Tiger's Den Read online

  Tiger's Den

  Leslie Chase

  Contents

  Copyright

  Preview of Tiger’s Den

  1. In The Tiger's Den

  2. Seeing the Sights

  3. Looking Homeward

  4. The Swimming Pool

  5. Commitment Issues

  6. Bad News, Worse News

  Preview of Tiger’s Claws (Tiger’s Sword Book 3)

  About the Author

  Cover Design by Kasmit Covers

  Editing by Sennah Tate

  Copyright 2015 Leslie Chase

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences. All names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All characters herein are over the age of 18. All sexual activities are between consenting adults who are not blood related.

  Created with Vellum

  Preview of Tiger’s Den

  (Tiger’s Sword Book 2)

  "It's Devi, my ancestor, yes." Maxwell smiled and guided her to stand beside the statue, looking out to sea. Before them, the sheer drop to the sea below opened up, and Lenore could hear the rhythm of the waves. "This was her favorite spot, and Caulley wanted her to feel at home. I can't imagine it was easy getting the statue made in the style of her homeland, but with enough money, that's the kind of problem that can be brushed aside."

  Lenore shivered, drawing close to him, feeling the warmth of his body as he folded his arms around her. "It must have been lonely for her, here."

  "I expect it was," he said, squeezing her gently. "But she was with her love, and that mattered more to her than being in her homeland. As I said in the house, we never regret the one destiny chooses for us."

  He didn't sound entirely convinced by that, and Lenore could see why. He seemed to think that she was his one, his chosen-by-destiny mate, and why wouldn't that put him off the idea? She was hardly the model type that he should be used to, and a man as handsome as Maxwell Walters would have no trouble finding his perfect woman.

  She looked away, trying to keep her eyes from tearing up, and found herself looking at the statue, its stone face serene in the face of the vast gulf of miles and cultures between here and Devi's home. It helped a little, making her own troubles seem insignificant in comparison to a woman who'd uprooted herself so thoroughly to be with the man she loved.

  "What's wrong, Lenore?" Maxwell's voice was full of concern. "What did I say?"

  "It's nothing. I don't have any claim on you, I know that, and you don't… don't seem to want…"

  Her words trailed off as he took hold of her chin and gently turned her face up to meet his stern gaze.

  "Lenore Kimble," he said, with steel in voice that wouldn't be denied. "You are never to doubt that I want to be with you, am I clear? That is never in question."

  "But..." Helplessly, she trailed off again.

  "No buts. You, Lenore, are perfect for me, and I will not have you doubting that. I will be cross with you if I catch you doubting that, or me. Understand?"

  All Lenore could do was nod. His sincerity, his need for her, was clear in his voice, and his eyes glowered intensely into hers. Her breath caught as he pulled her to him, kissing her firmly on the mouth, sending tremors of need running through her body. His strong arms lifted her, and he pushed her back against a tree, pinning her there with a kiss, his tongue meeting hers urgently, his hands roaming over her, caressing her curves.

  1

  In The Tiger's Den

  The world blurred around Lenore, and she floated up from the depths of warm darkness. There were people talking around her, she thought. Were they concerned? She wasn't sure.

  "... not sure if she can take it," a woman's voice was saying. "Whatever was in those darts was powerful – hey, is she awake?"

  She vaguely felt a hand on hers, strong and reassuring, and she smiled. Everything faded away into the darkness again.

  The next time she woke, there was an unfamiliar noise all around her. She tried to open her eyes, to speak, but it was too much work and she was too tired. Was that a helicopter? She frowned slightly, waking a little more as she was jostled about in time with the noise. Am I on a helicopter?

  That would be a first for her. She'd been on cheap airplanes for a couple of holidays, but those had been crowded, busy, and unpleasant. And now she was taking a helicopter ride and she was too asleep to pay attention. She struggled to sit up, to open her eyes, but she couldn't manage to do more than lift her head.

  Again, she felt that hand, a firm grip on her shoulder, pushing her back into the soft warm feeling of whatever she was lying on. She mumbled something, even she wasn't sure what she was trying to say, and then she was gone again.

  The third time, everything around her was silent. She slowly realized she was actually awake, and opened her eyes, blinking. Lenore found herself lying on a soft mattress under heavy covers, and the room was dark. Light leaked around the heavy curtains – it was late morning at the earliest, from the look of the light, but then she realized that she wasn't even sure if she was still in the United Kingdom.

  Groaning, she pulled back the covers and swung herself up to sit. She was a little embarrassed to realize that she was naked, and that there was no sign of her clothes in the room. I wonder who put me to bed, she thought, then shook her head. Nope, no I don't wonder, I don't want to know!

  The room itself was huge, big enough to fit her apartment into. It was oak-paneled, dark-walled, and dominated by a bed that was larger than some bedrooms Lenore had slept in. On the walls, pictures looked down at her, oil paintings of beautiful landscapes and elegant ladies wearing clothing from centuries past. Taking a closer look, she saw that the pictures were probably as old as the costumes - these were portraits painted from life, centuries ago. Trying to get her bearings, Lenore stood and went to the window, peeking between the curtains to look out without risking anyone seeing her standing naked there.

