shaking from the frustrated need, when she heard the soft padding of paws coming through the doorway. An orange glow in the darkness, Baby trotted across the room and onto the bed where he took up the lion's share—or in his case, the liger's share—of the bed. At least she could depend on him. She rolled onto her side and hugged him to her, as if he were a tenpound house cat instead of an eight-hundred pound liger. She couldn't reach anywhere near all the way around him, so she draped herself across his massive torso, laying her head on his shoulder. He was warm and solid. His purring helped to dissipate her restlessness, relieving the tension and soothing her closer to sleep. She was thinking more clearly now, and she was done with playing. If Mark returned, she'd feed him to Baby.

Chapter Six Emily had just hung up the phone after confirming the hours the local food pantry was open for accepting donations, when the doorbell rang. She peered through the peephole, and saw what looked like a college kid on the front porch. He was scrawny, still growing into his height, and seemed to be having trouble maintaining a comfortable grip on his sample case. Probably filled with vinyl siding or other home improvement products he was selling during summer vacation, she thought. She didn't have time to listen to his spiel and still get to the pantry before it closed, but there was no easy way around him. He'd catch her in the driveway if she tried to slip out the back. She opened the door, and spoke before he could. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested, and this isn't my house, so I couldn't agree to having any work done even if I wanted to." "Excuse me?" He blinked behind his glasses. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not selling home improvement products." "Good," Emily said. "If you're a friend of the homeowner's, he's not here. And I have to leave now. I'm late for an appointment." He looked down at his feet. "I'm selling brushes." Emily couldn't help glancing at the top of his head and its buzz cut. Not a customer himself, obviously. "Sorry. Not interested." "You have lovely hair, and it deserves the best treatment." Emily forced herself not to roll her eyes at the obviously scripted compliment. Her own hair wasn't much longer than the salesman's, and the only treatment it needed was a shampoo and a finger-combing. "I'm all set, thank you." "There's a whole world of specialty brushes, you know," he said. "Types you've never even imagined. I'm sure there's one that's right for you. If I could just come in for a minute, I could show you the whole assortment." Out of the corner of her eye, Emily spotted movement in the shadows beneath the shrubs separating the Senator's yard from Candace's. She forced herself not to stare, for fear the salesman would turn to see what was distracting her. He gestured toward the sample case. "It would be much easier if we could step inside where I can open this up." Emily heard his voice continue, something about the use and abuse of brushes, but all her attention was on her peripheral vision and the changing patterns of light along the shrubs. It was Baby, all right. And he was dragging something. What had he captured? She couldn't stop herself from looking closer, just long enough to realize that whatever was hanging out of his mouth was indigo blue and white, not a color combination usually associated with a cat's prey. He turned his head in her direction, tossed his bundle aside and then dropped into a crouch. He began to inch forward, out of the shadows. He remained low, like a hunting cat, and it dawned on her that he'd always walked tall when he was with her. She squinted at him. He was stalking prey: the clueless salesman. Pesky door-to-door salesmen might deserve the occasional mauling, but this one looked like a whiner. He'd probably complain or bleed all over the front yard, and then the animal control officers would feel obliged to go after Baby. Even if they didn't catch him, the whole mess would get blown out of proportion, and someone would link the mauling with the Senator's ownership of the property, and it would end up on the news, and the next thing she knew, the Senator would be badmouthing her business among his very influential friends who were the only reason she'd agreed to take on this job in the first place. She could save her business reputation just by buying a stupid hairbrush. "You're right," she said, interrupting the salesman's spiel. "I do need a new brush. Come on inside." Baby was still inching closer, reaching the point where she suspected he could land on the porch in one leap, and the salesman, oblivious to his imminent death, wasn't moving. He seemed frozen in surprise that someone had actually agreed to buy a brush. Probably his first sale ever.

Emily stepped onto the porch, placing herself between Baby and his prey. She grabbed the handle of the sample case and dragged it, along with the man, into the foyer before slamming the door behind them. She shoved the case at his chest, and his arms closed around it. "Stay here and write me up for the basic package while I go get my credit card." She ran to the kitchen, checked that the back door was closed so Baby couldn't get in that way, grabbed her purse and raced back to the front of the house The salesman wasn't there. Emily heard the rustling of papers in the adjoining room, where she found him rifling through a pile of magazines instead of writing up the order. "Um," he said, looking up and letting the magazines slip onto the floor. "I seem to have forgotten my credit card forms. We can make it COD if you want." "Good, good." She opened the front door and peered out. No sign of Baby. She gestured for the salesman to follow her, and he did, with a last look over his shoulder at the living room. Aware that Baby could have hidden in the shadows, Emily walked the salesman down the driveway, staying between him and the shrubbery. Once she was sure he was gone, she made her way back to the house, searching along the edge of the yard for any sign of Baby. She didn't find either him or his blue-and-white bundle. **** Mark let himself into the kitchen as soon as his transformation was complete. His first coherent thought was that the man on the porch reeked of citrus aftershave, noticeable even to the human nose, and overwhelming any more individual markers. The intruder last night had also had a citrus scent, but Mark couldn't be entirely sure it was the same one. He'd been too distracted last night at the thought of another man in his territory. No one else was allowed to play with Emily. She was his toy. Where was she, anyway? As Baby, he would have known where she was instinctively. His human brain was more complicated, though, and along with the virtue of being able to reason came the challenges of distraction. Things were simpler for him as a cat; all he ever thought about was his prey, anticipating its moves, preparing to keep it under control, prolonging the fun. Last night, he'd lost control of the game. The rules had become too complicated, and someone could have been hurt. He needed to be sure she understood how temporary this was. He needed time to prepare his human brain for how temporary this was. Baby would be ready to move on in a few days, and Mark had to be ready too. He'd had all night to think about it, lying there awake with a sleeping Emily wrapped around his back. She was blissfully unaware of who she was holding, but he had known, he had ached for her, and he'd survived by adopting her strategy of planning out every minute of the next few days. In the morning, he would morph into Mark and stay in that form for as long as he could, as long as Emily would play with him. A gust of wind pulled the door shut behind him with a loud slam, and he heard footsteps racing from the front of the house. Emily skidded to a stop on the threshold and stared at him. "You again." "Mmm." His vocal chords had always been the last part of him to complete the transition to human form. "Me." "How did you get in here?" He tipped his head back toward the door he'd entered. She glanced past his shoulder anxiously. "Did anyone else come in with you?" "Just me." "What do you want?" "You," he said. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "Not after last night." "Fun," he said. "Sorry I had to leave." "You should be sorry." "It was too soon, too fast," he said. "And now it's too late." She looked away from his face, taking in his clothing. Her gaze lingered on the

