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His sense of humor made her heart leap. Lyra was certainly quick to giggle, but Timber had such a way with his expressions and delivery that tickled her funny bone. He spoke so dryly, his face deadpan as if he had been practicing comedy for years.
During an evening when the air was crisp, they all sat at the dinner table talking about Lyra’s time at college and, inevitably, about the strange position Timber had at this supposed Montana Maul. She thought it was some kind ofgentlemen’s clubthat he was pulling her leg about.
“So what exactly goes on during these ‘secret meetings’?” She straightened her slouching posture in her chair, which her mother would’ve appreciated.
Timber glanced up, his sight landing on her breasts, which were now propped up. A thrill raced through her from the desire shining in his eyes. Though that was not her intention, she was glad he noticed she was a woman and not just somebody off the street.
Lyra raised her brows at him, curling her lips inward to stifle a teasing grin.
“We investigate bear behavior in the area,” he said, that solemn look pinned to his expression. “Right now, we are investigating a bear hunter in the territory. We’ve managed to chase them across the Canadian border.”
Timber moved his attention back to his plate of sweet ginger chicken and rice that Lyra had cooked. She was having a hard time taking in the information in a serious way, so she nodded, stirring the food around on her own plate and tensing her lips so it was barely a slit.
“Uh-uh,” she grumbled.
He snapped his neck back up to her, the veins and skin on his neck going taunt. Lyra boldly met his eyes, so dark and cautionary.
She stirred with desire, pleading for him in her mind to show her what a bad girl she had been.
“Is that funny to you?”
Lyra couldn’t hold her mouth downward even if she wanted to. Her cheeks lifted like they were being pulled by steel cables, her chest beginning to heave up and down at the smallest lilt of frustration in his tone.
“Well, I just thought that it might be difficult to have to go across the border like that, chasing a hunter and all.”
Lyra, driven by sheer lust and a daring spirit, scooped up the last of her chicken rice and slid it into her mouth languidly. She used her plump lips to glide over the fork, pulling it sensually with wide eyes that said, “Come get me.”
A part of her couldn’t believe how she was behaving, usually being a complete professional and all, but the other part saidfuck it. No man had ever set off the desire bells in her body as Timber did. She was going to make a move or regret it forever.
She leaned back in her chair as she chewed, regarding him with a soft, saucy glare. Timber held his fork in his hand, frozen still, his own chest rising and falling like the angry waves of the sea.
Then, in an uncharacteristic act, he tilted his head, the veins in his neck jolting out like thick straws. For a good long moment, Lyra forgot entirely that Marigold was there.
His voice went as low as a bass strum, as soothing as a smooth jazz solo.
“The way we cross doesn’t require passports. They also never ask for one.”
Her sarcastic expression melted away like snow in the sun. She rubbed her palms against her thighs, unconsciously trying to express the carnal energy raging through her body like an electrical storm.
She still didn’t know if he was joking, but the content of his words was nearly rendered meaningless. They were flirting, and her body was thirsty for the knowledge of where exactly it was all going to lead.
The words that fell out of her mouth next even she didn’t quite understand.
“Do you have a secretary?”
SEVEN
TIMBER
Lyra had been toying with him.
He had no clue as to whether or not she was really starting to become aware of what he was referring to under the sexy teasing and poking fun at him. He was slowly trying to insert the idea into her mind that, yes, shifters were real, and he was one of them. In fact, he was the head of the Montana Maul, a collection of bear shifters who patrol the areas of Montana connecting to the Canadian border.
But the actual facts were starting to get lost and blurry, even to Timber himself. He stopped caring about what they were talking about but rather enjoyed the erotic undercurrents of the tone she used, the way her posture presented her voluptuous breasts nearly right up to his line of sight, the zest between her legs starting to spill and share its fragrance.
Lyra wore several V-neck tops, which flawlessly accentuated her generous bust. She usually tied her hair up in a ponytail, exposing her long, swan-like neck. Her golden hair caught in the dying light of evening, with shimmers of crimson and amber scattered through like morning dew.
He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t get a taste of her, and he needed to get a taste right then and there.
