The Jaguar Tycoon: Tales of the Were (Howls Romance) Read online

  The Jaguar Tycoon

  by

  Bianca D’Arc

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2017 Bianca D’Arc

  Published by Hawk Publishing, LLC

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  DEDICATION

  This one is for my loyal friends and readers. I hope you enjoy this new branch of shifters.

  I want to thank my editor, Jess Bimberg, for doing a super-quick turnaround. She really went above and beyond the call of duty this time and I can’t thank her enough. Special thanks to Peggy McChesney for her help in finding typos and things that just didn’t make any sense! LOL.

  This project had some delays, including unexpected surgery earlier in the year that caused a very big postponement. I’m so happy to have survived my bout with uterine cancer and still be here to complete this project…and many more to come. So that’s a big thank you to God for giving me a second chance.

  And a thank you to all my fans, family, and friends who took the time to send me messages of support and encouragement when I was so very scared and in pain. I survived. With the best possible outcome. I’m cured and hoping to live a long, healthier life in the future with lots more books and lots and lots of love.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Excerpt from King’s Throne

  About the Author

  Other Books by Bianca D’Arc

  PROLOGUE

  The gunman jumped up from his seat at one of the many dinner tables in the elegant hall and began firing. Mark ducked, even as he felt the near miss of a bullet go whizzing past his head. He narrowed his eyes, looking toward his security team. He’d jump in if he had to, but in such a public setting, he really had to at least pretend to be human.

  He scrambled off the podium, surrounded by a few of his people, allowing himself to be whisked away into an anteroom while others dealt with the threat. He didn’t like it. His inner predator longed to go take a bite out of the jackass that dared attack him and put others in danger.

  But he couldn’t do that. Not here, in such a public place. Not with so many witnesses.

  In private, though… There, he could be the Alpha he truly was. And heaven help the bastard who had just tried to shoot him.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You want to tell me why your boyfriend just tried to blow away my employer?”

  The bodyguard’s face was a little too handsome for such work, Shelly decided. With the way he was barking at her, he should have a scar running down one cheek and an eye patch at the very least. Maybe a hook for a hand and a parrot on his shoulder, too.

  But, no. Both hands looked intact, though there were calluses. Finally! A flaw in Attila the Bodyguard. She didn’t like him, but she could still appreciate how good looking all the people surrounding Mark Pepard were. It was kind of freakish. Not only was Pepard a gorgeous billionaire, but he surrounded himself with beautiful hard-bodies. Maybe he had some kind of fetish and didn’t hire normal-looking people. She marveled that he hadn’t been sued for discrimination yet, if that was the case.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” She’d been saying that over and over, but Attila hadn’t seemed to get the message. He might be handsome, but she suspected he was stupid. Typical.

  “Security footage shows you arriving together in the same cab and chatting throughout the party. Until about ten minutes before he pulled a gun on my employer. Sure looks like you were together.”

  “We shared a cab. We struck up a conversation. He seemed interesting and wanted to keep talking to me. Since I didn’t know anybody else at the reception, I figured I’d chat with him a while. I had no idea he was hell bent on getting himself arrested by attacking one of the richest men in the known universe.”

  She was getting fed up with being alternately yelled at and insulted by this man. He’d been at it for hours now. Hours. Ever since the party had been interrupted by a failed assassination attempt by the man from the cab.

  Shelly really didn’t know the guy. He’d just been a stranger who happened to be going to the same place. She’d offered to share the cab, which had been her first mistake. Talking to the man for an hour had been the second. And the third had been going with Mr. Hard Ass Bodyguard when he’d silently escorted her out of the reception hall.

  At the time, she’d had no idea what had happened, but they’d showed her the tape a few times now, and she realized the rather clumsy assassination attempt had been quickly defused by efficient and professional bodyguards. Most likely, very few people at the party even realized anything untoward had occurred. They’d whisked her out of there so quickly, her head had spun.

  The reception and dinner party had been a charity event held in one of the oldest buildings on Wall Street. Her father had sent her as his representative, as he did to most of these kinds of things nowadays. She was his proxy in an empire that was slowly shrinking into obscurity.

  Her father was from old money, as they called it. He’d never had to worry about saving, and the lifestyle he still lived echoed that mistaken belief. Shelly, though, had been born into the generation that had to work.

  For the first time in a long time, a Howell actually had to work, but Shelly didn’t mind. She knew her dad was blowing through whatever inheritance might be left, and she didn’t begrudge him that. It was his money, inherited fair and square. Shelly preferred to make her own way.

