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“I wouldn’t say I’m nervous,” she told the Beta. “It’s just that this is a pivotal moment. Depending on what happens here, a lot can change. Or nothing at all.”
Her cat, too, was edgy. But that was mostly with impatience. The feline wanted to finally meet Isaiah, and she didn’t like having to wait.
Seated on her other side, Harlan looked at her. “I have arranged many matings. They usually only fall through if terms can’t be agreed on—some shifters don’t like to compromise. But Isaiah made it clear that he wants to move quickly, so he won’t want this meeting to be a waste of his time. That means he’ll be less likely to be finicky about details.”
Hopefully. There weren’t really many terms that Quinley would refuse to budge on. But just because she found said terms reasonable didn’t mean that Isaiah would agree, did it?
She took an idle glance around the reception area. It wasn’t plain and clinical with rows of plastic seating. It had an earthy color scheme, comfy plush sofas, pine-scented air fresheners, and even played soft background music. Probably all in an effort to create a soothing atmosphere. Because tense shifters didn’t make friendly shifters.
Others sat here and there, some appearing a little nervous about their own meetings while others seemed at ease.
“We can leave if you’re not certain this is a route you want to go down,” Harlan offered.
She frowned. “I am certain.”
“Then why are you pulling that face?”
“I’m hungry.”
Harlan snorted. “We’ll go get pancakes after we’re done here.”
Quinley perked up. “You just read my—” She stopped talking as movement in her peripheral vision snagged her attention. Quinley looked to see a trio of males filing into the building. Her attention slammed on the one in front.
Isaiah.
Damn, he looked even hotter in real life than he did in his photo. Over two-hundred pounds of off-the-charts sex appeal stood right there, far more powerfully built than she’d pictured in her mind. And oh, sweet Lord, his large and muscular frame was packed with hard, roped muscle.
Those smoky dark-gray eyes scanned the room with a predatory focus. They paused on her, settled firmly. Heat flashed there momentarily, causing her gut to twist. And then he was stalking her way on those long legs, each glide-like step precise; lazy; confident. That dangerous prowl… damn if it didn’t make her belly flutter.
He was essentially a walking sexual pheromone that went right for the ovaries. So it was no surprise that lots of bells and whistles and fireworks went off in her system.
She, Harlan, and Astor rose to their feet as he approached. Her cat unfurled and inched closer, watching Isaiah intently; noting the dominant vibes that flowed from him, potent and intense.
As a submissive, both she and her feline had always been attracted to dominants. The more powerful the male, the more drugging his dominance could be. A guy on Isaiah’s level? Oh, they were catnip—pure and simple.
He slowed to a halt a few feet in front of her, a slight upward tilt to one corner of his mouth. “Quinley, good to meet you in person.” His voice was deep with a pinch of smoke and just a little grit thrown in.
“Likewise. It’s a relief to know I wasn’t catfished or anything.” She gestured at the males either side of her. “This is my Alpha Harlan and his Beta Astor.”
“You must be Isaiah,” said Harlan.
Nods, head-inclines, and brief words were exchanged between the five males as Isaiah introduced the cats he’d brought along with him. One was his Alpha, Tate. The other was an enforcer, Deke. Both were big, imposing, and watched her intently.
Isaiah tilted his head at her. “You sure you’re five foot six?”
Astor snickered, the asshole. “I said I think she adds an inch to make herself feel better.”
Quinley checked the urge to ram her elbow into the Beta’s ribs. “I am exactly five foot six,” she told Isaiah.
His lips twitched slightly. “Height doesn’t matter, as I’ve already said.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Your cat is close,” he noted, a hint of a question there… as if concerned that her feline might be on the defensive.
Quinley gave him a reassuring look. “She’s always close.” If one good thing had come from Zaire’s rejection, it was that the bond between Quinley and her cat had strengthened. That shared awful experience had brought woman and animal closer; made them more protective of each other. Which also meant her cat was never far from the surface.
A line dented Isaiah’s brow. “She’s… agitated.”
Quinley shrugged. “She doesn’t like the music.” Her cat was fussy.
Hinges creaked as a door to their right opened. A pretty dark-skinned female stood in the doorway, smiling. “Quinley Bevan and Isaiah Hale?” she called out.
