Final Cut Miami Voodoo You Love? by Belinda McBride Page B

he was so freakin’ pushy. Who’d say no to a monster like this? He probably outweighed David by fifty pounds or so! And he was hers, completely at her service.
    Well, it might actually be the other way around. He was damned possessive as well. And dominant. And too damned handsome for his own good. But still, his fur was soft and lush, and she couldn’t help leaning in, burying her face in the silky warmth of his coat. She must have pushed the right button because he rolled to his back, baring his belly, and a whole lot more.
    “Happy I’m here, eh?”
    He made a chuffing noise deep in the back of his throat.
    “Well, you’re the one flashing that thing. And those things!”
    He rolled back to his belly, rising to his feet in a smooth movement. She laughed when he popped the shower door open with his paw and stalked into the other room, his long tail twitching. No man like being laughed at, especially where his family jewels were concerned.
    Chloe grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body, and then used a hand towel to blot the water from her dreadlocks. She stood in front of the foggy mirror for a moment, grimacing at the mess of her hair. Even if they were proper dreads, they still just weren’t right. She tugged at one long mat and glanced around, hoping for a pair of scissors. But then, if this had something to do with magic, cutting them wouldn’t really solve the problem. At the best, she’d end up a skinhead.
    She sighed noisily and stepped out of the bathroom, tripping over the low threshold. Damn! Being in the shower had helped a little, but just moments dry and she was falling all to pieces again. How could a magnificent creature like Antonio Silva tolerate a crazy, crippled shifter like her? What if it wasn’t a curse or a spell, but her own defective psyche? Panic ripped through her like a wave, and she started for the door, jerking it open just a few inches before the security lock caught with a jolt. She scrambled, and then screamed in frustration as a huge black body pushed between her and the door, halting her escape. He butted his head into her belly, pushing her backwards into the bedroom. She took a step, stumbled and went down on her bottom.
    In frustration, Coco leaned forward, her arms on her knees, sobs wracking her body. She clutched her head, tugging at her matted hair. A rough tongue swiped her bare arm; a rough growl sounded soft as a lullaby. Antonio nudged her with his massive head, knocking her backwards to the plush carpet on the floor. For one breathless moment, she lay looking up at him; the erotic suggestion of their position took her breath away. The spell was broken as the tiger shimmered and vanished, to be replaced by Antonio. Apparently pushing her around in his tiger form wasn’t enough.
    “Chloe --”
    “Coco.” She blinked, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. Words were becoming difficult to summon.
    “You don’t have two personalities, baby. Your name is Chloe.” Frustration showed in his eyes. “You were doing so good, kitten. What scared you?”
    She pushed herself upright, the towel stayed behind on the floor. His gaze shifted to her breasts and hunger flared in their golden depths.
    “Coco… nickname.”
    “So the name isn’t new?” She shook her head, glad he’d gotten the gist of her cryptic attempts to speak. “OK, if you prefer, I’ll call you Coco. Now that we’ve settled your name, what scared you? I scented a spike of fear.” He settled next to her on the floor, just as naked as she. His golden body was perfect and flawless. Not a scar, nor a blemish. He wasn’t tattooed or pierced or marked in anyway. Just sculpted cheekbones, a cleft chin and the most perfect nose she’d ever seen on a man, elegant and slightly arched. His mouth was made for sin and his accent was heaven. God, she loved him.
    “Modeling. Why’d you stop?”
    “Nice way to change the subject.” He smiled briefly. “But that’s fair. I started because the