unraveling hem of one of his sleeves and then dropped to peer closely at his knees. He looked down too. The denim there was heavily worn. He doubted it was a fashion statement; these clothes had seen hard, physical labor. Finally, Emily abandoned her inspection of him and reached for a legal pad on the countertop. "If you need a job, I can't pay much, but as long as you're here already, I could use help with some of the heavier boxes." She felt sorry for him, he realized. Probably thought he was a homeless drifter, living off the beneficence of friends. Which he was, in a sense, but not the way she thought. "Don't want a job," he said, unable to explain. "I want to play." "I thought you said it was too soon, too fast." "It was, last night," he said. "Today is better." "Not for me." She ran a finger down the top sheet of her legal pad. "I need to get the first floor completely packed up today, and I'm already behind schedule." She wouldn't even look at him, she was so focused on her job. "Work now, play later?" he suggested. "Work now, and work later." "That's no kind of life," he said. "It's my life." How sad, he thought. Good thing he'd found her. She made some notes on her list, and then gestured toward a stack of flat cardboard. "If you want to stay, grab some boxes, and we'll start in the living room." "I'm staying," he said. "You'll want to play eventually. Everyone needs some fun." **** Emily hadn't been sure Mark would follow her to the living room until she heard the pile of folded boxes land on the foyer's floor. "We need two boxes set up." She handed him a roll of strapping tape. "One for the pre-recorded DVDs and videos, and another for anything the Senator might have recorded himself." Mark tossed the tape onto the stack of folded boxes. "Later. Important things first." Emily glanced at her legal pad. "Those are the most important things in here. I'm worried about how easy it would be for someone to come in here and steal them. Especially if there's anything personal on the ones the Senator recorded." "Don't care about the Senator," he said. "Care about you." "I care about the Senator and his privacy." She spoke briskly, making it clear she wouldn't entertain any further personal comments, and headed for the far corner of the room, where the wall unit held row after row of DVDs. "We do this my way, or I'll do it alone." He picked up the tape and used it on a box, which he set beside her. "Millions to go through." "More like a couple hundred." She pulled out a handful, checked that they all had pre-printed labels on them, and stacked them neatly in the box. "The local nursing home will make good use of them." Mark returned a moment later with another, smaller box for the Senator's personal items and set it on the coffee table behind her. "You can start at the other end," she said, "and we'll work toward the middle." "And then?" His eyes glittered. "And then we'll start on the paper piles," she said. "The magazines can go to the nursing home with the DVDs, and everything else gets shredded and recycled." "Work, work, work," he muttered, but he pulled out a video and glanced at its packaging before placing it in the Senator's box as neatly as she would have done. A moment later, he tapped her on the arm with a video. She took it from him, noting that it was a documentary. "I could put the box between us."

He moved closer to her. "Not enough space." He was right, she thought. There wasn't enough distance between them, and not just because the box wouldn't fit. He was too close for her to concentrate. She'd never had that problem before. Work was work, and sex was sex, and never the twain should meet. Even when she'd been infatuated with a new lover, she'd always been able to draw a line between her professional life and her personal life, allocating separate times to each. Why couldn't she do the same thing with Mark? Emily watched him continue through the videos in front of him, stacking them neatly in the Senator's box. He didn't seem to be suffering from any lack of concentration. When he ran out of videos, he started on the DVDs that would lead him to where she was supposed to be working, instead of watching him. He was different from the other men she'd dated. Not so much in appearance, although he was somewhat taller and leaner than most. No, it wasn't the way he looked, exactly. It was more in his attitude. The carefree, playful way he pursued whatever he was doing. She'd never known anyone like that. Perhaps that was the attraction: a temporary fascination with someone outside her normal experiences. She was used to driven, focused men, and Mark acted like the classic drifter, living in the moment and unaware of either past or present. She was used to men who planned every minute of the day, and then completed each of the designated tasks. In fact, she thought as she picked up the next handful of DVDs, maybe that was the real explanation for her fascination with Mark. He'd started something in the bedroom last night, and then left without finishing it. She hated leaving any project incomplete, and couldn't stop thinking about it until she'd crossed it off her list of things to do. All she had to do was to finish what Mark had started last night, and she'd be able to forget about him and concentrate on her work for the Senator. She forced herself to read the labels on the DVDs in her hand. She pulled out the one that wasn't prerecorded, and placed it in the box behind her. As she did so, it dawned on her that she was imprisoned between the shelves in front of her, the box to her right, the coffee table behind her and Mark to her left. A little extra space might help her to concentrate. "I can finish the DVDs by myself," she said. "Would you get another box and start on the magazines?" "Later," he said, continuing to sort the DVDs with both speed and precision. He handed her another pile that belonged in the box beside her, and she realized he'd moved another inch closer to her. He was working, though, so she had no legitimate reason to complain. She placed his latest batch of DVDs in the box, and gave the cardboard a surreptitious little push, but it was too heavy to move. When she turned back to Mark, he had another sorted stack ready for her. He was so close now, that when she bent to put them into the box, her rear end bumped against his leg. She started, and he put his hand on her back to steady her. "Stay there," he said, handing her another stack of sorted DVDs. A few minutes later, the box was full, and the shelves were empty. All that was left, for this stage of the project, was to seal up the box of the potentially personal material and carry it into the kitchen, away from anyone coming to the front door. She picked up the tape from the floor beside her. Mark offered his hand to help her to her feet, and as she rose, her chest brushed against the length of him, from thighs to chest. "Gotcha." Mark released her hand and tugged at her hips, pulling her even closer against him. "Play now."

Chapter Seven Emily closed her eyes against the sight of all the magazines and papers in the room, all the decorative bits of clutter, all the little things that needed to be packed up and disposed of before she could check this one room off her prioritized list. The DVDs and videos were done, at least, and she suspected they were the only things in the room that might contain any private information about the Senator. She wasn't going to get much work done until she finished what Mark started last night, anyway. And if he didn't finish it this time, she was definitely feeding him to Baby. "Wait." Emily bent to seal the last box. She set aside the tape dispenser and turned back to Mark. "Okay. Play now." He bent to kiss her, but she leaned away from him. "Not here. Not in front of the windows. Someone might see us." "So?" "I'm supposed to be keeping a low profile, not making a spectacle of myself." She scrambled over the coffee table. "The Senator wouldn't be happy if the neighbors were talking about his house." "Still don't care about the Senator." "And I still do," she said, edging toward the doorway. "I'll race you to the bedroom." He caught up with her at the base of the stairs, grabbing her around the waist and spinning her around. He pushed her against the wall and pinned her there with his body. He claimed his prize, kissing her quickly before announcing, "That was too easy." "Easy is good." She pulled his head back down for another kiss. "No." He shook his head, rubbing his nose against hers like he'd done the night before. "I like a challenge. It's more fun." "We could go back to packing up the Senator's belongings." "I've got a better idea." He tugged on the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. "Strip tag. Next time I catch you, I get to keep your bra." He stepped back, freeing her, but she remained leaning against the wall. "Why aren't you running?" "You can have all of my clothes right now." "That would be cheating," he said. "Perhaps we should increase the stakes a little. If I catch you before we get to the bedroom, not only will I take your bra, but I'll carry you out to the front porch to remove it." "You wouldn't," she said, but she could see by the glint in his eyes that he would. She squeaked and started to run up the stairs. "Here I come, Emily." She didn't dare to look back, but continued headlong down the hallway. Why had she chosen the very last room to stay in? Just as she reached the threshold, he tackled her. He rolled in mid-air, so that his body absorbed the impact of their fall to the carpeted floor. "I caught you, Emily. And we're still outside the bedroom." He rolled again, so she was pinned beneath him. "You know what that means." "We can't," she said. "The Senator would be furious." "What about you, Emily?" he said. "Would you enjoy it?" She opened her mouth to deny it, but couldn't ignore the quivering in her stomach at the idea of being publicly naked like that. She didn't think he was serious, but she couldn't take the chance that he was. She tried, unsuccessfully, to squirm out from underneath him. "You would enjoy it." He stood, pulling her up with him. "But perhaps not this time or this place." She was both disappointed and relieved that he'd changed the rules of their game. "You owe me." He unhooked her bra and slipped it off her. "I'm already entitled to this, but now I want more of a prize."

