Bride of the Tiger by Heather Graham (best large ereader .txt) 📗

“Lust at first sight?”

“Hmm. Something like that. I wanted to strip you right there in the museum.”

He paused for a moment, gazing down at her naked breasts, touching them reverently with the palm of his hand, catching his breath as she moaned softly, her nipples rising to taut rosy peaks before his fascinated gaze.

“Right there,” he murmured softly. “I could have swept you off, into the Egyptian area maybe, into a temple, because you looked just like a goddess, and I felt…”

“Like?” Tara breathed, her lashes falling over her silver eyes glazed now with her growing ache.

“Like thunder. Like lightning. Like Zeus!—ready to take on any form to seduce the enticing maiden.”

His hands slipped lower, sliding away her clothing, teasing her flesh mercilessly with the vibrant power of his own.

“I never accused you of being a god,” she told him, smiling as he tossed her jeans away and moved over her, his shoulders gleaming in the sunlight. “Just a tiger.”

He lowered himself, carefully holding his own weight, until his lips were just a whisper away from hers. “Grr…”

She laughed until his mouth touched hers. Then laughter became a moan.

Whispers grew to a melody of passion, but the song that rose between them was more.

It was tenderness, and it was love. Fantastic and real and binding. And without thought, Tara knew in her heart that it had all been worth it. The past, and the treacherous road that they had taken to the present. Without the trauma, she would never have known that a dream could live. That her fabulous tiger-man could be real, could offer the love she had dared not believe in.

Tenderness and laughter, passion and fervor. She would marvel forever that she could be his wife.

And he her husband.

A tiger still, fascinating, intriguing, sleek and powerful, and delightfully…

Well, never quite, but sometimes, exquisitely tame…

And then sometimes, exquisitely wild.

* * * * *

L.A.P.D. Detective Jake McAllister and victim rights’ advocate Kyra Chase are determined to capture another serial killer loose in L.A., one who seems to be a copycat of another vicious murderer. But Kyra’s mysterious past might just change the course of the investigation…and have deadly consequences.

Keep reading for a sneak peek of The Decoy, the second book in A Kyra and Jake Investigation, from Carol Ericson.

PROLOGUE

Rule number three. Never leave fingerprints or DNA.

He didn’t have to worry about that. He was careful and clean. Besides, he’d much rather do the deed in the comfort of their own homes, among their own possessions. It might give them a bit of solace. He was no monster. He was a…facilitator, a conduit, if you will.

Who wanted to traipse all over LA looking for a dump site with a dead body in your car? You could never tell who was watching. Whether a place had cameras or not. Cameras tracked your every move these days. With a little surveillance, you could take care of any electronic witnesses yourself. That’s what he did.

And rape? His stomach lurched. Sex was filthy. He would never leave his bodily fluids inside another person.

The woman beneath him gurgled, and he blinked. Time to get back to business.

As he choked the last bit of life out of Andrea with his gloved hands, he watched the light die from her wide eyes. The force of the power that surged through his body made him hard. He closed his eyes to relish the sensation…just for a few seconds of indulgence.

He would never tell anyone about that part—about the sexual arousal. He didn’t know why it happened. He didn’t ask for it. It wasn’t his raison d’être. It made him feel slightly ashamed.

He removed his hands from Andrea’s neck and flexed his fingers. It took strength to squeeze the life out of someone. He’d forgotten how much. That other time had been so long ago.

He left Andrea in her bed. She’d been there when he’d pounced, and it had really been more of a creep than a pounce. By the time she realized he was in her house, at the foot of her bed, she had zero time to react or escape.

No, actually, she had reacted—a gaping-mouthed silent scream. The wisps of sleep still clinging to her mind, she hadn’t been able to process the sight of a strange man in her bedroom.

The mattress huffed when he pushed off the bed, the same sound Andrea had made when he first took her by the throat. He smoothed a gloved hand over the cap covering his head. He wouldn’t be leaving any of his hair behind. No prints. No bodily fluids. He’d taken care to avoid neighborhood cameras. He certainly didn’t know Andrea.

That wasn’t completely true. He brushed a knuckle across her smooth, dark skin. He’d stalked her long enough to know her habits, some of her likes and dislikes, a few of her friends. Long enough to know she’d broken up with a boyfriend and lived alone in this small, neat house. That’s as close as he’d gotten—as close as he’d wanted to get.

He wrapped some double-sided tape around his hands and patted the covers around Andrea’s body. Who knew what he’d dragged into this room on his person? There could be fibers from his clothing, bits of seed or dirt that could be identified from his area. He’d watched enough forensic crime shows to know anything could be analyzed these days.

He studied the minuscule debris on the tape, peeled it from his hands and shoved it into his pocket. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a playing card.

Hovering over Andrea, he placed the card between her parted lips. Then he snipped off one of her dark curls and dropped it into a plastic bag. Eyeing his handiwork, he sighed. Now he’d have to create a mess. He hated leaving a mess.

The blade of the box cutter winked at him as it caught the light from the lamp next to Andrea’s bed. Holding his breath, he sliced the pinkie