Purr-fect for Her [Tigers of Twisted, Texas 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  Tigers of Twisted, Texas 1

  Purr-fect for Her

  Kylie Honeyton witnessed a cold-blooded killing. The victim? No one she knows. The killer? Her boyfriend Frank, hit man for a crime organization. With Frank on her heels, she has no choice but to run.

  Weretigers Heath and Braden Asher met Kylie at a bachelorette party six months earlier, but failed to find out her last name or where she lived. Their mistake haunts them until she suddenly appears on the road leading to the small shifter town of Twisted, Texas.

  Kylie’s starting to like living in Twisted, even if the residents seem a bit odd. Yet when Heath and Braden reveal their secret, she’s not sure whether to scream or scratch them behind their ears.

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter, Western/Cowboys

  Length: 47,522 words

  PURR-FECT FOR HER

  Tigers of Twisted, Texas 1

  Jane Jamison

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  PURR-FECT FOR HER

  Copyright © 2015 by Jane Jamison

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-012-1

  First E-book Publication: March 2015

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Purr-fect for Her by Jane Jamison from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Jane Jamison’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Jane Jamison’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  Dear Reader,

  The Tigers of Twisted, Texas is a continuation of my love for Texas as well as my enduring fascination with shape-shifters of every kind. The tigers in the small town of Twisted are cowboys and ranchers, incredible men who become even more amazing not only because they can transform themselves into powerful animals, but because, in either form, they are the strong-minded, fair, and honest men of our dreams.

  Thanks for reading,

  Jane Jamison

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  PURR-FECT FOR HER

  Tigers of Twisted, Texas 1

  JANE JAMISON

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  Six Months Earlier

  If Kylie wasn’t pleasantly drunk, she would’ve thrown her drink in the asshole’s face. That and the fact that it was Carlie’s bachelorette party. Instead, she gripped her glass and forced a fake smile. “My name is Honeyton. Not Honeypot.”

  God knows she should’ve been used to hearing it by now, but she wasn’t. She’d heard enough jokes about her name to last her a lifetime. If and when she got married, she’d take her husband’s name and solve the problem. She definitely wasn’t planning on hyphenating.

  “Aw, sweet thing, come on. Honeypot suits you.”

  Alec or whatever the hell his name bumped against her. The last thing she needed was the crowd in the bar to keep pushing him toward her. He’d already been in her face for the past thirty minutes. His drink sloshed over the side of his glass to splatter over her hand. She reached for several napkins and wiped her hand dry. Sticky, but dry.

  “No, it doesn’t suit me. And neither does sweet thang or, for that matter, you.” Fed up and on the verge of going drunk-girl crazy on his ass, she pushed off the barstool, teetered for a minute, then started shoving her way through the crowd.

  “Bitch!”

  She lifted her hand in a one finger good-bye, not bothering to see if he was following her. By the time she’d made it back to the large crowd swallowing up the tables they’d shoved together in the corner, she felt like she’d gotten way too friendly with several of the men and even a few of the women along the way.

  I’ll be lucky not to have bruises all over my body tomorrow morning.

  “Kylie, where have you been?”

  Carlie Witherspoon, one of her best friends in college, was wasted. But not wasted enough that she couldn’t stand on a chair and dance around. Her I’m the Bride sash was stained with spilled drinks, dripped BBQ sauce, and hung perilously off her shoulders. If she straightened her arms, the silk drape would slip to the chair.

  She didn’t bother answering. Carlie had already forgotten about her and was singing the latest number one pop song in an earsplitting off-key attempt at her fifteen minutes of fame. Instead, Kylie fell into the chair next to her other friend, Willa, thankful to get off her feet and away from the asshole at the bar. Until then, she hadn’t noticed the empty state of her glass. She slung her arm over the back of the chair and scowled at the thong of dancing people.

  “Who drank my drink?” She would’ve sworn it was full when she’d left the bar.

  “You are so fucked up.” Willa downed her drink and
squinted her eyes. “No one drank your drink. I bet you spilled it getting back here.”

  Well, hell. “Figures. It’s like going through an obstacle course.” She held up her empty glass and frowned. “But now I have to get another one. Aw, shit. That means I might see the asshole again.”

