Vivi Andrews - Serengeti Lightning

Sitting at a computer to write a book is a solitary venture, but lots of people help these stories get from my brain to the shelves. I can’t say enough of my at-home support team of fabulous friends and family, nor of all the wonderful people at Samhain who’ve been nothing but amazing to me. Many thanks to all the unsung heroes of publishing—from Samhain’s uber-boss to the author liaison, from our marketing guru to the (invaluable) folks who send us royalty statements and checks, create the beautiful covers, format ebooks, take them to print, update the website, and generally keep things moving along. And, of course, to our editors from whom I continue to learn with each new book.

Mara Leonard tipped the tumbler, watching the whiskey slide thickly over the ice in the glass as she contemplated her new addiction. She’d never done anything even remotely risky before, but Michael Minor was a drug. He’d infiltrated her system and unlocked a wildness inside her she hadn’t even known was there.

She was under the influence. Habit-forming lust. What other explanation could there be for the fact that practical, logical Mara was tarted up in a black minidress that showed off every inch of her legs, waiting for a man in a musty honky-tonk at one thirty in the morning?

She needed a twelve-step plan.

Mara liked plans. She adored steps and lists and clear, concise rules. She was born for organizations with anonymous in the title, except for the fact that she’d never let her hair down enough to even consider indulging in addictive behavior until him .

With one long fingernail she drew a swirling pattern through the ring of condensation her glass left on the bar. The Bar Nothing was all but deserted at this time of night. Only a few die-hard drinkers still hunkered over their glasses, wallowing in their addiction of choice as she waited for hers.

He was late.

She didn’t wear a watch and she refused to twist around to check out the clock on the wall behind her again. She’d give him until she finished her drink and then she was leaving.

Mara took a small sip of the whiskey, rolling it over her tongue.

Where the hell was he?

Chair legs squealed out a nails-on-chalkboard melody and her gaze flicked over to track the sound. A couple of the local lushes had apparently decided they were daring enough to stumble hopefully in her direction. She pinned them with an icy stare, the same gimlet gaze that never failed to cow rowdy second graders and smartass middle schoolers alike. Her overly optimistic Don Juans immediately retreated for a round of eighty-proof reinforcements.

Mara smiled to herself, turning back to her drink.

They wouldn’t be back. There wasn’t enough liquid courage in all of Texas to give those boys the balls for another go.

On an instinctive level, they recognized her true nature. She may look like just another piece of ass, flashing enough leg to be an open invitation in a place like this, but the acres of golden skin and long fall of sun-streaked dark blonde hair couldn’t completely disguise the predator beneath.

Mara was a shape-shifter. A lioness. And no matter how fanatic her pride was about keeping the secret of their true natures, humans sensed, if only in the deepest, darkest corner of their psyches, that something wasn’t entirely safe about the residents of the Three Rock Ranch. The local cowboys would give her a wide berth.

Now if only Michael would get his ass in here.

The idea of going on a date had been his, after all. The least he could do was show up.

Mara should have vetoed his night-on-the-town idea the second he mentioned it. Their relationship to this point had been based on sex, only sex, and lots of it. They didn’t need dates.

Michael wasn’t Mr. Forever. He was the guy who made your eyes roll back in your head with ecstasy while you were waiting for Mr. Forever to come along.

The man was a drug, all right. A familiar tingling sizzled along her nerves at just the thought of him. He was creative in the bedroom, with the stamina of a teenager—unfortunately, that was disturbingly close to his actual age. He was so damn young —a twenty-something boy toy—which was just one of many reasons Mara needed to end it now. Before she got any more addicted to him.

Better to go cold turkey before she lost sight of what she really wanted. A partner. A mate. A lion who would be steady and stable. Father to her children. A reliable, faithful, mature man to grow old with.

None of which described Michael Minor.

He could make her pulse rate skyrocket with just a look, but stable was about the last word she would think to call him. And mature? Not in this lifetime. He brought out a passionate streak she hadn’t known she had, but that didn’t mean she wanted to grow old with him.

He was a fling and Mara wasn’t so young that she could afford to waste time with a dead-end relationship. She’d long since tipped onto the unfortunate side of thirty. She wanted that life—the kids, the mate, the happily ever after—and she would never get it unless she stopped playing games with little boys like Michael Minor and focused on grown men.

She had a plan designed to find her Mr. Forever, and she’d already set it into motion. Now all she had to do was break things off with Michael.

Her stomach clenched at the thought, and Mara swallowed some more whiskey to ease it.

She’d been dragging her feet, waiting for a good time to tell him, but she realized now there wasn’t going to be a good time. The sex wasn’t suddenly going to stop being mind-blowing. Her playful, passionate lover wasn’t suddenly going to morph into an asshole just to make this easier on her. Michael wasn’t going to give her an excuse to walk away. She was going to have to be a big girl and do it herself.

Tonight. This had to be their last night together.

Just one last time. They’d have their date, and she’d take him back to the ranch and screw his brains into putty as a farewell present.

Then she’d tell him. She’d already mentally rehearsed how she would do it. Quicker would be better. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. He probably wouldn’t even flinch. Michael knew as well as she did that their relationship couldn’t go anywhere. He might be disappointed for a second or two, but a man with washboard abs and a lazy, toe-curling smile wasn’t going to have any trouble replacing her in his bed.

Mara ignored the spark of irritation that thought inspired—surely that couldn’t be jealousy? This was better for everyone involved. Maybe he would even find someone to fall in love with.

The spark flared into a full-grown fire, but Mara smothered it with logic. She wanted Michael to be in love. To be happy. She had every intention of being deliriously happy with her Mr. Forever. Just as soon as she found him. Breaking up with Michael was necessary, for the best.

Maybe she’d ease him into it. They could discuss the logic of her decision and part as friends. Provided he ever deigned to show up for their fricking date.

On cue, the door squeaked open behind her and her breath caught. The hairs on the back of Mara’s neck stood to attention. She didn’t need to look to know who had just walked in. The temperature of the room escalated until Mara was tempted to press the ice-cold glass against her temple. She swirled the amber liquid in the tumbler, her eyes locked on the glass. She refused to look at him, but her breathing quickened as her sharp ears picked out the sound of him prowling up behind her. All thought of lists, plans and break-up speeches flew from her mind.