"As long as it's indoors," she said, "you can have anything you want." "I was hoping you'd say that." He stepped back and seemed lost in thought while she stood there impatiently. "For starters, I want the rest of your clothes." She unzipped her jeans and pushed them off, anxious to get beyond the preliminaries. "Panties too." She tossed them on top of her jeans. "Mmm." He stared at her from across the width of the hall. "Mine now." "Just for a while," she said. "I'll need them back afterwards." "I wasn't talking about the clothes," he said. "I meant you. You're mine now, Emily." He rolled onto the balls of his feet as if preparing to pounce on her. "Let the games begin." She squeaked in surprise, then turned and fled into the bedroom. She made it all the way to the far side of the bed, only because he'd taken the time to strip off all of his own clothes before chasing her. "You caught me again." She raised her arms over her head in happy surrender. "What's your prize this time?" "You." He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed before flopping on top of her. He reached down to play with her clit. "You're always the prize." She shivered with the pleasure if his touch. "I like being the prize." Her entire pussy was throbbing when his cock nudged its way past her labia, tapping against her as if seeking permission. A soft sound of approval escaped her, and he began to enter her with such deliberate, tantalizing slowness that she was afraid to move, in case he stopped. He continued pressing into her, letting her adjust to the feel of him, the fullness of him. The tension in his thighs attested to the effort it took for him to remain still. His cock twitched occasionally, causing her to clench around him, but he didn't move otherwise, and neither did she. There was too much happening inside her, too many sensations, all demanding her attention at the same time until the individual pleasures merged and threatened to overwhelm her. She wanted desperately to notice everything about him, remember how it felt for him to be inside her like this, even as she knew that her body couldn't remain at this level of awareness for long. Finally, she couldn't stand the waiting any longer, and she squirmed against him, seeking additional stimulation. He made a pleased sound, something between a laugh and a prolonged, rumbling shout. She could feel the vibrations in his chest, reminding her of Baby's purr. "I win." He withdrew slowly and then re-entered her. "You moved first." She didn't feel like she'd lost anything. This was definitely a win-win kind of a game. She wiggled her hips, rubbing against him. "Move more, please." "Mmmm," he said, fucking in earnest now. "Emily mine." "Mmmm." She couldn't hold onto the feeling inside her any longer, and with Mark's pleasure rumbling in his chest, she claimed her own victory. **** Mark didn't dare to fall asleep. Not in human form. His body was so accustomed to being a liger that it was likely to morph back when he wasn't paying attention. He'd heard of that sort of thing happening, although he'd chalked it up to urban legend. The stories were all the same: the human woke up to find a wild animal in her bed, screamed hysterically and called 911. When she calmed down, the fun was over, and the cat had to leave. Explaining what he was would only lead to more complications. Emily had adjusted well to the presence of a liger in her life, and she'd even cuddled up to Baby during the night before he'd changed. But finding out that he and the cat were the same creature might be too much, even for her. No matter what, the truth would upset her. And what would be the point? She didn't need to know everything about him for the short time they'd be together. Just a few days of fun, and then he'd be off, in search of new toys, and she'd be back to Boston with only pleasant memories of a man and a liger.

Mark carefully slid out of bed, threw on his jeans and t-shirt and went downstairs to continue work on the living room. He packed up the magazines, and put the filled box in the kitchen, which had become the storage area for finished work. He had several foot-high stacks of press releases, memos and reports stacked beside the shredder by the time Emily appeared in the doorway, wearing an oversized t-shirt. He couldn't tell if she was wearing panties, but he was sure she wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples were clearly visible against the jersey fabric. Oh, yes, he thought. Baby's life was simple and carefree, but there were times when being human was a great deal more fun. He took a step toward her, intent on getting a better view of those nipples. Except then his human brain kicked into gear. Emily had made it clear that their games were only a brief hiatus from what really mattered to her: doing the work she'd been hired to do, as efficiently as possible, so she could return to Boston where more work waited for her, especially if the Senator was impressed by what she did here at his house. Baby wouldn't know or care what she wanted; he just wanted to play. Mark wanted the same thing, but he was hampered by the need to sort through all his conflicting thoughts and emotions. He wanted to play, but not if Emily was unwilling, not if their games jeopardized what mattered to her. "Why didn't you wake me?" Mark searched her face for hints of regret over the time she hadn't been working. "Naps are good." "I don't have time for naps." For someone so dedicated to working, he thought, she looked incredibly content to stand there and watch him. She didn’t have any regrets about having wasted some time with him then, he decided. He might have some regrets later, himself. Not for the time they spent together, but for the time they wouldn't have together in the future. He couldn't give up the simplicity and peace of his life as Baby without going insane. Life as a human being was just too complicated. "Foolish person," he said. "Naps are among the best things in life. They rank up there with belly rubs." "Belly rubs?" "Let me show you what I mean." He moved to a spot behind her and placed his hands on her hips. "Oh, no," she said, although she sounded more amused than annoyed. "I can see where this is leading, and we've got to get some work done." "I'll wait," he said, without moving away from her. She hesitated and then picked up a handful of memos and fed them into the shredder. As soon as the sound stopped, he slid his hands under her shirt, confirming that she was, indeed, not wearing any panties. He gripped her hips, squeezing lightly, and continuing up the side of her stomach until his fingers brushed the bottom of her bare breasts. "There's too much work to be done." She reached for the next batch of papers, bending slightly, bringing her bottom tighter against him. His muscles tightened in what he recognized as a completely human way, not the precursor to changing form, but he still had a moment's concern that he might lose control and change into Baby here, with Emily as witness. He closed his eyes, shutting out the color and confusion. Patience, that was what he needed right now to maintain his human form. Stay still, wait for the right moment and then pounce. **** Emily leaned toward the shredder, and felt his hands tighten on her ribs. She fumbled with the stack of paper, and could only manage to feed a single sheet into the machine. He moved his hands along her ribs, massaging the muscles there before moving down to her stomach and rubbing in large, steady circles around her navel. The rest of the papers slid out of her hands. She leaned back against him and sighed contentedly until the growing warmth in her pussy warned her that this game could take the rest of the day if she let him continue. She placed her hands over his. "There's so much to do." "Mmm." He bent his head down to rub his cheek against hers and then prop his softly furry chin on her

