The Alpha’s Tempting Mate

Jackson

I watch Kylie’s long muscular calves strut out of the room, her ass a perfect heart-shape in the short, fitted skirt. My wolf is still going nuts, snarling to get out. I’ve never let him get so out of control, especially not in the office. But there’s never been a temptation like Kylie.

I force my thoughts to business. At least the part of the business that concern her.

“I want the results of her tests sent to me.”

Luis bobs his head. “Of course. Will you be sitting in on all the interviews today?”

“No.” Luis probably wants me to elaborate, or to explain myself, but he won’t push. Everyone knows I’m a minimalist when it comes to conversation.

“May I ask… what did she say in the elevator?”

I shrug. “She insulted me. It’s fine. I’m sure most of my employees have said similar or worse things about me behind my back.”

Luis plays with his paper coffee cup on the table, too diplomatic to agree. “What did you think about her?”

“She’s bright, that’s obvious. Her resume isn’t that impressive. How did Stu say he found her?”

“Headhunter.”

“I wonder why the headhunter thought she’d be a good fit when she has no infosec experience on her resume.”

“She’s totally a hacker.”

“Obviously. But how did the headhunter know that?”

Luis taps his paper cup on the table. “Good question. Want me to find out?”

“Yeah. And get me her test results.”

“So did you like her?”

No one that hot should be so anti-social.

She thinks I’m hot. Yeah, I’ve heard it before, but never cared what humans thought about my looks. All shifters-well, all paranormals, actually-are more beautiful than humans. At least, I thought so, until I met Kylie.

“I found her… ” Fuckable? Intoxicating? Adorable in a tough-girl kind of way? Right… the tough-girl thing is an alpha trait. If Kylie were a shifter, she’d lead the females of the pack. She had all the qualities of a top female.

Luis waits for my comment. What the fuck am I going to say? Her scent is addictive. My wolf wants to claim her.

“Interesting. I found her interesting.”

I stand, wanting to prowl after Kylie into whatever office Stu has set her up in just to watch her work. My wolf doesn’t want her alone with any other male. And I like a good hunt, especially if Kylie’s my prey.

~.~

Ginrummy

He didn’t expect Kylie to be so hot. Or poised. Brilliant, yes. But he pictured her mousy. Awkward. Socially anxious like him, perhaps with glasses and her hair pulled into an absentminded knot. Maybe with a nose-piercing. Not the cute diamond-chip in the nostril, but the bull-ring in the septum tough-rebel-chick kind.

He supposes not all computer geeks are misfits, but well, anyone who spent her entire childhood online and out of the real world shouldn’t also be a certifiable brick house with high heels and juicy tits. Shouldn’t be able to look that intimidating asshole Jackson King in the eye and run her own interview as if she was the one hiring.

She looks bored, now, as her fingers dance over the keys, solving the security problems they laid out for her.

In a way, this makes things easier. She’s more like Jackson King than him. Dammit, Kylie-Catgirl-McDaniel is way out of his league. So framing her for the demise of SeCure won’t hurt as much as he imagined. Because, in his mind, she’s always been his cyber-girlfriend of sorts. Yeah, it’s stupid, but she’s female and he’s male and they’d been accomplices in the hacker world since puberty when his raging hormones needed nothing more than the name “Catgirl” to get off.

They cut their teeth together as young hackers, sharing information and their successes, passing along tips, advising others. It was dumb luck he found her after she disappeared for the past eight years. But she re-surfaced on DefCon, the old secret hacker forum where they’d always interacted, looking for help with cracking into the FBI. Naturally, he’d assisted.

He’d been looking for her for a long time. Not just out of nostalgia, although he wondered about her. She’s perfect for what he needs. There are very few hackers capable of breaking SeCure’s code. And he happens to know Catgirl is one of them. She did it before-as a teenager, no less.

So when she resurfaced, he helped her with the FBI and then followed her through their doors to see what she was up to. She deleted files on three people-a deceased married couple and their daughter, vigilante burglars, known for stealing from the dirty. She also added evidence on another criminal, including tips on his whereabouts. By digging, he gathered enough evidence to surmise she was the daughter of the cat burglar team. It fit with the sorts of questions she’d posed years before-about security systems and safes. Based on the FBI’s limited information, the criminal she’d set up for arrest had probably murdered her father during a job.

