Vivi Andrews - Serengeti Sunrise

Zoe King was screwed—in the least fun interpretation of the word.

You break one little rule and it bites you on the ass. Every. Damn. Time.

She glared at the white smoke billowing out from under the jeep’s hood. Lately, her luck sucked donkey balls.

So much for her secret, back-before-anyone-knew-she-was-gone trip into town. She hadn’t even made it out to the main highway before the jeep decided it would rather be a fog machine.

Stranded on a dusty country road. Zoe King, kickass rock-star goddess of the lioness persuasion, had been reduced to a Texas Chainsaw Massacre cliché.

Pathetic.

She could’ve hoofed it back to the ranch, but she’d still have to explain how the jeep had come to be broken down on the side of the road, four miles outside the property boundaries. Confess later or confess now—at some point there would be shit hitting fans.

Zoe wasn’t the kind of girl who put things off. She lived her life by the motto: now or never, preferably now .

So she called her brother and admitted she left the ranch without permission. Permission . As if she was an infant who couldn’t take care of herself. She was a grown woman and a shape-shifter, for Christ’s sake. A lioness lived inside her skin and on a good day she could even kick her big brother the almighty Alpha’s ass. How much trouble could she possibly get into?

Of course, Landon didn’t see it that way. She had to listen to a solid ten minutes of her brother playing Master of the Pride before he finally got tired of bitching her out—or decided he’d have more fun doing it in person—and told her he’d already sent out the cavalry.

And she knew just who he’d sent. Dammit.

Zoe propped a hip against the dented side of the old jeep, folded her arms and tipped her face back to soak in the sun, trying for a Zen state as she waited. The heat crawled over her skin, thick and heavy, but at least it hadn’t reached the please-God-kill-me-now levels of midsummer yet. They were still a few months and a dozen degrees shy of that lovely experience.

And, if there was a God, she’d be long gone before the summer heat hit. Off to greener pastures. Independent again. Free.

Of course, she needed more than God. She needed a car that could make it more than four miles from the ranch before breaking down.

Goddamn useless mechanic.

Zoe shifted her weight against the jeep’s dented door and closed her eyes. Think Zen, dammit.

The heat from the metal bled through her jeans. She didn’t have a lot of experience with Zen states, and she had a feeling she was sucking at this one, but luckily she didn’t have long to wait.

Zoe barely had time to perfect her I-don’t-give-a-shit pose before she heard the distinctive coughing roar of a truck’s engine speeding toward her, sounding eerily like the pissed-off lion she knew would be sitting behind the steering wheel. She didn’t open her eyes to watch him approach. Her other senses were a fraction sharper with her eyes shut, and she wanted to focus on the little sensory details so she wouldn’t think about the asshole bearing down on her in the tow truck.

He already got too many of her stray thoughts as it was.

Gravel scuttled beneath the truck’s tires as it pulled off onto the shoulder behind the jeep. Zoe’s nose twitched as a whisper of a breeze carried grainy dust particles to tease her nostrils and stick against the sweat-kissed skin of her temples.

The constant dust was just another of the joys of living in west Texas. She couldn’t step two feet outside her bungalow without feeling like every inch of her exposed skin had been coated in a fine film of dirt. How Landon could actually like it here, she couldn’t imagine.

Well, actually she could imagine. But Landon’s affection for Bumfuck Nowhere, West Texas had more to do with his mate Ava’s manifest charms than it did any driving need to be bathed in dust on a daily basis. If Zoe had gotten laid once over the last goddamn year , she might be in a slightly better frame of mind herself. But the pussified lions at the pride wouldn’t lay a finger on the Alpha’s baby sister. The cowards.

The truck’s engine gave one last coughing roar before it cut off abruptly. Zoe held herself perfectly still. Zen, she reminded herself as she drank in her surroundings from behind closed eyes.

The groaning squeak of the truck’s door opening. The soft scrape of footsteps on gravel. The teasing, musky scent of male lion mingling with engine oil and the dry dusty scent of earth on the breeze. The slam of the truck’s door. Then the sound of his voice, the low, rumbling growl coming from deep inside that broad chest.

“What did you do to it?”

Zoe ground her molars. God, he was an ass. Why couldn’t she just hate him? It would make things so much easier.

“I didn’t do anything to it,” she snapped, leaving the asshole implied. “Other than try to drive it. I had no idea that was such an unreasonable thing to demand from a car.”

She tipped her chin down so the wide brim of her cowgirl hat hid her eyes before she opened them. The sight of him hit her in the gut like it always did. And that was why she still couldn’t seem to hate him. Goddamn chemistry .

He strolled past her toward the smoking hood of the jeep with the rolling, liquid gait that would have been equally at home on a cowboy or a cat—which was only fair, since Tyler Minor was a little bit of both. He was tall, as all the Minor brothers were tall. Corded with muscle, as all the Minor men were strapped. But he was the only one of the Big Bad Minor Foursome who’d ever made her heart gallop just by walking into a room.

Tyler had presence, that indefinable awareness of a man who knew he was the ruler of all he saw. It was the unmistakable aura of an Alpha—but Tyler had never been, nor did he appear to ever want to be, the Alpha of the pride. Instead her lummox of a big brother got to boss everyone around while Tyler watched it all with stoic eyes.

And while he watched her with barely banked heat.

Tyler Minor had been watching Zoe, owning her with his damn eyes, since the day she arrived at Three Rocks Ranch over a year ago. The heat behind the liquid gold of his gaze never failed to call up an answering spark low in her belly. He could make her wet with just a look—and as keen as his sense of smell was, the bastard had to know it—but he’d never once acted on the lust burning behind his eyes.

She knew he wanted her. She knew it. But he never touched her. Just looking. Always looking. Stepping back when she stepped forward. Circling around and dodging her every advance. He would look at her with naked hunger and then just shut it off and walk away. Running hot and cold until she wanted to scream at him to just fuck her already.

It was almost enough to give a girl self-esteem issues.

If anyone else had ever managed to make her half as hot and bothered without so much as a touch, she’d have written off Tyler Minor months ago. But no one else got under her skin and made her writhe the way he did. She couldn’t control or contain it. Like the motion of the planets, it just was and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

Damn the man for being the sexiest hunk of masculinity—shifter or human—she’d ever laid eyes on. He practically projected a field of testosterone. And damn if that didn’t turn her crank in a big way, though she’d chew off her own tongue before admitting it to him. Even if he could probably smell it on her.

Tyler propped open the hood and bent to poke at something inside. Zoe’s eyes locked on the faded denim stretched lovingly over his ass. She licked her lips and wandered over to stand behind him for a better angle on her favorite body part.