Jaguar's Kiss

Chapter One

Lila Fallon stared at the stack of wedding magazines with an emotion that felt entirely too much like loathing. She really ought to be giddy at the prospect of planning her wedding. She was, let’s face it, a twenty-three-year-old woman with a near-compulsive obsession with girly clothes, pretty hairstyles, and party planning. Making the world fun and pretty—that was Lila in a nutshell.

Unfortunately, she was also a shape-shifting lioness marrying the pride’s next Alpha in a glorified arranged marriage.

Most women who were giddily flipping through bridal mags had at least been proposed to by their fiancés.

Maybe that was the problem. Not that there was a problem. She was fine with the situation. Perfectly fine. So what if Roman hadn’t proposed? Or said so much as a single romantic word to her during her entire life? They got along well enough. Even if he had always treated her as a cross between a much younger sister and a pet—which hadn’t exactly inspired burning passion in return.

The age difference really hadn’t helped. She’d still been in grade school when her father hand-picked teenage Roman to train as his successor. Regardless of the eight-year gap, it had just been assumed that when she came of age, she and Roman would tie the knot to shore up any cracks in the solidarity of the pride. The Alpha’s only daughter and his personally selected replacement. Done deal.

And that was fine. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine. Lila wasn’t a complainer. She knew her role, knew her duty, and was happy to be a contributing member of the pride. She was happy to be marrying Roman. Happy, damn it.

She just seemed to be suffering from an irrational hatred of bridal magazines at the moment. Nothing strange about that.

Lila swept the magazines off her vanity and kicked them under her bed with one high-heeled foot. Not the most mature way to deal with the situation, but she didn’t want to see those smug bridal faces smiling up at her. Not today.

Her gaze was drawn inevitably to the clock. Five twenty. An hour and forty minutes before the All Pride meeting. Probably ten minutes of other pride business and then it would happen. In one hundred and ten minutes, her father would stand up on that stage, beaming like the proud papa he was, and announce the date of her wedding.

No more theoretical, vague, long engagement. Three months. New Year’s. Done deal.

Which was good. Great even. She was euphoric. Over the moon. Couldn’t be happier. Hadn’t she just been complaining to Patch the other day that she was living in a state of perpetual virginity, waiting for her future-Alpha pseudo-fiancé to make a move since all of the other lions in the pride were too damn scared of him to poach on what they perceived to be his territory? She’d been waiting for what felt like years for her life to start and now the date had been set. Prayers answered. Huzzah.

So why couldn’t she get a full breath?

What she needed was a celebration. A night out with her best friend. Drinking, flirting, dancing, forgetting—no, not forgetting. Nothing to forget. Life was good. Life was worth celebrating.

Lila plucked her cell phone off her vanity and dialed Patch. It went straight to voicemail and she sighed, waiting as Patch chattered through her Thank you for calling Montana Mountain Guides spiel. She couldn’t mention the wedding date on a message. That was in-person news. Instead, she waited patiently for the beep and put on her most cheerful voice, which was pretty damn cheerful.

Patch, darling! I have news. I realize you’re probably out shooting the rapids or wrestling a bear or doing some other gloriously outdoorsy activity, but this is your friendly reminder that your ass had better be on time to the All Pride meeting tonight. And wear something cute. You’re taking me to the Den after.

There. That was suitably mysterious.

Lila dropped the phone back on the vanity, exchanging it for a bottle of nail polish. When in doubt, primp. That was her motto.

By six thirty she was polished, curled and made-up to a glossy shine. Blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders in an artless tousle she’d spent nearly thirty minutes perfecting. Her blue eyes were lined with just enough kohl to be sexy without crossing the line into trashy. Lips that always seemed a little too big for her face were carefully lined and painted a demure pink. A soft flowing white dress with tiny red flowers twisting across the skirt and her red-and-white floral print heels completed the most bridal-looking outfit she owned.

At least she looked the part. Even if her stomach refused to settle.

As ready as she would ever be, Lila trotted quickly down the stairs of the lodging house and started across the compound to the Pride Hall. She’d probably be expected to move in with Roman soon. Funny, she didn’t even know where he lived, never seeing him anywhere but his office. There were scattered bungalows on the pride lands as well as the common buildings and a collection of lodging houses like the one she’d moved into five years ago that were more like condominium complexes. And then there was the main house up on the hill overlooking it all. The Alpha’s house. Where she’d grown up and where she and Roman would live when he took over the pride. Raising babies and ruling the world from on high.

Lila stopped, bracing a hand against the big maple tree twenty feet from the main entrance to the Pride Hall. Her knees were shaking.

Jitters. Perfectly normal. Everyone got bridal jitters.

Lila?

The smooth baritone, the soft barely-there lilt of an accent touching the vowels. She knew without looking who it would be. And she didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see those miles-deep brown eyes watching her with the unnerving mix of intensity and irritation.

She’d never figured out why Santiago Flores always seemed so annoyed by her. Everyone liked Lila. Except, apparently, the aloof, insanely hot jaguar.

Conjuring up a smile, she turned her head and forced a sparkle into her voice. Santiago. So good to see you.

And it was always good to see him. The man was masculine beauty incarnate. Thick black hair just long enough to start to curl, burnished bronze skin, and a sculpted face and body that would have been pretty if it hadn’t been so powerfully male.

A slight frown put a crease between his brows. Are you all right?

Me? Of course I am. Don’t be silly.

A slow lift of one eyebrow seemed to argue that Santiago Flores was never silly. She fought the urge to squirm under his all-too-perceptive gaze. You look like you’re about to vomit all over those pretty red shoes.

Why, Santiago, you do say the sweetest things. She dimpled and batted her eyes at him—falling back on her second motto: It’s always the right time for flirtation. She angled her ankle to better display the shoes. "They are fetching, aren’t they?"

Those bottomless brown eyes narrowed irritably. You don’t have to be happy all the time like some kind of perfect little Stepford kitten. You’re allowed to have moods.

She smiled brilliantly. This is my mood.

He snorted. Of course it is. Why would anyone be frustrated by having their entire life story written for them? Never making any of their own choices—though maybe that’s what you want. If you don’t choose, it’s not your mistake, right?

I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lila swallowed, trying to maintain a smile that was wobbling around the edges.

He couldn’t know about today’s announcement. Only her father’s inner circle knew that they’d finally picked a date and Santiago was about as far from that inner circle as a pride member could get. He was one of the wanderers. The drifters. The outsiders who flocked to live under the protection of the Lone Pine Pride, but never truly fit in, living on their own off the pride lands, never giving up their isolation for the comfort of the pride. Lila couldn’t imagine living outside that security.

Santiago cocked his head, studying her. I used to think you were too cowardly to make them, but do you even know that you have choices? he asked, his voice low enough that it started to pull the edge of a growl. That you don’t have to march through life as the obedient daughter who never develops her own personality because she’s too busy following orders?

His words wrapped acidic fingers around her heart, the sensation hot in her chest and she smothered it. He was just a loner. An outlier. His opinion of her didn’t matter. What right did he have to speak to her that way?

Even if he’s right.

Movement out of the corner of her