To Lie With Lions: A BBW Shifter Romance (Wolf Rock Shifters Book 4) Read Free

whose bones looked too brittle, the horses too vain, for anything strenuous, let alone carrying a large lion shifter through mountainous terrain. He was more of the quarter horse ilk himself: densely packed, muscular and strong. As such he felt a strong bond with them, and could sense that they were more comfortable with him than they were with the tourists who came through on occasion. Often they were dressed stupidly in skirts and heels and wondering why Nash wanted to sedate their mounts before the rides.
    He never did, of course; he was more tempted to give the riders themselves horse tranquilizers and leave them lying on the floor of the barn.
    Nash strolled through the stable and approached his favourite of the family’s herd, a chestnut called Flak Jacket, who was so called for his ability to resist attacks. When he was a yearling he’d been jumped by a bear and he’d managed not only to kick it into a state of unconsciousness but to get away pretty well unscathed. He reminded Nash of himself.
    “Hey there, boy,” said the young man, laying a warm hand on the horse’s wooly coat. His fingers carved out a series of shallow streams between the thick hair, which disappeared without a trace when he removed them.
    The horse eyed him, seemingly unfazed by the contact.
    “We’re going to head out today. You ready for it?”
    As if in response, Flak let out a low whinny.
    “Yeah, I figured you were.”
    Nash settled on a mare called Daisy for the female guest who was to arrive. She was docile as her name suggested, and cow-like in her seemingly indifferent demeanour. Unlikely, at any rate, to throw the daughter of a rich, important businessman to the ground, unless the woman did something really stupid. And if she did, thought Nash, she deserved a good solid face-plant.
       He was slowly grooming Daisy, whose hair was filled with the dry dust that gathers in the winter coats of horses, when a voice behind him asked, “Is she for me?”
    Nash turned. A young woman stood before him in tall leather boots, tight jeans and a quilted white jacket which was cinched at the waist.
    “Excuse me?” he replie d, thrown by her presence. It was not yet nine a.m.
    “I’m sorry; I know I’m early. I just couldn’t wait to get out here.”
    “You’re…”
    “Cecile.” She removed one of her gloves to shake his hand.
    “Nash.”
    Her grip was firm, which he respected. He found himself looking into her eyes , confused by his own state of nervousness. They were a cold blue so light as to nearly be white; the colour of ice on a glacier. Their pupils were ringed with a delicate light brown circle.
    Had Nash seen her on the street, given her outfit and the fact that her makeup looked perfectly done, he would have made the assumption that she was a diva of some sort. She was far too beautiful to want to hang around in barns.
    “Do you mind if we go out a little early?” she asked.
    “No, not at all,” he said. “I’m just surprised. I thought…”
    “You thought I’d be late and inconsiderate,” she said, tying her long, sleek black hair back into a ponytail. Nash took a moment to study her face now, which was intriguing. Lovely, but unusual. The light eyes were surrounded by black lashes and accentuated by well-groomed, thick eyebrows. Her skin was ivory-coloured. But there was something in her facial structure which looked Asian, and the combination of elements was stunning.
    Nash found himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t a chatty person to begin with but in the moment he was simply unable to come up with anything to say. It was almost as though all his blood had migrated away from his brain and was seeking refuge between his legs.
    “It’s all right,” Cecile was saying. “That’s what most people assume of you when you’re Conrad Malcolm’s daughter.”
    “Your father is Conrad Malcolm?” he asked. Nash had heard of the man; he was a billionaire mogul known for his ruthlessness, his cunning and his