  She did, however, enjoy the elite party invites that he tossed her way. This evening, for example, posed a special treat. The old Customs House in downtown Manhattan was only opened for select events. Tonight had been her chance to study its architecture up close and personal. She would use it as inspiration for one of her clients, who wanted the same sort of old-world grandeur in the vacation getaway she was designing for him.

  Shelly Howell was an architect. A high society architect, actually, given her family name and connections. There was increasing cachet to having her name on the plans for your new summer home or addition, in certain circles.

  She didn’t mind banking on the family name. Her father did the same—in a different way, of course. Few people really knew how fragile his empire had become. He got by on the perceived strength of his name in a lot of places, including the rubber chicken dinner circuit that he sent her on as his representative, as often as not.

  Which was how she had ended up here, politely imprisoned in an antechamber of one of the oldest buildings in lower Manhattan. She h
ad finished studying the construction and ornamentation of the plush room forty-five minutes ago, and was growing increasingly alarmed at the continued questioning.

  “Look,” she tried to reason with the man for the hundredth time. “My name is Shelly Howell. I drove down from Westchester last night to have dinner with a client. I checked into the Penn Hotel yesterday, so I wouldn’t have to drive home and back again for the party tonight. I was there most of the day, working. When I asked the bellman to get me a taxi, he pointed out another guest who was going the same way and suggested we share because the rain was making cabs scarce. We did. End of story. I didn’t know that man before the cab ride. I didn’t have anything to do with his plan to hurt your boss. Now, either let me go or give me back my phone so I can call my lawyer.”

  The bastard bodyguard had the nerve to laugh. “I’m not the police, honey. I don’t have to give you a phone call. I can disappear you so you’ll never be found, so don’t fuck with me.”

  She gasped at the crude word and shot to her feet.

  “You just try, you obnoxious bastard!”

  The door clicked softly open, stopping her tirade before it could get going. She looked over, and there he was, the man of the hour. Mark Pepard. In the flesh.

  His tuxedo jacket was missing, his bow tie draped around his neck, undone. It was a real bow tie. No clip-ons for this billionaire mogul, apparently.

  “Leave her alone, Nick. She wasn’t in on it.”

  He looked drunk, was her first thought as he strolled into the room and perched on the arm of the chair facing her. His eyes sparkled unnaturally, and his smile was lazy and…lecherous? Oh, crap.

  “How are you so sure?” The bodyguard still looked skeptical.

  “I just got back from her hotel. The room was clean. No sign of the man. And his room had no sign of her.” His words were directed at the bodyguard he’d called Nick, but his eyes never left her. She felt like prey under the gaze of a deadly predator. “Don’t you smell that? She’s scared. And innocent.”

  Innocence has a scent? she wondered.

  Shelly shook her head, trying to clear the sudden strange thoughts. She hadn’t expected to get to meet the famous, and famously elusive, Mark Pepard, but she’d been wrong. She was looking at all six foot three of him, in a rumpled designer tuxedo.

  Damn, he looked good enough to eat. Now where the heck had that thought come from?

  She’d always thought he cut an elegant figure when she’d seen photos of him in various publications, from the financial magazines to celebrity gossip columns. He lived the high life to which her family was no longer strictly entitled. Actually, he lived higher than any Howell ever had. He was richer than the Queen of England, if the tabloids were to be believed, and he used his money in strange ways.

  He was a daredevil, forever trying to break land speed records in his jet car. Or sail around the world by himself. Or fly into dangerous war-torn lands with no more than a single bodyguard and huge crates of relief supplies.

  Damn. She just realized Nick was the bodyguard she’d seen by Pepard’s side in those clandestine photos that had made their way into the tabloids. Scary Nick was his right-hand man. No wonder he’d seemed so familiar to her. Shelly admitted to herself that she’d been fascinated by those photos when they were leaked, and news of Pepard’s hands-on philanthropy had changed her opinion of the playboy billionaire forever.

  “So, Miss Howell, you’re an architect?” His tone was friendly and conversational, as if his glowering friend over there hadn’t just threatened to have her “disappeared.” Was he insane as well as insanely wealthy? She decided to humor the possible lunatic.

  “Yes, I am. I suppose you saw some of my work in my hotel room?” She was appalled that he’d been in her room, but if it had convinced him of her innocence, she wasn’t going to quibble.

  “I did,” he confirmed with a slight grin. “And you have quite an eye for design, if I’m any judge. I’d like you to consider doing some work for me, if you can forgive my friend’s rather…uh…overzealous questioning here tonight.” Only then did his gaze flick briefly to the bodyguard as the man backed away, only a foot or so, but giving her a little breathing space.

