White Tiger

Kendrick didn’t move. He could do that—go absolutely still, his green eyes fixed, watching. When he was like that, Addie could see the cat in him, the tiger that could kill with one swipe of his huge paw.

Kendrick the man, on the other hand, was delectable. His arms bulged against the shirt, the fabric clinging to his chest. His hair was messy from sleep, the white and black tangled together, and bristles covered his jaw, but he didn’t look bedraggled. He looked like he’d just risen from bed, warm and tousled, and lucky was the woman who got to see him first thing in the morning.

Addie hoped no one else noticed her devouring him with her gaze, but Ben concentrated on his breakfast, the man effusive in his praise to Charlie. He took his time, enjoying it, then rose, held out his fists to bump with the cubs’, who’d softened to him a bit. Ben gave Addie another once-over, winked at her, and walked out, Kendrick close behind him.

Addie followed them, standing on the back porch as Kendrick ushered Ben down the steps. Ben had left a motorcycle parked close to Kendrick’s at the back of the house, and Kendrick walked him every step to it.

Ben and Kendrick had more conversation as Ben checked his bike, but they were too far away for Addie to hear it, and they leaned in, voices low. Kendrick regarded Ben with a hard stare, while Ben gestured with his hands as he argued.

It was clear who lost the debate. Kendrick’s body was tilted forward over Ben’s, an aggressive stance, while Ben was trying not to back down.

Finally, Ben climbed aboard his bike, started it up, and drove it around the house to the dirt drive, a wake of dust climbing into the clear, blue sky.

Kendrick turned around, regarding Addie on the porch without surprise, as though he’d known she’d followed to watch.

“Kendrick,” Addie said. “We need to talk.” She stepped off the porch and marched toward the barn on the little rise behind the house, without waiting to see whether he’d follow.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Watching Addison walk up to the barn, her backside swaying in tight jeans, woke Kendrick’s hunger with a vengeance. Too long burning, too long alone. The non-satisfaction of the dream rose up and bit him.

Addison was angry. Kendrick noted that with the same awareness that followed the noise of Ben’s motorcycle far into the distance.

Addison slowed her pace as she entered the barn. Kendrick caught up to her, finding himself in a shadowy interior with a lofty roof, smelling of dust, hay, and horse.

Only one horse stood in this vastness, in a stall that was one of a dozen. The horse hung its head over the partition when Addison approached and gave a heartfelt little whinny. It was lonely, just like the rest of them.

“How are you, girl?” Addison halted in front of the stall and rubbed the horse’s nose. “It’s too hot for you to run in the corral right now. Later, I’ll ask Charlie to turn you out.”

“How do you know it’s a she?” Kendrick asked, using the words to deflect his roiling desire. “Because your grandparents taught you about horses?”

“Because Charlie told me.” Addison turned from the mare but kept her hand on its neck. “I’m not expert enough to tell the difference by one glance—well, I mean except for the obvious way.” She patted the horse again. “Not what I came here to talk to you about.”

Kendrick didn’t think she had.

“You need to be straight with me.” Addison stepped away from the horse. She kept her voice low, trying not to startle the beast, but she stared straight into Kendrick’s eyes. Brooking no nonsense, her look said. “I know you didn’t want to say much in front of Charlie or your cubs, but we’re alone now. That Ben guy obviously found you here pretty easily. Who is this Dylan, and why was he looking for you?”