“No problem,” Carly said, folding her arms over her br**sts. “I have a bunch of stuff here that I bet he was going to burn. Be right down.” She turned away, then looked back at Ethan over her shoulder. “Sorry, Ethan. The panties are mine.”

CHAPTER TEN

Carly skimmed up the spiral staircase, fuming, not letting herself think. She’d grab her stuff and get the hell out of this house. She might even burn the clothes she’d left here, because she didn’t want any reminders of Ethan the Asshole.

Tiger, of course, followed her.

Carly went, not to the room she’d slept in with Ethan whenever she’d stayed over, but to the dressing room off his bedroom that also opened into the hall. I mean, who the hell has a dressing room?

Ethan did, and it looked like the best-fitted dressing room from GQ. Walnut paneling covered the walls that were filled with drawers and shelves. He had a separate armoire for his suits, a sofa with a side table, and a little wet bar where Ethan could mix himself a drink while he dressed for his night on the town.

The dressing room was like a walk-in closet on steroids. Carly had thought it the coolest thing when she’d first seen it. Now it looked overdone and ostentatious, like the rest of Ethan’s life.

Ethan had condescended to let Carly have an empty drawer in a corner near the sofa. She went to it and started yanking out her stuff, pausing to slide a T-shirt over her nudity.

Tiger’s arms came around her from behind, his hands on the wall pinning her in place. Carly turned around, his warmth like a shelter. Tiger lowered his head to her T-shirt and sniffed.

“This reeks of him.”

“Yes, I know.” Carly heaved a small sigh. “But there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I have a backup dress at the gallery, but even so, I’m going to be late, again.”

Tiger didn’t let her go. He brushed his nose from her neck across her shoulder, nuzzling her as he had earlier this morning, the absolute strength of him fixing her in place.

He raised his head and looked into her eyes. Carly had the sensation of being studied, thoroughly, much more so even than when Dylan had looked at her. Tiger might not know how to kiss, but he could look into a person and see everything.

His T-shirt stretched over a body that had stopped Carly in her tracks when she’d first seen it. And the second time, and the third. Tiger was made of muscle, but that didn’t stop him from moving so quietly his prey never knew he was on it until too late.

“You really are a tiger,” Carly said softly.

Tiger’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t answer. Stupid thing to say. Of course he knew what he was. More than Carly knew what she was.

Tiger cupped her face in his big hand, thumb tracing her cheekbone. The tenderness in the touch made her heart squeeze.

Carly moved closer to him, wanting his warmth. She was in only a T-shirt, panties, and heels, no match for the frigid breeze of Ethan’s air-conditioning.

Tiger seemed to know what she needed. He pressed her back into the wall, his body over hers but never crushing. His warm weight stopped her shivering, and his hand moved from the curve of her waist to her breast, heating, soothing.

Carly tugged him down and kissed him. As before, he didn’t move his mouth in response, but that didn’t matter. Carly seamed his lips with her tongue, feeling his jerk of surprise when her tongue touched his.

His hands moved on her then, molding to her waist, her back, her bu**ocks. Tiger licked her lips in return, copying her movements. They played like that, a kiss and not a kiss, while Tiger ran his hands along her body, learning her.

Carly caressed his back, finding every plane of it, the solidity of his shoulders, the strength of his spine, the compact mound of his bu**ocks. At the same time, Tiger touched her mouth with little licks, tasting her while she tasted the bite of him.

Tiger rumbled in his throat, for all the world as if he was purring. He was a wild thing, containing himself for her. The incredible power he’d shown breaking apart the hospital bed, shredding Walker’s gun, surviving wounds that would kill any other man in seconds, was dampened down so he wouldn’t hurt Carly.

The sweetness of that made her ache.

Tiger opened her mouth more with his exploring, until the kiss turned real, Carly hungrily imbibing him. His hands were everywhere, on her hips, br**sts, bu**ocks, moving down her waist, around to her front, between her legs to cup her. The thin panties did nothing to keep out the hardness of his hand, and heat knifed through her.

“No,” she said breathlessly, pulling away.

Tiger’s eyes opened, flooding with confusion and also pain. Pain?

“I mean, not here.” Carly pressed her hand to his cheek. “Not in Ethan’s . . .”

Then again, why not? Ethan had been happy to screw someone else in the kitchen where Carly had cooked, where Yvette and Armand had once prepared Ethan one of their exquisite meals. She shuddered even thinking about it.

Carly started to pull Tiger back down to her. Why not wrap her legs around this gorgeous man, give herself the best sex of her life in Ethan’s oversized dressing room? Oversized like his ego, compensating for a lack of size elsewhere.

“Because I don’t want it to be about him,” Carly finished.

Tiger’s brows drew down. “Don’t want what to be about who?”

“You and me.” Carly looked into his interesting eyes. “I want you and me to be about you and me. Not a rebound, not revenge, not about Ethan.”

“Why would it be?”

The question was genuine. She realized that to Tiger, in this moment, Ethan didn’t exist, wasn’t important. What a great way to look at the world.

Carly smiled and caressed his cheek. “I like the way you think. But I don’t want a reminder of him. All right? I want this to happen somewhere . . . special.”

Tiger slid his hand from between her legs, heady friction, to rest on her belly. “Special.”

“Special.” Carly kissed his lips again. “Like a romantic hotel room, or in my house with the lights low and the music on, after we’ve had some fine wine.”

From the look on his face, Tiger had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t know how to kiss, he’d never put together sex with a rose-petal-strewn bed and a good vintage. And yet, being in Ethan’s dressing room, half-naked with Tiger while he touched her all over, was by far the most sensual encounter she’d ever had.