  Did she want to work for Mark Pepard? That was a no brainer. Who didn’t want to work for one of the richest men in the world? A few hours ago, she would have jumped at the chance, but those few intervening hours had changed a lot about her perception of the man and his hirelings.

  She looked from Mark to Nick and back again, uncertainly. “I’m not sure. I’d need to hear more about the project first.”

  Mark surprised her by laughing at her caution. She had been afraid he would be offended, but he was taking her trepidation better than she’d expected. She imagined few people said no to him.

  “Of course. You’ve had a rather rude introduction to me and my people. We’re going to have to work hard to change your opinion of us.” He stood from his perch on the arm of the chair and walked up to her. He came close. Almost too close. She had to crane her neck upward to meet his mesmerizing gaze. “I’m sorry we scared you, Shelly. Nick is naturally protective of me, which I count as a good thing, but in this instance, I could wish he’d gone a little easier on you. I don’t want my future mate afraid of me.”

  “Your what?” Had she heard him right?

  “Mark?” Nick spoke at nearly the same moment as she did, confusion and concern clear in his tone.

  “You both heard me.” Mark’s smile was for her alone as he gazed deep into her eyes. She felt drugged by his presence, unable to move, even as he stepped closer and caught her in his arms. “You two are going to have to learn to get along,” he whispered as his lips dropped to hers, claiming her in a kiss that she should not have allowed but was powerless to resist.

  Mark purred as he kissed his woman. Purred. In human form. Lady Bless! What he had suspected when he’d first scented her was true. She was his destined mate. The woman he had searched every continent to find…and here she was. In his arms at last.

  The wave of recognition and longing that had hit him when he first entered her hotel room had only gotten more urgent the longer he breathed the air that still held her scent. He had lifted her garments out of her overnight bag and sniffed the heady aroma of his woman.

  At last. At long last.

  Then, anger had filled him as he remembered why he was there. He’d stalked to the would-be assassin’s room, sniffing loudly and not caring who heard or saw him. His men surrounded him, and he knew they wondered at his silent anger, but he had no words for them. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d sniffed every last article in the man’s room and was certain there was not even the faintest trace of his mate on the other man’s things.

  To think she would betray him was a dagger through his heart. He didn’t breathe easy until he was certain there was no lingering connection between her and the man who had tried to shoot him.

  There wasn’t. Praise the Mother of All. Mark didn’t need that kind of complication on top of everything else. His mate was innocent.

  And human.

  And totally unaware of what he was, or that his kind even existed.

  But the man who’d tried to kill him had known. The bastard’s gun had been loaded with silver bullets. More specifically, silver hollow points, packed with powdered pure silver dust. Poison to his kind. Being shot by one of those bullets would have guaranteed an agonizing death.

  That thought alone allowed him to break the kiss and step away. He had to play this game, and play it well. She didn’t know what she was dealing with, and someone very dangerous was gunning for him. Not the man who’d shared her cab. He was just a pawn in a much larger game.

  But the one who’d sent him had known when and where to strike. The attack had been designed to either kill Mark or make him expose himself. Few shifters could control their transformation when in the extreme agony of silver poisoning. Mark could, but few realized just how powerful an Alpha he truly was.
>
  His enemy knew Mark was a shifter but was still probing to find out how strongly his beast rode him. This little feint had all the earmarks of a test. Fortunately, his men had neutralized the threat before it had reached him. With any luck, the enemy was still in the dark about the extent of Mark’s abilities—although they had no doubt learned to respect those Mark kept around him as security.

  The next feint would not be so bold, nor so easy to evade. The thought sent a chill through Mark’s blood, effectively cooling his head enough to think of his mate’s welfare.

  “Miss Howell, forgive me. I know you are neither easy nor likely to give yourself to me for selfish reasons. I will put no pressure on you in that way, rest assured, but there is a deeper game afoot here than you realize. First, you need to know that I’m not entirely human.”

  “Mark!” Nick objected, as Mark had known he would. The first rule of being what they were was not to reveal themselves to the outside world. The secrecy of their kind had to remain sacrosanct.

  The one exception was when one of their number found a mate among the humans. As Mark had just done.

  Sweet Mother of All. He really, truly, had a mate, and she was standing right there, in front of him with disbelief and a bit of fear on her gorgeous face. He grimaced. It was going to get worse before it got better, but he had to believe the Mother of All would not have granted him a mate with a weak character. Shelly was going to learn some hard truths in the next few minutes, and how she reacted would tell him a great deal about how they would go on from here.

  “Is the room secure?” Mark spared a quick glance for Nick, a hand signal telling his best friend to stand down.

  “As secure as it can be off our home turf,” Nick replied. The tilt of his head spoke volumes about his skepticism and worry over what Mark planned to do next.