Page 16 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)

FIFTEEN

L aykin stood before her closet, staring at its contents with uncharacteristic indecision. What exactly did “casual” mean for a dinner date with a billionaire alpha tiger shifter? She fingered a simple emerald silk blouse—a shade that brought out the green in her hazel eyes—and paired it with fitted dark jeans.

The soft melody of a vintage jazz record filled her dressing room, a secret indulgence that helped calm her nerves. She hummed along as she applied makeup with practiced precision, carefully concealing the still-tender spot on her shoulder where the tranquilizer dart had pierced her skin.

Her fingers paused over her jewelry box, hovering above the emerald earrings now reunited thanks to Zyle. She remembered the intensity in his eyes when he’d returned the missing piece, the way his fingers had brushed against her palm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

This isn’t how arranged matings are supposed to feel , she thought, fastening the earrings. They were meant to be political transactions—cold, efficient alliances to strengthen bloodlines and unite territories. Not this magnetic pull, this electric recognition that had her lioness purring at the mere thought of him.

On her dresser sat the mysterious shoe part, its cryptic note still attached. She traced the elegant script with her fingertip, puzzling over its meaning. Only one prince to worry about. What did that mean? Who else should she worry about?

Her phone chimed with a message from building security: Mr. Rubin has arrived. Since the attack, security had been tightened in all aspects around and outside the castle. She wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, but what choice did she have if someone really wanted to stop the unification?

Laykin grabbed a light jacket and headed for the elevator. During the descent, she rehearsed potential conversation topics, determined to maintain her composure despite the fluttering in her stomach.

The doors opened, and there he stood—Zyle Rubin, alpha tiger and corporate powerhouse, leaning casually against the sleek black Bentley parked at the curb. The sight of him in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down, sleeves rolled to expose powerful forearms, hit her with physical force. His formal suits at the gala had been impressive, but this relaxed elegance revealed a different facet of the man—no less commanding, but more approachable.

His eyes locked on hers immediately, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Princess.”

“Laykin,” she corrected, surprised by her own boldness. “If I’m calling you Zyle, then you should use my name.”

He inclined his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Laykin, then.”

When he opened the passenger door for her, his hand came to rest on the small of her back—a brief, electrifying touch that sent warmth cascading through her. His closeness surrounded her with that intoxicating scent of pine and snow, mingled with something uniquely him .

“Where are we going?” she asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“Somewhere special.” His enigmatic smile revealed nothing as he navigated through the city streets.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a nondescript building in the city’s arts district. From outside, nothing indicated what awaited within. Zyle guided her through a private entrance and into an elevator that required his thumbprint to operate.

“Your mysterious streak continues,” Laykin observed as the elevator ascended.

“Patience is a virtue,” he replied, mischief glinting in his eyes.

The elevator doors opened directly onto the rooftop, and Laykin’s breath caught. The entire space had been transformed into a private dining oasis. Market lights twinkled overhead like stars, woven through discreet latticework that offered protection without obstructing the spectacular view of the city skyline. A single table stood in the center, draped in white linen and set with elegant simplicity.

“You did all this?” Laykin whispered, taking in the scene.

“I wanted privacy.” Zyle’s voice dropped lower. “No prying eyes, no political agendas. Just us.”

The possessive undertone in that simple “us” ignited something primal within her. Her lioness stretched languidly beneath her skin, pleased by his claim.

A waiter materialized to pull out their chairs and pour champagne before disappearing as silently as he’d arrived. Laykin took a sip, the bubbles dancing on her tongue.

“How long have you owned this building?” she asked.

“Five years. It houses one of my charitable foundations during the day.” Zyle leaned back, his posture relaxed yet somehow still commanding. “The rooftop usually serves as an urban garden for underprivileged youth to learn about sustainable agriculture.”

“That’s...unexpected.”

His eyebrow arched. “Why?”

“The fearsome tiger titan has a soft spot for teaching kids to grow tomatoes?”

A genuine smile cracked his usually composed expression. “I contain multitudes, Princess.”

“Laykin,” she reminded him.

“Laykin,” he repeated, her name a caress on his lips.

Their first course arrived—elegant bites of seared tuna with citrus—followed by conversation that flowed more easily than she’d anticipated. They discovered shared interests in conservation efforts, a mutual passion for historical architecture, and surprisingly compatible views on the modernization of shifter traditions.

“I thought your brother Malachi was you at first,” Laykin admitted over their main course, a perfectly prepared steak for him and herb-crusted salmon for her. “At the gala. I was desperately trying to find something impressive about him.”

Zyle’s laugh—a deep, rich sound she’d heard only once before—rippled across the table. “That must have been quite the challenge.”

“He seems nice enough,” she offered diplomatically.

“He is. Too nice for his own good sometimes.” Zyle cut into his steak with precision. “And too eager to charm every woman he meets.”

“Jealous?”

His eyes flashed silver momentarily. “I spent half the gala trying not to growl every time another male looked at you.”

The raw honesty in his admission sent heat spiraling through her core. “You hide it well.”

“Years of practice.” He set down his knife. “Corporate negotiations require a certain poker face.”

“And what do you negotiate for now, Zyle?” Laykin held his gaze steadily.

“Everything.” The single word hung between them, laden with meaning.