shoulder, tight against her neck. Undeterred, his hands continued to massage their way around her navel. "Wait," she said. "I'm behind schedule already, and the papers have to be shredded today, or I'll have no chance of making up for the lost time." He turned his face to nip at the side of her chin. "You work, I'll rub." "I can't work if you're touching me." "I won't do anything." He patted her stomach encouragingly. "Not until you've done your job. And then I get to rub some more." She glanced around the room, and didn't see any loose papers. Just the three stacks of documents already neatly piled onto the coffee table. Mark patted her stomach again, but this time she could feel his impatience and the promise of more sensual contact. "Hurry up. I want to play, so you have to work faster." She began to feed the papers from the foot-high stack into the shredder. Mark kept his word, his hands continuing to rest on her stomach, without moving. She fed the last sheet of the first stack into the machine. "One down." "Two to go," he said. "That deserves a little celebration." His hands moved, making a circle around her stomach and then sliding lower. One hand stopped just above her pubic mound, pressing gently against her there, while the other hand's fingertips explored the circumference of her navel. One finger entered her belly button, probing gently, and her stomach clenched. He withdrew his finger and inserted it again, and her pussy responded as if he were touching her even lower. If he did that again, she was going to beg him to rub her belly, and other parts of her, for the rest of the day. "Enough." She grabbed his wrist to stop him. "I need to finish." "Mmm," he said. "I like it when you finish." She tried to pull away from him, but he didn't release her. He did stop playing with her navel, though. She tried not to be disappointed, and focused on her plan, on the work to be finished before they could play. She fed the papers into the machine, clumsily at first, but with improving efficiency as her body recovered from his teasing. She reached the bottom of the second stack, and as the last sheet disintegrated, the finger inside her navel began to move in and out, and his other hand slid lower, his fingertips brushing against the opening between her legs. He pressed the heel of his hand against the upper edge of her pussy, and the muscles there clenched rapidly several times. She was having trouble breathing, and even more trouble thinking. She was supposed to be working, not playing. Feeding papers into a shredder, not feeding her own physical desires. His hand pressed harder against her pussy, covering it completely and then rubbing the entire area up and down. Her clit responded as if he were touching it directly, and the pleasure arced through muscles and nerves, from where the heel of his hand pressed against her, all the way to where his fingertips brushed more lightly. He continued rubbing, and she shifted, spreading her legs apart, giving him better access, and leaning more heavily against him for support. "Good?" he said. She answered with a moan of contentment, and she didn't care that she was opening herself to him like a pet eager for its owner's touch. He was welcome to rub her belly any time. He squeezed her pussy once, and then stopped. "Are you done?" Disappointed, she wiggled, trying to get that restless feeling back, but he didn't move. "Is that all there is to a belly rub?" "There's much, much more," he said. "But not until you finish the last stack of papers. Work first, play later. That's your rule, right?" "I can't." She was both so loose and so wired that if she even tried to do anything with the remaining stack, either she or the papers would end up on the floor. "I need a belly rub." "I'll help you." "No," she said. "Don't let go of me."

"I've got you." His thumb rubbed its way to her clit and hovered over it. "As soon as you start on the last pile of papers, I'll touch you." His thumb was right there, right where she wanted it, and all she had to do was feed a piece of paper into the damned shredder. She could do that. Three easy steps: reach forward, pick up a sheet and stick it in the slot. She raised her hand, as clumsy as if she were drunk. She was shaking, she realized. His thumb settled on her clit, barely touching, without any pressure, a mere promise of the reward if she continued with her work. She took a deep breath and held it, as if that would steady her. She managed to grasp a few sheets of paper and began to introduce them to the shredder. His thumb pressed against her clit, and she lost her hold on the papers. "That's okay," he said. "Just keep working, and I'll keep rubbing." She reached for more papers, determined not to give him a reason to stop. He pressed more firmly and then began to rub her clit in circles. She fumbled with the papers, continuing to move them in the direction of the shredder, unaware of whether she was making any real headway. She vaguely heard the sound of blades tearing paper, but it faded against the roar of her own heartbeat and the demands of her clit. He rubbed her belly with one hand and her clit with the other, and she continued to move papers from one spot to another until it finally dawned on her that the sound of the shredder had faded completely, and if she didn't find some more paper to feed it, the rubbing would stop. She blinked, trying to focus on the top of the coffee table, searching for more papers, but it was bare. The entire stack of papers was gone. She looked on the floor, and that was bare too, so she must have hit her mark more than she'd realized. "I'm done." Her voice a wail of dismay, rather than a shout of triumph. The rubbing stopped, and she cried out at the loss. "Play now?" His thumb hovered over her clit. "Yes," she said. "Play now." He turned to sit on the coffee table, pulling her down onto his lap, her legs spread wide, straddling his thighs. He rubbed her pussy, her labia, clit. Inside and outside. He played with every part of her, until she was starting toward the final round. He paused. "Will you give me a belly rub next?" "Work first, play later," she said through the haze of pleasure. "You'll have to earn it." "I can do that," he said. "I'll do anything for a belly rub." "Me too," she confessed. She could have dozens of lists, hundreds of items on her to-do lists, and she would ignore them all for this kind of attention from Mark. "I never knew how wonderful a belly rub could be." "Let me show you the rest," he said, and somehow managed to rub her belly and her clit simultaneously, pushing her into extended waves of pleasure.

Chapter Eight Mark slid out of the rented box truck's passenger seat and checked the distance between the vehicle and the loading ramp. He glanced over his shoulder at the run-down building with a barely legible sign that read "Wharton Wares, Wharton Cares." For the past two days, Mark had traded lessons with Emily. He'd taught her everything he knew about playing, and she lectured him on the importance of establishing business objectives and then taking prioritized steps to achieve the goals. She was particularly obsessed, he thought, with the concept of networking and getting referrals from clients like the Senator who had extensive contacts. He'd been careful never to fall asleep in human form after their games, though. He'd waited until she was asleep, and then left. Later in the night, if she awoke, Baby would be lying beside her, and she'd rub his chest and he'd purr until she fell asleep again, and he could allow himself to rest too. But now, most of the work was done, and everything was packed. The foodstuffs had been delivered to a food pantry, the DVDs and magazines to a nursing home, and the few small boxes of DVDs and other potentially personal items had been piled on a kitchen counter for Emily to hand-deliver to the Senator. Only three projects remained on Emily's checklist: complete the donation of the Senator's unwanted belongings in the truck to the thrift shop, supervise the moving men who would take away all of the furniture and major appliances tomorrow and find a new home for Baby. Mark had tried to convince her that the liger had survived just fine on his own, and would continue to do so, but she insisted she was responsible for him. That was one of the things that was so difficult about being human: the sense of responsibility. He was feeling that way toward Emily, worrying that she would regret their time together, and he'd have been to blame. Mark retrieved a box from the back of the truck and handed it to Emily before grabbing one for himself. Inside the store, Emily set her box down near the entrance. "I need to talk to the manager about receipts." Mark headed toward the back corner of the dingy space, where the word "donations" was printed on the wall like graffiti, and painted lines on the floor set off an area ten feet square. The space was almost empty now, except for a couple pairs of shoes. On the way back to the truck for another box, Mark found Emily poking through a collection of ceramic salt and pepper shakers. She glanced up at him sheepishly. "A professional organizer should know better than to collect silly things that just take up space, but I can't help myself." "Everyone needs a bit of silliness." He wished he could buy a set for her, but he'd underestimated the current cost of living when he'd arranged to have some money wired to him. By the time he'd picked up a few changes of clothes and other basic necessities, he'd been down to his last dollar. "You've worked hard the last few days. You deserve a reward." "I was thinking I might get that pair." She pointed at a vaguely feline-shaped set. "They remind me of Baby." Mark blinked. Did he really look like anything that? Now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall ever seeing himself in feline form. He doubted he was that artificial orange color, though, and suspected the prospect of never seeing Baby again was affecting her judgment. "Baby's bigger," he said finally. "I'll go get some more boxes." In the parking lot, he noticed an old, rusty Jeep that hadn't been there when they'd arrived. They probably should have locked the truck between trips, or at least closed the back doors. He peered inside, and, except for the two boxes already unloaded, the contents appeared identical to his last glimpse of them when the packing had been complete. Just the way they'd looked last night before he'd slammed the doors shut and introduced Emily to a too-short night of games. Mark picked up the box that contained freshly laundered bedspreads, one of which had played a role in the previous day's games. He was half tempted to keep it as his own memento of his time with Emily, but Baby would probably drop it in a ditch somewhere. Mark bumped the doors shut with his shoulder and headed back inside. He could hear Emily chatting with a woman at the cash register, so he headed for the back of the store. He had just placed the box on top of the