  “What asshole? Is he cute?” Willa leaned against her, then pushed away, once again sitting up straight.

  Kylie tried to remember what he looked like. “I guess so. But he kept calling me Honeypot.”

  Willa’s giggling didn’t help.

  “Knock it off. You know I hate being called Honeypot. Or Honey Bee or any of the other stupid names people come up with. And before you ask, I’m not friends with a little fat bear, either.”

  “Got ’cha, Honeypot.” Willa giggled again then tried to drink from her own empty glass. “Crap, I’m all out, too.”

  A cheer rose from the rest of the fifteen girls who were part of their group. Carlie had taken off her shirt and was whirling it around to the delight of the crowd. At least Carlie had something to show. She glanced down at her chest. “Pancakes” was another nickname she’d suffered with through high school and college.

  She should make Carlie put her shirt back on, but she simply didn’t have the energy. Besides, knowing Carlie, she’d more than likely whip off her bra just to spite Kylie.

  “I’m going to get another drink. You want one?”

  “Hell, yes.” She handed her glass to Willa. “While you’re getting those, I’m going to go pee. Meet you back here, okay?”

  “Will do.” Willa pushed to her feet and held onto the chair for a minute, trying to regain her balance on her six-inch heels. “Point me in the right direction.”

  Kylie was happy to help. Anything so she didn’t have to go back to the bar again. She stood, then flattened her hands on her friend’s shoulders and gave her a little shove. Once Willa was off and moving in a zigzag track, she did a quick look around, trying to remember where the restrooms were. A brightly lit sign over a doorway caught her attention.

  Suddenly, the distance seemed a lot farther than she remembered from her earlier trips. Plus back then, her legs hadn’t been so wobbly. Still, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. She turned back to tell one of the other girls where she was going and saw that they were all either talking amongst themselves or with a couple of guys who reminded her of Asshole. She smothered a giggle.

  Being called Asshole was a lot worse than being called Honeypot.

  Closing one eye, then opening it to close the other—neither way helped her focus—she fixed her aim on the neon sign. Once again, she braved pushing through the crowd. Hands swept over her body while hot, sweaty people bumped into her then bounced away like alcohol-scented avatars in a strange video game. By the time she made it to the hallway leading to the restrooms, she was even less steady on her feet than before. Predictably, the ladies’ restroom was at the end of the hall, once again proving that a man had designed the bar’s layout.

  “Yeah. It’s got to be a man who designed this place. He put the ladies’ room as far from the dance floor as possible.” She jabbed a finger into the air, still talking to no one in particular. “Men want us girls making a longer walk so they can have more time to watch our asses.” She looked over her shoulder to find three guys leering at her bottom.

  Figures.

  At least there wasn’t a line to get inside the restroom. She’d take a small miracle whenever she could get it.

  Damn, but it’s a long way down there.

  She sighed, pulled herself taller, and decided that, if the guys were going to look anyway, she might as well give them a show. If she didn’t hurry, she’d give them a show no one wanted to see.

  Ten minutes later and definitely more satisfied than she’d been all night, she stared into the mirror overlooking the water-splattered bathroom counter and questioned whether her hands would be cleaner after washing them than before. Sometimes she thought she’d be picking up more germs when she handled the faucet. Especially since the dispenser was out of towels to use to turn the knob and dry her hands once she was finished.

  Still, it wasn’t easy to ignore the rule about washing. She pointed at her reflection, then hiccupped. “If you don’t tell anyone, I won’t. Deal?” Nodding solemnly, she added, “Deal.” It wasn’t like anyone was watching anyway. Kylie pushed through the door—when did it get so heavy?—and out into the hall.

  She felt herself falling a moment after the toe of her high heel caught on the chipped tile floor.

  Well, hell.

  Funny how the floor seemed so close, yet she never hit it.

  Instead, she stopped in midair, suspended for a moment. In the next second, she was quickly and thoroughly placed squarely on her feet again. Or, at least, as squarely as her muddled mind would allow.

  Ooh, this feels nice.

