14. MJ
MJ
I need air.
Like right now.
Before I do something really stupid.
Like pull Carter Leone into the nearest supply closet, lock the door, and climb him like a damn tree while whispering filthy things into his growly little Lion ears.
Which is clearly not the vibe I came here for.
How do I know he’s a Lion Shifter? Date to Mate.
The app has all these fun little facts about future, would-be, and even rejected mates.
Oh God, is that what I am?
My heels clack too loud on the polished wood floors as I flee up the winding staircase of this creaky old mansion like some kind of overdressed Cinderella with impulse control issues.
There’s a hand-painted PRIVATE plaque hanging off one of the sconces at the top of the landing.
I ignore it, because, honestly?
Rules are more like suggestions. And I am officially past the point of caring.
I try the first door.
Locked.
The next?
Click.
Jackpot.
The little lounge inside is the kind of fancy I’ve only seen in Hallmark movies: plush velvet furniture, throw pillows shaped like crowns, half-empty champagne flutes scattered across mirrored side tables.
The lights are low, the walls lined in books, and there’s a faint scent of something floral and expensive hanging in the air. But it’s the view that does it.
Double glass doors lead out to a narrow wrought iron balcony overlooking the Hudson River. Moonlight glistens on the surface like spilled glitter, and the cool Autumn air rushes to greet me like an old friend.
I step out and grip the railing with both hands, sucking in a lungful of chilly night air like it’s my first breath in days.
God.
What am I doing?
I came here to meet someone.
Someone fun.
Someone available.
Someone who wouldn’t take one look at me and run for the hills.
Despite all that, here I am, hiding on a balcony and thinking about that grumpy excuse for a would-be mate.
Carter is everything I told myself I wasn’t looking for.
Big. Broody. Breathtaking.
The kind of man who doesn’t say much but makes you feel everything with one look.
And those eyes?
Golden. Wicked. Wild.
Tonight, they were locked on me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane of existence.
And that look he gave me before I walked away? It was the kind of look that shatters common sense and sends panties directly into the afterlife.
And stupid me? I felt it.
In my chest. In my thighs. In every inch of skin that still craves his touch.
Get it together, MJ.
I press my forehead to the cold railing, trying to cool the fire in my blood and the even hotter mess in my brain.
Am I manifesting this? Reading too much into things?
Assuming feelings that aren’t there just because he looked at me like I was the only oxygen in his atmosphere?
Because that’s a dangerous thing to do— guess what someone else wants.
Especially when they’ve told you— explicitly —that they’re not ready.
That you’re not meant for someone like them.
That all they want is just a friend.
Friends. Sure.
Now, why does that make me want to cry?
I should text my sisters.
Tell them I’m having a mild crisis of the soul and could use an emergency bear hug and maybe a fried calzone.
Or maybe I should just leave.
Catch a rideshare. Order an Uber, Lyft, hell, I’d walk barefoot back to Newark if it meant avoiding the heartbreak that’s lurking behind those Lion eyes.
Because if he looks at me like that again?
If he says please ?
If he touches me like I want him to?
I'm toast.
No amount of sarcasm or sass is going to protect me from what I actually want.
And what I want?
Is pounding up the stairs right now like a man on a mission.
Oh fuck.
I move to run, but it’s too late . So I turn my back on the door, straighten my shoulders. Pretend I don’t give a fuck.
The door opens to the private room, and I feel him a split second before I hear him.
That ridiculous, delicious heat.
The scent of leather and musk and sun-drenched testosterone that shouldn’t be allowed on a public rooftop.
“Couldn’t let you run off without backup, Kitten,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.
I make a stand, I don’t run. But I don’t look at him either.
“You stalking me again? ”
False bravado, but whatever.
A girl has to do what a girl has to do.
“No,” he murmurs, closing the door softly. “I’m hunting.”
Oh. Shit.
His steps are slow and measured, but each one rings like a warning shot straight to my core.
My nipples pebble. My breath hitches. And my panties? Ruined.
“I told you to stay out of my way,” I whisper.
“You did.”
He’s coming in close now. I can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.
“And yet?”
A breath against my neck.
“I’m here, Kitten.”
His arms move— gently —but firmly.
One comes around my waist, the other braces on the railing beside mine. I’m caged in.
A willing prisoner in a steel trap of biceps, broad chest, and controlled, predatory restraint.
“Carter—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, MJ.”
I swallow hard.
“You said you didn’t want me. ”
Hurt floods my senses and it is so powerful I almost crumble to the ground.
Good thing he’s holding me up.
“I’ve said a lot of stupid things in my life, Kitten, but never that.”
“You said?—”
“That I wasn’t looking for a mate,” he growls. “And I thought that was the truth back then. But things change.”
His nose grazes over the shell of my ear, conjuring shivers throughout my body.
“I thought you wanted to just be friends.”
His lips follow where his nose just was and, oh my fuck , my pussy clenches on air.
I’m aware of warmth followed by wetness, and I gasp.
Did he just lick me?
“I’m trying to be good. I swear I am. But your scent is driving me crazy. Your body responds to mine, Kitten. It’s like you want me to lose control.”
I exhale, breath catching.
“And what if I do want that?”
He growls— a low, deep rumble of sound that vibrates through my spine.
And now I know why the lion is the king of the jungle.
All that testosterone. All that power.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Then, he grabs my shoulders and turns me around to face him.
His eyes are glowing. Not a trick of the light. Just full on glowing, and I recall one of my sisters, or both, talking about this very thing.
It means his beast is close. His Lion is holding the reins, and I don’t know whether to be turned on or terrified.
Maybe I’m both.
Not terrified of him, mind you, merely scared that he might not follow through on that desperate promise glowing right there in those inhuman eyes.
He moves so suddenly, but really, I don’t know why I’m not expecting it. Then he pins me to the railing.
Then Carter bends his head, and he starts kissing me.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just raw, feral claiming.
His mouth crashes into mine like a thunderstorm— hot, wild, and impossible to resist.
His hands grip my hips as his tongue licks into me, demanding surrender .
He kisses like I imagine he does everything— no brakes, no apologies, just all in and dangerous as hell.
My knees buckle.
I cling.
Fingers digging into his lapels, clinging to him like gravity stopped working, and he’s the only solid thing left on earth.
Holy hell.
I can’t breathe. I don’t want to.
“Breathe me, Kitten. Let me in,” he growls, cupping my face and moving my head where he wants me.
My world tilts.
My brain fizzles.
And when he finally pulls back, leaving me panting, flushed, and drunk on his kiss, all I can do is stare.
He grins.
Cocky. Beautiful. Mine?
“I told you I could be a good friend, MJ.”
I swallow hard.
“That was not a friendly kiss.”
“No,” he says, lips brushing mine again. “That was a preview.”
I don’t know where I find the gumption but next thing I know, I’m opening my mouth and asking, “Yeah? Well, what if I want the main event?”