previous one when he caught a whiff of citrus after-shave. He recognized that smell. The door-to-door salesman who'd been at the Senator's house and who'd wanted to play with Emily. Mark whirled and automatically dropped down into a hunting crouch. Which might have been helpful in a field or forest, but it wasn't much help here, where high, wide shelving obscured his view of the space. He concentrated on the scent, following it in a meandering path along the back walls, weaving in and out of aisles, as if hiding from security cameras. Possibly a shoplifter, he thought, although that didn't seem to fit with what he recalled of the man. He hadn't seemed shady or impoverished, just young and annoying. And overly interested in his Emily. The man's path seemed to be making its way toward the cash register, rather than avoiding it. Mark glided silently around a corner, and the citrus scent grew overwhelming. At the far end of the aisle the man was crouched behind a rack of jeans, peering around it. Mark knew all about stalking, and while the other man wasn't doing a good job of it, his behavior certainly fit the basic pattern. But who was he stalking? Emily? Mark stifled a growl. The first rule of hunting was to remain silent. If the man was after Emily, how had he found her? Had he staked out the Senator's house, waiting for them to leave? It wouldn't have been difficult to follow the rental truck without being noticed. Even Baby couldn't have picked up the distinctive citrus scent of the other man's after-shave while they were on the road, not while he was inside the greasy, stained cab filled with other aromas. Mark rose onto his toes to peer over the display beside him to see what the man was staring at so intently. Emily was standing at the check-out counter. The woman operating the ancient cash register wore a white sweater trimmed in leopard-spotted fur that he could tell, even from this distance, was fake. He recognized her as the woman who lived next door to the Senator and claimed not to be afraid of Baby. She glanced in his direction, and he crouched back down behind the display. Some instincts crossed species, and he didn't question the feeling that Candace could see past his human facade. He would have preferred to remain out of Candace's sight, but things were going to come to a head in a minute, anyway, when Emily completed her transaction and began to wonder where Mark was. He didn't want to lose the element of surprise, so he crept up behind the eavesdropping man. "Do you need any help?" The man jumped almost as high as if Baby had been the one who'd crept up on him, and moved away, into the open space near the cash register. For a moment, he seemed to believe he could duck down out of sight, but a furtive glance in the direction of the two women who were staring back at him confirmed that it was too late. "I was just looking," he said. "Nothing wrong with that." "Depends," Mark said, emerging from the aisle to stand between the man and the exit. "Who were you looking at?" The man pointed at Emily. "If you must know, I was following you and that woman." Mark felt the urge to growl and resented the fact that the sound wouldn't be as terrifying in his current form. "Don't. Not ever again." "I can if I want to," he said. "It's a free country. The Constitution says I can do anything I want. I'm a reporter." "Is that you, Stephen?" Candace said. He looked down at his feet, and his face turned red. "I know you," Candace said. "You're not a reporter. I know everyone who works at the local paper, and they don't hire summer staff. You're a college kid, here with your parents for the summer.” "I am too a reporter," Stephen said. "I write a political blog." Candace frowned. "Then why are you following Emily?" "She's been staying at Senator Hughes's house, and then this guy showed up." Stephen nodded his head toward Mark. "Something's going on there, and if it involves the Senator, I can write about it, and people will read my blog and I'll get lots of advertisers and make enough money that my parents will let me quit school." Mark had to leave. Now. Before Stephen could unwittingly stumble across the truth about Baby, an even

bigger story than anything he might write about the Senator. "I'll finish unloading the truck while you folks sort this out." Mark headed for the exit. He could clear the door and become Baby before Stephen even thought to follow him. Over the years, he'd left town plenty of times to protect his secret, but he'd never before had to leave behind the woman he loved. She deserved an explanation before he left. Behind him, Emily sounded annoyed but patient as she spoke to Stephen. "Nothing interesting is happening at the Senator's place. He hired me to empty the house so he can have some renovations done." "That's not a bad cover story." Stephen stomped to the door. "But I'm a reporter. I'm supposed to be persistent. I'm not leaving this alone until I get the truth." **** Mark was never the most talkative of men, Emily thought, but on the way home from Wharton Wares he'd been positively taciturn, and he'd muttered something about needing some time alone to think, and headed into the backyard instead of coming into the house with her. For the first time, Emily felt overwhelmed by the size of the house. Usually, when Mark wasn't around, Baby had kept her company. She hadn't seen him since two nights ago, since he'd stayed away while Mark was with her last night. Perhaps, as Mark had suggested, Baby had found a new person to adopt. She hadn't liked the idea of leaving him behind, but he had a much better chance of survival here than in the city, especially if he'd found a new human to care for him. The same was true of Mark. She couldn't stay here in Wharton with him, and he didn't seem interested in any long-term commitment of the sort that required moving to Boston. Emily wandered into the back yard to make sure Baby had really left, and wasn't lurking in the overgrown shrubs there. Mark emerged from some shadows. "What are you doing out here?" "Looking for Baby," she said. "I haven't seen him in a while, and I wanted to say goodbye, in case I don't see him tomorrow." "He's fine," he said. "Is everything packed?" She nodded. There was something different about Mark tonight. He'd always thrown himself completely into whatever he was doing at the moment, whether it was sex or packing, and tonight he seemed preoccupied. "And you'll be leaving as soon as the movers are done?" She nodded again, surprised at how much she was dreaded the prospect of heading home. She'd known all along that they only had a few days together, and they were just playing around. A real relationship required planning and commitment, not just fun and games. "You won't be able to stay in the house after I'm gone. Do you have a place to stay?" "I'll be fine." "Like Baby." "Exactly." Mark shoved his hands in his pockets. "Look, I'd follow you to Boston if I could." "I understand." "No, you don't," he said. "I'd like to explain, but it's complicated." "You're married? Or a criminal?" She didn't believe either possibility. He was just trying to make their separation easier on her. "It figures. The first guy I skip the background check on, and he's the one who actually has something to hide." "The truth about me wouldn't show up on a background check," he said. "And if it did, you'd probably think whoever wrote the report was insane." "Never mind," she said. "Let's go on inside and say goodbye properly." "I should leave right now." He glanced past her, toward the house. "It's too risky to stick around." "I could put in a good word for you with the Senator, if that would help." "He wouldn't believe you," Mark said. "Hell, you probably wouldn't believe me." "Try me."