  Outside, a green lawn stretched for what looked like miles in the afternoon sun. There were hedges beside the endless green grass, and trees beyond that, but her eyes were drawn to lawn. She'd never seen so much lawn outside of a tv show about a stately home. It actually looked exactly like one of those shows, and it took her a few seconds to realize the truth.

  Oh my god, I'm in a stately home! Lenore knew that some could be rented out sometimes, but it was never something that anyone she knew would be able to afford. Until, apparently now. Unless this actually belongs to Maxwell? But that would be ridiculous. Who owns a house like this?

  She dropped the curtains and stepped back, feeling a little lightheaded.

  First things first - I need to get cleaned up and find some clothes. Then I need to find out where I am, and what's going on. And call in to work, I guess.

  That thought made her shiver again, and wonder what had happened there. It looked like she'd missed a day, and it was the day after a robbery with violence; surely the police were looking for her. They might even think she was involved! Which, she had to admit, was a reasonable conclusion.

  Putting that out of her mind as something to deal with later, she checked all of the doors in the bedroom. The first led to a walk-in wardrobe, mostly empty, though to her relief she did find a dressing gown. The second took her to a bathroom fit for a visiting king.

  It took an effort of will not to linger there, and enjoy a soak in the huge sunken bath, but Lenore wanted answers and her stomach felt empty, so she settled for a rushed shower. Standing under the hot water, she blushed, remembering the last shower she'd had, and regretting that this time she was alone. A few minutes later she stepped outsid
e toweling her hair, to find that someone had been in the bedroom. The curtains had been pulled wide, letting the sunlight stream in, and an outfit was laid out for her on the freshly-made bed.

  They weren't her clothes, though. Given that her only clothes would be the dress she'd squeezed uncomfortably into for the museum gala, she was grateful for that. Instead, she found a simple but elegant woolen dress, along with underwear and oh thank God comfortable shoes. It was a little intimidating to realize that someone had gone to the trouble of finding clothes to fit her, but she wasn't about to turn them down - not when the alternative was wandering the halls in a dressing gown!

  Whoever had picked the outfit had a good eye, anyway - it might be a simple outfit, but when she looked in the mirror she saw it was a lot more flattering to her curves than anything she owned. And everything fit perfectly.

  Leaving the room took a bit of courage, but Lenore forced herself to go anyway. Someone clearly knew she was awake, the clothes proved that, so there didn't seem to be much point in waiting around.

  The hallway outside was intimidating enough to make her regret that choice. It was as opulent as anywhere she'd ever been, and made her realize that she had no idea what she was meant to be looking for.

  I'm not going to shout for help just because I don't know where to go, she told herself. I will not! She forced herself to walk casually, as though this kind of environment was normal for her, resisting an urge to skulk.

  Fortunately, the direction she chose took her to a stairwell, which she figured had to take her somewhere. Unfortunately, there were so many doors from it that she had no idea which one to choose next. A painting of a man watched over the stairs, much larger than life, wearing a long dark coat and carrying a gun, with a sword hanging at his hip.

  His intense blue eyes looked down at her as though judging her keenly, though not unkindly. She thought there was something very familiar about his face, though she couldn't place it. The background of the painting suggested dense plants, dark greens blurring and blending to make him stand out all the more. He looked like an explorer, perhaps, tanned from long days far from home under a hot sun, pushing his way through a jungle full of dangers. His cool blue eyes were alert, careful but unworried.

  A polite cough behind her brought her back to reality. "Miss Kimble? Mr. Walters is expecting you in the Blue Room, when you're ready."

  The speaker was a tall thin man in a suit which somehow screamed staff. Lenore blushed at being caught gawping and realized that she had no idea how to address someone like this. Was he a butler? A footman? Something else entirely? Lenore's conception of household staff came from having watched Downton Abbey, and that was a rather dated resource.

  She saw that the man was waiting impassively, as though he had nothing better to do than wait for her to say something. If her confusion and inability to speak bothered him, he didn't show it at all. Maybe Maxwell brings a lot of women back here who look as lost as I do? I wonder if his staff compare us?

  That was a silly thought, or at least she hoped it was. Anyway, he was still waiting, so she forced herself to smile. "Could you show me the way? I'm a little lost. And, um, is there any chance I could get something to eat? I'm famished!"

  "Of course, Miss Kimble. Please follow me," the man said, turning to lead her down the stairs. "Mr. Walters thought you might need some refreshment; perhaps you'd like to eat before you see him?"

  Lenore's stomach rumbled, making it clear that her light-headedness wasn't all due to the shock of her new surroundings. Despite the urge to go straight to Maxwell, she nodded.

  "I think that would be a good idea, actually."

  The room the servant led her into was another vast chamber, dominated by a dining table. There was a sideboard laden with cold meats, various breads, and cheese in more varieties than she could count.

  "I'm afraid I don't know your tastes, Miss Kimble," the man said. "If there is anything else you require, please let me know and I shall send to the kitchens."

