Page 20 of Claws and Effect (Paranormal Dating Agency #87)
NINETEEN
T he predawn darkness cloaked Zyle’s penthouse in silence, broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of the woman curled against him. He’d awakened instantly as he did every morning, internal clock precise to the minute. But for the first time in years, he made no move to rise.
Instead, he watched her.
Golden hair cascaded across his black silk pillowcase, catching what little light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. One delicate hand rested possessively over his heart, her fingers occasionally twitching in sleep. The sight of Laykin in his bed, wearing nothing but moonlight and satisfaction, sent a surge of primitive ownership through him so powerful his tiger nearly broke through his skin.
Mine.
The ferocity of that thought should have disturbed him. Six days ago, Princess Laykin Barclay had been nothing more than a name on a contract—the political solution to generations of pride tension. Now she occupied his bed, his thoughts, and territories of his heart he’d believed long sealed off.
Zyle traced the curve of her bare shoulder, his touch ghost-light to avoid waking her. His fingers lingered over the fading bruise where the tranquilizer dart had struck during the ambush. The purple mark marred her otherwise flawless skin, a stark reminder of how close he’d come to losing her before he’d even claimed her.
Silver rimmed his vision as his tiger surged forward, demanding retribution. Every muscle in his body tensed with the need to hunt down those who had dared touch what belonged to him. The primal urge to protect warred with his human rationality.
Laykin stirred beside him, mumbling something unintelligible before settling deeper into sleep. The innocent movement calmed his tiger, returning his focus to the miracle of her presence in his bed.
Last night replayed in his mind with crystal clarity. The kiss in the hallway when she’d chased after him, her hazel eyes blazing with determination as she’d declared her choice. The way she’d melted against him when he’d carried her to his bedroom. How perfectly she’d fit beneath him, around him, with him—as though created specifically to complement every part of him.
Most vividly, he remembered her whispered confession against his skin in the aftermath: “I never expected to find you behind the contract.” The simple statement had shattered something inside him, something cold and rigid he’d spent a lifetime constructing.
Carefully, Zyle extracted himself from her embrace, memorizing the image of her in his bed before padding silently to the kitchen. Morning light now streaked the eastern sky, painting his minimalist penthouse in shades of amber and gold that reminded him of her eyes.
He moved through his morning ritual with practiced efficiency, grinding premium coffee beans with precise motions while his mind worked through a different problem altogether: how to prove to Laykin that she wasn’t merely fulfilling a contractual obligation, but claiming a place in his life no other woman had ever touched?
The business alpha in him approached it strategically—identify the objective, analyze potential methods, execute with precision. But the man in him, the part awakened by her touch, knew better. This wasn’t a corporate takeover. This was Laykin, fierce and independent, who had kicked off her shoes to fight attackers in a pencil skirt. Who had matched him kiss for kiss, challenge for challenge.
Who deserved so much more than duty.
The coffee machine hummed as Zyle sliced artisanal bread, arranged fresh berries in a crystal bowl, and set out imported cheese on a slate platter. Simple tasks that grounded him while his thoughts raced ahead to security protocols, protective measures, and ways to eliminate threats to her without ever letting her know the brutal lengths he would go to keep her safe.
“I didn’t take you for a cook.”
Her voice hit him like a physical caress. Zyle turned to find Laykin leaning against the doorframe, wearing his white dress shirt from the previous night. The garment swallowed her petite frame, falling to mid-thigh and revealing miles of sun-kissed legs. His scent enveloped her, marking her more effectively than any visible claim.
His tiger roared with satisfaction.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet,” he replied, voice rougher than intended.
Laykin pushed away from the doorframe and approached him, bare feet silent on the marble floor. “Good. I like mysteries.”
She tilted her head up for a kiss that Zyle readily supplied, savoring the way she rose onto tiptoes to meet him. When they broke apart, a soft smile played on her lips, transforming her from regal princess to the woman who had moaned his name into the darkness hours earlier.
“Coffee?” he offered, struggling to maintain his composure.
“You really are my hero.” She accepted the mug with both hands, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a sip.
They settled at the breakfast bar, sunlight streaming through the windows as the city awakened below them. Zyle found himself cataloging every detail about her—how she tucked her hair behind her ear when thinking, the tiny scar near her temple that his lips had discovered the night before, the way her eyes shifted from green to gold depending on the light.
His tiger paced restlessly beneath his skin, demanding they cement this bond, make it official, unbreakable. Mark her so thoroughly that no other male would dare approach her. The intensity of that possessive urge startled him.
“What happens now?” Laykin broke the comfortable silence, her expression thoughtful as she studied him over the rim of her coffee mug.
“What do you want to happen?” Zyle countered, holding her gaze steadily.
She traced the marble countertop with a fingertip, her focus dropping from his face. “I worry that duty will eventually override... this.” She gestured between them. “That we’ll wake up one day and realize we’re playing parts in someone else’s political drama.”
The vulnerability in her voice reached past his defenses and touched something raw within him. In the boardroom, competitors called him ruthless, cold, calculating. None would recognize him now, desperate to ease the worry from her brow.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.