"This isn't a game," he said. "It sounds like one, but it isn't. Games are a lot easier. Games have rules, and breaking them is part of the fun. Everyone knows who the players are and what the options are. When it's over, it's over. No one takes anything seriously, and no one gets hurt." "You wouldn't hurt me, any more than Baby would." He laughed grimly. "You're right about that much. Baby and I would treat you exactly the same. Have you ever wondered why I know so much about the liger, and why you've never seen us in the same room together? Why he only comes to bed after I leave?" "I figured Baby was jealous of all the attention I was giving you." "Baby can't be jealous of me," Mark said. "He is me. I'm him. We're the same creature." "That's ridiculous," she said. "Baby is a wild animal. You're a human being." "Not quite," he said. "We're both hybrids. Part human, part tiger and part lion." That was impossible. Of course, a few days ago, she'd have said the same thing about anything as fanciful as her meeting a liger, face to face, or engaging in a sexual relationship with a man who was still, after three days, essentially a stranger. She didn't even know what he did for a living. She should know that much about him, she thought. "What kind of work do you do?" He looked at her with obvious confusion. "I'm a freelance writer. Specialize in animal biology. Cats, specifically." "And now you're going to tell me you chose that line of work because you've got the inside scoop on what cats think." "Something like that," he said. "Their thoughts aren't particularly hard to understand." "Of course not." She couldn't believe how reasonable both of them sounded. She'd fallen in love with a guy who thought he was a cat. She should have stuck to her usual routine of doing background checks first. Surely this kind of delusion would have shown up, and she could have saved both of them the awkwardness of this conversation. But then she would have missed out on the games they'd played together, and she wouldn't trade those memories for anything. "You don't believe me," he said. "Think about it. Have you ever seen me and Baby in the same place at the same time?" "No, but I've never seen you and a few billion other creatures at the same time." "How did I get into your bedroom that first night?" "The Senator gave you a key." "How do I know so much about Baby?" he said. "I'm not sure," Emily said, thinking back to what he'd said about the liger. Nothing all that specific. "I figured you were just being vague, sort of intuiting the right answer by my reactions." "I can be specific," he said. "I know where you met Baby. It was outside a pharmacy, in a little town off the Mass Pike, after your car was stolen, and you were on the way to the police station. I waited on the steps while you filed the report." "There's a copy of the report in the car," she said. "You could have read that." "The night I showed up," he said. "You'd fallen asleep while rubbing Baby's belly." "Were you watching us?" "No," he said. "I was purring. I like belly rubs." "I like them too." But the rest? It was too much. "I'm not interested in this game, though. You don't need to make any excuses for leaving. We both knew this was temporary." She turned and went back inside the house. She had work to do, and she never left anything unfinished.

Chapter Nine Mark struggled to sort out the conflicting signals his human brain was giving him. He ignored the one that insisted he should follow Emily into the house and concentrated instead on the one that said he needed to leave. He needed to simplify everything, become Baby again. He shouldn't have tried to tell her the truth. It was better for both of them if she didn't know. He hadn't meant to tell her. It had just come out. Stupid human emotions. Baby would never have jeopardized his own well-being like that. Mark retreated to a quiet corner of the backyard, where he could blend in with the shadows. He stripped off his human clothing, leaving the jeans and t-shirt where they fell. He didn’t need it any longer. It was better this way. She'd get over him, especially now that she thought he was insane, and he'd have the peace and simplicity of his feline life back. He stretched, and, as the transformation began, he caught the sound of someone entering the yard. He couldn't stop the change, couldn't rush the process, couldn't even open his eyes to find out who was there and if the person had seen him. As soon as the new form was in place, he braved the disorientation to open his eyes. Standing in the pathway leading to the back door, and looking directly at him, was Candace in all her faux-leopard glory. He took a step backwards, deeper into the shadows. "Don't worry," she said. "I already knew." Baby cocked his head to one side, confused by her acceptance of him. "Does Emily know about you?" He shrugged. "You should tell her," Candace said. "She's strong enough to handle it." He shook his head. "You cats are so stubborn." She rubbed the fake fur on her sweater, and he wondered if she'd ever patted a real leopard, one that could change into human form. He wanted to ask her, but couldn't. "It's possible to have a real relationship," she said. "You just need to stick around and work at it. Several of your kin have done that here in Wharton." Really? Here? He let out a frustrated growl in place of the words he couldn't form without vocal chords. "Who do you think is breaking into the vacation houses and borrowing clothes?" Candace said. "New cats coming to town, checking out the possibilities here. There's been a whole community of your type here for generations. Half the town knows about it, and we make sure the ones who'd be upset never find out." Did he want to stay? Be human all the time? It might be worth giving up his simpler, more peaceful feline life if he could be with Emily, but she wouldn't be happy here in Wharton. He needed to think, and his current form wasn't particularly conducive to solving problems this complicated. He was about to send Candace away so he could morph back into human form when he heard a car door slam in front of the house. A moment later, footsteps he didn't recognize were heading for the back yard. Baby shrank deeper into the shadows. "Come back here," Candace said. "I'm not done with you yet. We need to talk some more." He wasn't leaving now, not while this new visitor was here with his Emily, but he wasn't staying out in the open either. He concentrated on the approaching footsteps. Male, he decided. As soon as Candace left, he'd morph back to human form, so he could safely keep an eye on the situation, without risking the visitor's catching a glimpse of Baby. A moment later, Candace finally heard the footsteps too, and hurried to join Baby in the shadows, her fake fur helping her to blend in with the shadows. A middle-aged man in three-piece suit and expensive haircut came around the corner, with a uniformed driver behind him, carrying a leather suitcase. Candace gasped and Baby growled a warning to be quiet. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "It's the Senator." ****

