Taken by the Lion Shifters

Chapter 3

3Nina fidgeted in her seat, glancing around furtively at the crowds of people walking past the café where she’d been instructed to meet her match. She had had just enough time after work to change her clothes and freshen her makeup. She had been tempted to spritz a little bit of perfume on her wrists and cleavage, but the text message she received specifically requested she not wear any at all, and to wear unscented deodorant.

She’d been shocked to receive a notification at all. She was even more shocked that she received it the morning after signing up for the site. The notification that her profile had been flagged for interest had been accompanied by the first of a series of quick text messages, which nonetheless piqued her interest more than she would have predicted.

So you’re a difficult woman. Congratulations—I happen to be very much in the market for a difficult woman. If you aren’t completely on this site as a joke, I hope you’ll meet me. I’m available any night after 6pm.

Nina had responded that she could meet at seven, and the match had replied with a list of requests and a place to meet.

I’m sure you’re expecting a balding, sixty-year-old guy but I hope you won’t be too depressed at a fairly normal 30-year-old. I promise I can be every bit as boring as you want.

In spite of her jaded attitude toward the site, Nina had to admit that something about the man’s requests—that she wear nothing scented, to not shower immediately before coming to their meeting, and be comfortable with actually eating dinner instead of ordering ‘to fit someone’s expectations,’ intrigued her.

She was surprised also at how nervous she felt. Nina entertained herself with a private theory: her match was probably some deadbeat trust fund kid whose parents wanted him to get married. Maybe he was gay and just couldn’t bear the thought of actually formally dating a woman to satisfy whatever dynastic needs came along with the family name and money. It could actually be interesting to be his “beard” if that were the case.

It would be so much easier if she had a clue what the guy looked like, Nina thought resentfully. He knew what she looked like but she was just supposed to take on faith that the guy knew what he wanted, that the site knew that they would be remotely compatible. She hoped he wasn’t completely unfortunate-looking.

Nina discovered that the notifications she received on her profile worked on a first-come-first-served basis. Unless the man she agreed to meet withdrew his interest, her profile would be hidden from other potential suitors. She was allowed to decline him but only after her first meeting, and at that, she was required to submit a form detailing the reasons why; “In order to improve our match-making algorithm.” Nina knew well enough that it probably wouldn’t be nearly as anonymous as the instructions suggested, and if she rejected the guy out of hand, he would probably have the same opportunity of providing feedback about her. So if she really did want to meet anyone else, she would have to play nice.

Nina saw one of the hostesses for the café where she had agreed to meet her mystery match moving towards her table. She focused on the man behind the hostess and her eyes widened. He would tower over her standing. Nina estimated he was probably just under six feet tall. His hair fell in a dark brown mane to nearly brush his broad, subtly muscled shoulders in messy, loose waves. The man strode forward with confidence, his dark eyes scanning the pre-dinner crowd in front of him. As he came closer, Nina took in the strong features of his face: a sharply defined jaw and high cheekbones were highlighted by three-day stubble, and something about his long, narrow nose and soft eyebrows gave him an almost predatory, feline appearance.

The man’s gaze lit on her and Nina felt herself blushing as a flicker of recognition showed in his eyes. She’d been outright staring at him—but, she told herself firmly, who could blame her? The man making his way to her table was flat-out gorgeous, even if he wasn’t her usual type. Normally, obvious muscles were a strict turnoff for Nina but there was something about the easy confidence that made the rangy, lean look of his muscular body appealing. He didn’t look like a meathead, he looked like a man who simply took pride in how he looked.

The hostess was clearly as dazzled by his charms as Nina was. She fluttered around them as she brought the man to the table, blushing and sidling, simpering and smiling up at him. Nina wondered just what kind of defect the guy had that he was on a matchmaking site, that he had found himself in the position of having to pay to find a wife – for the messages made it clear that a mate was the intended outcome, assuming they were compatible.

Oh God, he’s gay. I’m going to be with an incredibly hot gay guy. Joke’s on me—the first guy who wants to give me the time of day on that damn site just wants an appropriate beard.

The man glanced at the hostess sideways, and Nina almost chuckled at the fleeting look of annoyance that crossed his features. “I think we’ll be fine for the moment, love,” he told her. “And you’re busy and all, you should probably get back to seat someone.” A faint Irish accent rippled through the man’s gravelly baritone voice. Nina suppressed a shiver at the sound of it.

The hostess smiled brightly and shot Nina an envying look before scurrying away, and the man chuckled softly. Nina stood on unsteady legs, taking a deep breath as the man closed the distance between them to give her a quick, strong hug and a kiss on the cheek. She caught his scent: faintly green, with a rich, almost spicy underlying musk, almost reminiscent of cologne without being identifiable. She started slightly as she felt his breath against her skin, for an instant she could have sworn that he was sniffing her hair but the impression left her as he broke away from the hug and gestured for her to sit down. “Well, love, disappointed in me?” Nina opened her mouth to speak, only to find that she’d no idea what she was going to say.

She swallowed, conquering the mixture of nerves and shock that froze her brain. “I’m a little worried at the fact that you apparently need to use a matchmaking site,” she said, blurting the words out all at once. “I mean—you’re gorgeous. You’re obviously not hurting for money. It should be harder to turn down the dates you get instead of having to pay someone to find a wife for you.” Here it is, she thought grimly. He’s going to tell me he’s gay.

“I have sort of—special requirements,” the man said smoothly. “I want a mate, in all the senses of the term, but it would be a lot harder to find the things I need in a woman by just going to the bars and hoping, you know?” Nina felt a sudden spurt of dread. Instead of fearing that he was gay, that she’d be maneuvered into a sexless marriage with an incredibly gorgeous guy who had no physical attraction to her whatsoever, she was convinced now that he was some kind of sadist who wanted a slave to abuse. “Don’t look so shocked, I’m not looking for a pretty little slave, though if I was, I’d definitely have a hard time picking a prettier one than you.”

“Then what exactly are you looking for?” Nina blushed at the compliment, though the way he’d couched it would have been creepy if not for his deep voice and rippling accent, the lilting cadence of his speech.

“That is a little bit complicated. Let me buy you a glass of wine and we can discuss it.”

Nina bit her bottom lip. Part of her mind screamed an alarm. She should excuse herself; leave as quickly as possible. The guy didn’t know where she lived, he had no idea of her phone number, and there was no way for him to track her. She had checked into the app to confirm that she was at the meeting place, it would have notified him to arrive. She could sign on the moment she left the café and formally reject him. But another part of her was intrigued. How specific could the man’s requirements be that simply being gorgeous and well-to-do weren’t enough to secure him whatever he wanted?

“I’ll have red,” she said, taking a deep breath. “But don’t think for a second that you’re going to get me drunk.” The man across the table from her laughed out loud, throwing his head back.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Not for a first meeting, anyway.”