Head Hunter (City Shifters the Pack #3) - Layla Nash Page 0,2

and throat. She cleared her throat a few times, then brushed at the front of her shirt – dislodging his hand. She wobbled a bit on her heels, then bent to retrieve the folio that had nearly dented Dodge’s chest. Her voice, low and throaty, didn’t match the prim and proper exterior. “I’m the architect. Mr. Evershaw called about a habitat to be built. We had an appointment at ten.”

Her voice was meant for dirty jokes over a poker table, maybe dirtier talk fucking on a pool table. She had the body for it, too, and it was even more intriguing because she hid it with the charcoal gray suit and pretty pearls and subtle diamond earrings. Trying to wear a uniform so shitheads like him didn’t leer at her as she was trying to do her job. He tilted his head at the interior of the house and held the door open wider, stepping back to invite her in. “I’ll get him. Come in. Watch out for the cat.”

She eyed him with clear distrust, but apparently Cricket approved of her, because the cat trotted inside and hopped onto his favorite loveseat to lash his tail and knead the pillows into pin-pricked, down-spilling wrecks. The girl swallowed and maneuvered through the open door, brushing past him without a second glance. He closed his eyes briefly as the scent of her perfume drifted past him – subtle and understated elegance, perfectly matched to the pearls and the demure click-click of her heels.

He shook himself and slammed the door harder than he meant, making her jump. He turned away, too unnerved by the girl to remain in the room with her. “Take a seat if you’ve a mind to. I’ll get the boss.”

Her lips parted to say something – maybe ask a question, maybe reprimand him for his bad manners... He wouldn’t have minded the reprimand, not if she could add some glasses and a naughty librarian kind of vibe. He felt like a dirty old bastard for thinking it, but she could whip down her hair and give him a hell of a lecture, and it would have been the sexiest thing he’d seen in years. But Dodge went over to the stairs and shouted up them, “Boss! Got a, er… architect here.”

He’d almost said ‘human,’ which would have required all kinds of explanation. Dodge waited until he heard Evershaw’s tell-tale grumble and cursing, and figured the old man was on his way. Dodge turned to catch the visitor still staring at him, her cheeks flushed, and that pretty perfume wasn’t quite enough to hide the hint of interest in the air.

He swallowed a grin. Maybe she wasn’t so prim and proper after all.

Chapter 3

Percy

It took a long time to process what the hell happened. The guy just reached out and… plucked me out of thin air. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t some weird ass impossible superhuman feat. He just reached out and caught the front of my shirt and tugged me upright. And then didn’t release me. It sent shivers all the way through me to feel the easy strength in his grip, holding onto my too-expensive but still second-hand blouse. I couldn’t think straight as he asked what I wanted, and finally managed to brush his hand away.

I missed it, though, when it was gone and he retreated still farther away.

I put aside the regret and instead focused on work. I was a talented architect and a hell of a habitat specialist. I couldn’t afford to be dazzled by a client or whatever strange men lived in their houses. When he invited me into the house, I nearly refused on principle. I didn’t know if I could maintain my self-control in close quarters with the big dude, who was absolutely the worst kind of guy to be interested in. He looked unkempt and rough, bearded and wild-haired, and wore battered clothes that had clearly seen better days. Tattoos marked almost every inch of visible skin on his arms and chest. Even the backs of his hands had something inked on them. He was too handsome to be believed – all rough edges and a few scars and a hard jaw under the beard.

His forearms... made me thirsty. He gripped the back of a chair after shouting up the stairs, flexing until the muscles popped in his forearms. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. God help me. Other women might lust after a tight tush or broad shoulders