Mark had only been gone a few minutes when Emily heard someone coming in the back door. Had he changed his mind about staying the night? She returned to the kitchen and found Senator Hughes standing in the middle of the kitchen, partially hidden by the stack of boxes she'd planned to hand-deliver to him in Boston. "Senator!" She couldn't help glancing out the window into the backyard to see if either Mark or Baby was out there. "I wasn't expecting you." "I had to see what was happening for myself." "Everything's on schedule," she said briskly. "The movers will be here in the morning." "That's something, at least." He wandered out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the living room. He peered inside, seemed satisfied by its stripped-down character. All that was left were the large pieces of furniture that the movers would take away tomorrow. He backtracked to the dining room, again peering inside and nodding approval. He continued in the direction of the stairs leading to the bedrooms. He paused at the base of the stairs and seemed to be listening for something. Emily listened too, in case Mark or Baby had slipped inside without her noticing. They both had a knack for moving silently. She didn't hear anything, and apparently the Senator didn't either, because he turned away from the stairs to confront Emily. "Where are they?" "Who?" "The other people," he said. "I'm the only one here." "What about last night and the night before?" He sounded as pompous and self-satisfied as if he'd caught an opponent in a lie during a legislative session. "I have it on good authority that there have been loud parties going on here, and the neighbors are complaining. You know I can't afford to be associated with that sort of thing." "There were no loud parties or complaints from the neighbors," Emily said. "In fact, I hired one of the neighbors for a few hours of packing." "You had other people in here?" Emily shrugged. "It was necessary to get the job done in the timeframe you gave me. The neighbor helped part-time, and I also had a full-time assistant to help with the heavy lifting." "Where is the assistant?" the Senator said. "I want to meet him." "His work was done, and he left," Emily said. "I'm not sure where he is right now. He was just a temporary hire." "Find him." There was no time for that. What if Stephen showed up and found his quarry here? The Senator's secret would be out, and he'd blame her, and she might as well shut down her business before he could ruin her reputation for efficient, confidential work. Her only chance of salvaging her future was to convince the Senator to go back to Boston. "I'll have Mark call you." "I want to see him in person," he said. And what the Senator wanted, the Senator got, Emily thought. Initially, she'd tried to convince him to hire a more local company to empty his house, but he'd already made up his mind to hire her, and it didn't matter to him that he was taking her away from other clients. He was even less likely to listen to any reasons why she couldn't carry out his current demand, especially after taking the time to come all the way here from Boston. She had to at least go through the motions of finding Mark. "It might take some time." "You've got until tomorrow at noon." He returned to the kitchen and hefted the huge leather suitcase by the back door. "I'll be here until then." She followed him, trying not to appear as desperate as she felt. "The rooms are empty." She knew, even as she spoke, that it wouldn't convince him to return to Boston, but she might at least be able to get him out of the house. "Even the linens are gone. Just bare mattresses on the beds. You'd be much more comfortable in a hotel."

"Too public," he said. "I had my people pack sheets and towels. I'm staying here to make sure there are no more problems." Emily followed him to the stairs. "There haven't been any problems." There was Stephen, of course, but he wasn't a serious problem. At least, he hadn't been until the Senator had taken matters into his own hands. "If there weren't any problems, I wouldn't be here." He grunted, and she hoped it was just because of the weight of the suitcase as he lugged it up the stairs. "You have a reputation for getting the job done, but that may change now." Emily wandered back to the kitchen. It had seemed like such an opportunity when the Senator hired her for this job. A challenge, sure, because she'd annoyed some other clients by delaying their work, but she'd thought it would be worth it because of the referrals the Senator could give her. Now, she had a bad feeling the references would be negative instead of positive. She had one last chance to keep the Senator satisfied with her work. She just had to make sure he stayed inside the house, away from Stephen. That shouldn't be too difficult. The Senator clearly wasn't planning a night out on the town. The difficult task for the evening was to find a way to salvage her business reputation when she failed to produce Mark tomorrow.

Chapter Ten The Senator came downstairs half an hour later and settled in the living room with a new stack of paperwork and a mini-cassette recorder. Emily lingered in the kitchen, preparing contingency plans for tomorrow. Perhaps she could convince the Senator to leave first thing in the morning, after he'd observed the lack of wild parties overnight. From time to time, Emily could hear the indistinct sounds of the Senator's dictation, followed by paper tearing. If she weren't so annoyed with him at the moment, she'd have offered him the use of her shredder, which was packed in the trunk of her car. The front doorbell rang. Mark would have let himself in, unannounced, and Candace would have come to the back door. She doubted the Senator had arranged for any visitors here. "I'll get it," she shouted. She raced to the front door, but the Senator was already there. He held his recorder in one hand and had the other on the doorknob. He glanced back at her suspiciously. "You're expecting someone?" "No, no, of course not," she said. "Just trying to keep you from being disturbed. It's probably a salesman or something." The bell rang again. "Whoever he is, he's persistent." Like a wannabe reporter desperate for his first story, Emily thought. Stephen had vowed to be persistent in his pursuit of the Senator. "We could just ignore it and whoever's out there will go away." "I came here to see what was going on," the Senator said, turning the handle. "I'm not backing down now." Please let it be a real door-to-door salesman. The door swung inward and she closed her eyes against whomever might be there, even as her feet brought her to stand next to the Senator. Let it be a kid playing a prank. Anyone but Stephen. Or Mark. Or Baby. She opened her eyes just in time to be blinded by the flash of a cheap digital camera. "I knew it," Stephen said. "I knew something was going on." The Senator stepped forward onto the porch, forcing Stephen to back up. "Who are you?" "Stephen Stanton, Jr." He sounded as if he expected the name to mean something. "Never heard of you," the Senator said. "Everyone will know who I am by morning," Stephen said. "Thanks for making my career." The Senator turned to Emily. "What is your friend talking about?" Stephen snapped another picture. "He's not my friend," Emily said, aware that she needed to revise her plans to include a going out of business sale. "He thinks he's a reporter, and he's been lurking around here, hoping you'd show up." "I wasn't just hoping," Stephen said. "I made sure he'd show up. I called his office and told them you were throwing parties here. I figured he'd have to show up if he thought his mistress was cheating on him in their love-nest." "You've been watching too much network news and soap operas," Emily said. "I'm not his mistress, and this isn't a love-nest." "That's up to my readers to decide, based on the pictures," Stephen said, and the Senator lunged for the camera. Stephen jerked it out of reach and began to edge toward the driveway. The Senator followed. The Senator had undoubtedly dealt with more experienced paparazzi, and could handle the misguided and clueless Stephen. At least, she'd thought so until she caught a glimpse of Stephen's car at the end of the driveway, the door open and the engine running. Stephen hadn't made a flat-out run for it yet, preferring to zigzag around the front yard, playing a high-stakes game of Keep-Away, and continuing to snap pictures of the Senator. Emily raced straight for the car. Once there, with the engine turned off she shouted to get the Senator's attention. "I've got his keys." She waved them in the air, so both men could see them. Now, it was just a matter of time before the Senator's determination overcame the younger man's impetuous foolishness. Emily leaned against Stephen's car, as the Senator advanced on the younger man. She was distracted from

