The woman imprinted herself on me. That’s the only explanation for why I can still taste Lyla on my tongue. I’ve heard witches can do that: spellbind a man. Too bad my theory has no basis for truth. Lyla’s not a witch. She’s about as ordinary as any human female can be. Even knowing there’s nothing special about her, I can’t stop looking at Lyla.
Or wondering how good it’d feel to lick her, head to toe. Take her to my bed and…
“If you leave claw marks on the dashboard, you’re writing the damage report.”
Rick’s comment snaps me back to reality. I’m in an unmarked police car with my partner and her.
I flex my hand, retracting my tiger’s claws, and look over the passenger seat to focus on the source of my anger. Or, more accurately, the woman who’s triggered my primal side and left me in this state of primitiveness.
As if Lyla understands how much she’s screwed with my instincts, she flashes me a kittenish smile. It’s the coy and playful kind. And it only adds to the wicked drives assaulting me, demanding I get her body under mine.
“And Shifter Affairs takes purposeful destruction of its property seriously.” An amused glint sparks in her honey-brown eyes. “I just read that policy. After so many violations, you can be suspended. I don’t remember how many, though.”
“Five.” My response drops in the quiet car with a lashing force.
Lyla’s smile droops, but she covers up her reaction to my brutal tone with a small laugh. “Well, you still have five left since Rick saved you from committing your first violation. Unless, of course, you have previous dings on your record.”
“My record is immaculate.” With a nice letter of praise from the higher-ups in Shifter Affairs for how I handled the delicately complex case involving Rick’s true mate and the criminal who had the right to breed her.
“Unless Lyla decides to report you for harassment.”
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