  Her body pressed against a firm surface. And yet, although it was firm, it wasn’t hard. Not like a floor or a wall would be. Instead, whatever she was leaning against felt very warm and very comfortable. And damn if it didn’t smell really good, too.

  Good in a very masculine, very rugged way.

  This is so not Asshole.

  “Are you all right?”

  Ooh, he sounds nice, too.

  Deep and smooth, like the expensive scotch her father used to drink. She tilted her head and followed the sound of the voice.

  Holy horseshit.

  His face matched his voice. Strong, virile, and filled with testosterone. His dark hair, although a little short for her taste, framed the perfect face with wide-set soulful brown eyes, a nose with just enough crookedness to make it interesting, and full lips. Unthinking, she brushed the back of her fingers along the stubble running along his jaw, then sighed.

  Oh, damn. Did I just sigh?

  His mouth curved up at the sides, giving her an answer.

  Pull yourself together.

  She put her palms against his chest, and even through the denim shirt, she could feel his chest muscles. He was hard-packed like snow on a well-driven street. Wide shoulders tempted her to let her hands keep sliding upward, and with her resistance at an all-time low point, she did.

  He feels even better than he smells.

  But it wasn’t only about how he felt. It was the sensation coursing through her. Like she’d put her finger into a wall socket and gotten shocked good and hard. And yet, instead of a quick zap, the feeling kept traveling into her, down her body, radiating outward into her limbs until the tingling rippled along her fingertips. She was suddenly more alive than she’d ever been in her entire life. Her body was invigorated, but her mind clouded over in an entirely different way that had nothing to do with alcohol. All rational thought evaded her as a rush of pure passion pushed everything else away.

  Whoever this man was, she needed him. She craved him in a basic, instinctual surge of yearning that could never be put into words. He’d shaken her to her core, infusing her with a raw sexual power. At once, she wanted to fuck him and eat him alive.

  She inhaled deeper, letting the richness flow through her, and tried to regain a little composure. It was an impossible task, and as his hands moved, traveling along her body until they cupped the roundness of her plentiful ass, she gave up trying to fight it. The front of his jeans pushed against her stomach, and she wondered if it was his belt buckle pressing hard into her stomach. Hopefully, the pressure came from a lower place, one not as unyielding yet just as firm.

  She lifted her chin, her gaze catching his and holding it. All he had to do was bend just a little and everything she could ever want would be given to her.

  To her delight, he did and, when his lips pressed against hers, she wanted to shout “hallelujah” to the heavens. At first, his kiss was hesitant, gentle, but in no way timid. Instead, she sensed he was teasing her, tempting her. His mouth was firm, yet pliable. His hands gripping her ass molded against her cheeks. She parted her lips enough to be clear about her invitation and waited fo
r him to RSVP.

  Once again, he didn’t let her down. He intensified his kiss, and her knees started to give out. He kept her from falling once more, holding her upright. He pulled her as close as possible, putting their bodies together like two pieces of a shattered plate magically coming back together.

  His tongue slipped inside her mouth, giving her a delicious swipe of the taste of him. But he pulled it back too soon. She started to complain and groaned, but her groan soon turned to a pleased whimper when he nibbled on her lower lip, sucking it in between his teeth. Her palms pressed against his hard chest, and she yearned to pull his shirt apart and discover the real feel of his flesh under her fingertips.

  She didn’t have any shyness about sliding her hands back over the wonderful chest. Once at the top of the mountain, she slipped one hand down the middle of his shirt, traveling down the slope toward the silver buckle of his belt.

  A beautifully simple letter T adorned the buckle. She wanted to skim her fingers over the raised letter, feel its cool counterpoint to the warmth of him, then work her way down until she found his hottest spot.

  His thigh found its way between her legs as he brought his hands around. One flattened against her back, urging her to push even harder against him. The other hand moved to her front, forming a protective cover over one breast. His thumb rubbed against her nipple, and she arched, telling him how much she liked his touch. Hoping he’d think her breast was large enough.

  An image of her underneath him, his massive body hovering over hers, swept over her. He’d take her, sending her on a wild ride. He’d be her Dreamy Rider, the sexy man of shadows who often came to her in her sleep.