  Lenore just stared at the display. There was so much of it! A perverse urge to demand something else rose up inside her, but she pushed it down. There was no need to antagonize the servants for one thing, and for another, she was afraid they might simply oblige if she asked for, say, swan. And she didn't want to find out!

  Instead, she thanked the man, who simply nodded and stepped outside. That left Lenore alone to make herself a giant cold beef sandwich. The meat was amazing, and the bread clearly freshly baked - it made one of the nicest sandwiches she'd ever tasted. It seemed a shame to hurry herself eating it, but she found that she didn't want to linger in this room. There were portraits looming on the walls here too, and they looked down at her disapprovingly, or at least she thought they did. It was, she told herself, all in her mind, but that didn't make the room feel any more welcoming.

  She also wanted to get to Maxwell as quickly as she could, so she ate quickly and then found herself wondering what to do with the plate she'd used. Abandoning it to be found by the staff seemed rude, but she didn't know what else she was meant to do. In the end she compromised by putting it on the end of the sideboard, and then peeked outside the door. Her escort was waiting patiently for her there, seemingly unmoved by the delay. Lenore wondered if he had other work she was keeping him from, but it seemed a weird thing to ask about.

  "Shall I take you to the Blue Room now, Miss Kimble?" He asked, perhaps noticing her hesitation. She nodded and followed behind him, back into the vastness of the house. It wasn't far to their destination, at least. Lenore could tell by the raised voices.

  The words were indistinct at this distance, but she recognized Maxwell's deep booming voice raised to a shout, against the angry growl of a woman's voice. The servant guiding her paid it no mind, as impassive as ever. Ahead of them, a door burst open violently, Maxwell's sister Penelope strode out, her face like thunder. Lenore shrunk back from her, but Penelope didn't even seem to notice her until she'd stormed past. A few steps down the corridor, she wheeled, and fixed Lenore with a baleful stare.

  "Good luck with him," she growled, anger clear in her voice. "He's not in a reasonable mood."

  Without giving Lenore a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and hurried away, looking like she wanted to punch someone.

  Just so long as it's not me, Lenore thought with a shiver, remembering how casual Penelope had looked firing a gun. I do not want to piss her off!

  The servant paid the whole encounter no mind at all, simply holding the door open and ushering her inside. Entering nervously, Lenore saw Maxwell standing at a table leaning his fists on it, knuckles white. He stared into the polished dark wood, breathing deep slow breaths, a man on the verge of losing his temper and holding back an explosion by force of will alone.

  "Um, hi," Lenore ventured in a small voice.

  His head came up, his amber eyes fixing on her, and he took a final deep breath before letting it out in a long sigh.

  "I am sorry you had to see that, Lenore," he told her, his face clearing a little at the sight of her. "Penelope can be difficult to get on with, and we have a difference of opinion on how to proceed right now. I'm sure it will work itself out."

  Lenore didn't think that last bit was very convincing, but then, he sounded like he was saying it as much for his own benefit as for hers. Deciding to avoid pressing on whatever family matter they were fighting over, she made herself look away from him and around the room. As promised, it was very blue - not only the walls, but the decor too. A lot of nautical themes had crept in, and plenty of pictures of seascapes and ships. She thought it a nice change from the portraits hanging elsewhere in the house, no eyes staring at her in silent judgment at least.

  Just Maxwell's. Lenore looked back to him, feeling butterflies take wing in her stomach at the sight of him, her heart speeding up. It was one thing to remember how good looking he was, but quite another to be in a room with him again.

  She wondered if he was nervous at the sight of her. If she matt
ered to him as much as he'd said, surely he must be at least a little intimidated, but he wasn't giving any hint of it if he was.

  "I hope you had something to eat?" He asked as the pause grew awkwardly long. "I told the staff to offer you breakfast."

  "Yes, I did," she said, wondering if she should tell him how nice it had been. But since this was his home, it was probably just a normal breakfast for him, and she didn't want to seem like a fish out of water. At least, no more than she had to.

  "Thank you. Is this… I mean, you have a lovely home."

  A shadow of a smile crossed his lips at that. She wasn't sure if he was laughing at her or not, but she liked it better than his angry frown, either way.

  "Thank you, I'm quite pleased with it. Would you like a tour?"

  "That would be nice."

  Her nonchalant answer was meant to hide how much she wanted to spend time in his presence, but she wasn't sure if she could hide anything from him. Those strange and compelling eyes of his seemed to look right through to her soul.

  His face cleared, anger fading, and Lenore felt her heart lifting too. There was something about him that drew her nearer. Despite the vast differences between them, she found it hard to imagine that they might be separated again. Was this the same as whatever he'd felt guiding him to her? She had never believed in things like that, but then, she'd never believed in people turning into tigers either. An instant attraction between two souls seemed tame in comparison to that.

  "Come with me," he said, offering her his arm. She found herself taking it without conscious thought, the idea of not doing as he told her simply not occurring to her until she was already walking beside him. It almost made her want to pull her arm back, out of annoyance at being controlled so easily, and a desire to show him that, whatever he might think, she didn't have to do as she was told.