them by a hint of movement at the far side of the house. Did Stephen have an accomplice? A moment later, a naked Mark came running from the backyard, followed by Candace. He leaped toward Stephen's back, and her vision seemed to blur, and then, where Mark had been was Baby, completing the leap and knocking Stephen to the ground. Emily sank heavily onto the porch, distantly aware of Candace's shrieks and the Senator's attempts to calm her. Mark had just turned into Baby. Right in front of her. She couldn't possibly have seen what she'd just witnessed. Witnesses. Oh, God. The Senator. And Stephen. And the camera. The sound of Candace's voice finally penetrated her consciousness. Candace was halfway down the path to her own house, her back to Stephen and Baby. The Senator was beside her, an arm around her waist for support. "A fistfight in the front yard," Candace said. "I never would have thought such a thing could happen here." "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am." The Senator started to glance over his shoulder, but Candace stumbled, forcing him to concentrate on her again. "I'm sure Emily will take care of everything," Candace said. "She's a lovely woman. So good at what she does. Just like you are." Emily tuned out Candace's fawning over the Senator, who was either enjoying the attention or simply anxious to keep his neighbor from complaining about the night's events. She had more important things to worry about. The camera. Emily rose shakily. She had to get it. Baby was still lying across Stephen's back when she reached the two of them. Stephen's eyes were closed, but there was no blood and he seemed to be breathing normally. "You can let him up now, Baby." Baby rose and loomed over her while she knelt to check the unconscious man's pulse. It seemed fine, so she picked up the camera and draped the strap around Baby's neck. "Get rid of this thing. And don't come back until you're Mark again." **** Baby retreated to the back yard, smashing the camera on the way, and then rushed through the transformation back to human form. He returned to Emily's side in time to hear a groggy Stephen say, "What happened?" "Nothing," Emily said. "The Senator was here with you," Stephen said. "That's something." Mark tested his vocal chords. "Mmme." Stephen looked at him blankly. "You saw me, not the Senator," Mark said. "I've been here all day, and I'd already warned you to stay away from Emily." "You don't look like anything like the Senator," Stephen said. "I would never have mistaken you for him." "What can I say?" Mark said. "The human imagination is powerful, especially when it comes to seeing what they want to see, and not seeing what it doesn't want to see." She believed him. She'd seen Mark change into Baby, and she'd had some warning earlier when Mark had claimed he could do it. But her brain was having trouble processing it. Stephen looked as dazed as she felt. "If the Senator didn't hit me," Stephen said with a lingering trace of belligerence, "then how did I end up unconscious?" "I hit you," Mark said. "Sorry. You were bothering Emily, and I'm the only one who's allowed to do that." "Oh. Well." Stephen wobbled a little. "But this is the Senator's house." "Yeah. And we're working here, just Emily and me, getting it ready for renovations. You knew that from our last conversation." "Oh," Stephen said, rolling his shoulders, where he was going to have a pair of inexplicably paw-shaped

bruises tomorrow. "But I thought that was just your cover story, and a real reporter would dig deeper." "Sometimes a real reporter has to accept that there's no story," Mark said. "Quiet place, this town. Nothing for a reporter to do here. No reason for you to stick around." Stephen stood gingerly. "You might want to visit the hospital before you leave town," Mark said. "Head injuries can be tricky. You never know when you might have a relapse." Stephen finally recognized the threat. "My parents wanted me to intern at my dad's law office," Stephen said. "I could still do that." "Good idea." Emily handed him his car keys. "Career plans need to be flexible."

Chapter Eleven Emily waited impatiently for Mark to return from checking on Candace and the Senator. When he came through the back door, she said, "You're not insane." "No," he said. "Just crazy about you. And I think the Senator feels the same way about Candace." "Candace?" Mark led the way to the stairs. "He wants you to pack up his suitcase and send it on over there." "He's not angry about Stephen?" Emily followed him to the master suite. "Or Baby?" "He doesn't blame you for Stephen," he said. "And thanks to Candace's quick thinking, he never saw Baby. She distracted him when she realized what was going to happen." "She knew about you?" He nodded. "And I didn't?" Emily struggled to lift the Senator's suitcase onto the bed for packing. "Wait. Is she like you? Is everyone here like you?" "Not everyone," he said. "And not Candace. But she tells me there are some others here like me." "How does it happen?" She paused in the middle of retrieving the Senator's clothes from the dresser. "I mean you and Baby." "It's genetics." He took the clothes from her hands and tossed them into the suitcase. "We have an extra helix in our DNA. Plug it in on one side of the usual double helix, and we're human. Plug it into the other side, and we're feline." "I really thought you were insane," she said. "And I figured I was heading in that direction myself. I certainly wasn't acting like myself." "You should play more often." "You could teach me some more games." He nodded at the suitcase. "What about the Senator?" "He can wait," she said. "And I'm not packing his sheets. Candace has plenty of linens, I'm sure." "In that case," he said as he began undressing, "I did have a new game in mind." "Oh, yeah?" She raced to be naked before he was. "What is it?" "We'll make it up as we go along." He flopped onto the bed and lay there watching her fumble with her panties. He'd won again, but she wasn't far behind. "What are the rules?" "I was thinking of something special this time." Something to remember him by, she thought. And she was determined that he'd remember her too. She climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips. "Tell me about your new game." "No holds barred. All-out sex," he said. "Whoever comes first has to agree to anything the other person asks of her. Or him." "So if I win, you'll come to Boston with me?" "I can't live there," he said. "It's too dangerous. But I'd settle down here if you asked me to." "I'd have to give up my business." "I know." He found her clit. "The most rewarding games have the highest stakes." "I could sell my business and start over here" She lowered herself onto his cock. She could win this game. It would take her weeks to come in this position. Long, fun-filled, excruciatingly pleasurable weeks. "Especially if the Senator isn't going to be saying anything negative about it." "Are you sure?" She wiggled, teasing him. No way she was losing this time. "Wharton Wares looked like it could use some new management with my skills." He attended to her clit with an enthusiasm that warned her he had no intention of letting her win this game. "I've been outlining some plans of my own." "Really?" She rose and fell on his cock.

"Mmm." He closed his eyes. "It's got two objectives." "Sounds complicated." "Not really." He resumed playing with her clit. "One objective is to find my siblings and make sure they're doing okay." "Candace might know where they are." He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he redoubled his efforts on her clit, and she was startled to realize that her arousal had progressed further than she'd realized. She tried to slow things down, distracting herself from the pleasure by concentrating on a new business plan for Wharton Wares. Making the place look more inviting would be a good start. The business plan wasn't as exciting as what Mark was doing with her clit, causing her to lose her train of thought. Before she was too far gone, he said, "Do you want to know my other objective?" "Of course." "I want to play." So did she. But she couldn't come until he did. She was determined to wait for him this time. "You always want to play.” "Not just play." His fingers stilled, leaving her on the verge of coming. "I want to play with you." "Me too." And then she felt the oddest sensation, a rumbling vibration against her thighs, where they gripped the side of him. It felt like Baby's purr, except it was coming from Mark. He was purring, and her whole body shook with the force of the sound. Oh, God, a man who could purr. She was in love with a man who could fuck and purr at the same time. But she couldn't wait for him any longer. She needed to let go, trust that he would catch her. She collapsed onto his chest, reveling in the vibrations that brought her closer to the end. "I don't care who wins. I just want to play with you for as long as I can." "Mmm," he said, the purring increasing in volume. "If I win, you have to stay here and play with me forever." She wiggled one last time, shaking inside and out. "You win." The End About the Author: After practicing law for a dozen years, Jan Darby decided it was time for an easier, less stressful career and, in her ignorance, chose storytelling. After another dozen years practicing the art of fiction-writing, Jan found her writer's voice with What Alice Wants, her first contemporary erotic-romance romp, available from Liquid Silver Books. Jan plans to continue storytelling for at least the next couple dozen years, since writing is, if not easier, certainly a whole lot more fun than lawyering.

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