After that, it had been difficult, but he eventually found her IP address, and then it was a matter of sending a headhunter after her for a job at SeCure. Imagine his surprise to find out she lived a mere two hours away in Phoenix.

He watches her now, her glossy hair tucked behind her ear, whizzing through the stupid tests they made up for her. Oh, they were real tests-they would’ve been a challenge to anyone else, but he knew she’d pass with flying colors.

If that damned power outage hadn’t thrown her together with Jackson King, hiring her would be a sure thing. But it sounds like she said or did something to piss the CEO off. He sure as hell hopes King won’t block them from hiring her.

~.~

Kylie

I push open the door to the house I share with my grandmother. My legs are stiff after the two hour drive back to Phoenix, and I’m ready to trash these heels. “Meme, are you home?”

My grandmother appears from the kitchen, her lined face split into a grin. “Minette!” My pet name, minette, is the French word for kitty. My parents came up with it. My mom was French-Dad met her on a crew working an art heist in Arles. It was love at first sight, the way he told the story.

“Well, how did it go?” Meme always speaks to me in French, and I always answer in English. I speak five languages fluently, and French is one of them, but at home I’m lazy. Or maybe it’s part of trying to be normal.

I sink into a chair at the kitchen table and kick off the evil black patent leather high heels. What a poor choice they were.

Meme sits down beside me. “I’m waiting.”

I blow a raspberry. “Not well. I screwed up, actually. Big time, Meme. The power went out while I was in the elevator.”

“No.” Meme gives an exaggerated gasp and covers her mouth in the animated way only people of her generation still employ. Meme knows about my claustrophobia. She can probably guess its origin, although we never discuss my parents’ profession or my former illegal activities.

“And I got stranded in there with Jackson King-the Jackson King.”

Meme gives me a blank look.

“He’s the founder of SeCure. But I didn’t know it was him-it was dark. And I said some not-so-flattering things about him.”

Meme looks sympathetic. “Ah. That’s too bad, ma petite fille.” She pats me on the shoulder and stands up. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you some soup.”

Of course. Because food fixes everything, doesn’t it? Meme’s cooking is as good as therapy. She moved in after my dad died, and, for a few months, her crepes were the only reason I got out of bed.

Meme moves to the stove and ladles the hot broth liquid into a bowl. Today’s fare is French onion, my favorite. Meme serves the rich brown broth with a baguette and Swiss cheese.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

I grin up at Meme. After Maman died, I spent my entire childhood taking care of my dad-trying to keep him out of jail as he played Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to right the wrongs of the world. After all those years, it’s sweet to be coddled by Meme. Though she’s tough when she has to be. I wouldn’t have finished college if she hadn’t convinced me. I’d always taken online courses-just for fun. But she insisted I take classes above board, from the same college and finish a degree. Get the diploma and put myself in the real world, even if it was under a false identity. So I did.

But I still barely have a social life. I’m too used to being a loner, keeping my secrets hidden. After what happened-after my father’s… Jesus. I still can’t think about it without a searing pain in my chest. His murder. His betrayal and cold-blooded fucking murder. Yeah. After that, I stopped all illegal activity. I erased our identities, not that Dad and I had ever been on the grid anyway. I went legit. With Dad’s double-crossing murderer looking for me, I hid in plain sight, as an ordinary American citizen.

The heists were my parent’s gig, anyway. They’d been a regular Bonnie and Clyde. But mom died in a car accident when I was eight, so I became Dad’s new partner. I’d refused to leave his side, even though he would have preferred I sit safely in a boarding school or with Meme in Paris. But his vigilante Thieves for Justice thing wasn’t my calling. I just liked to hack.

That’s how Meme talked me into taking my current job for the gaming company. But I’m barely tied to the real world. I rarely leave home. I don’t date or have any close friends. In some ways, I’m still Catgirl, lurking in the shadows.

Maybe that’s why the elevator encounter threw me so much. I’ve never been touched by a man, much less a hottie like Jackson King. Frightening, how easily he breached my walls.

My cell phone buzzes, and I grab my purse to rummage for it. A SeCure number. “Hello?”

“Hi Kylie, it’s Stu, from SeCure.”

“Hi Stu.” Brilliant K-K, really brilliant.

“I’m calling to let you know we were impressed with your skill set, and we’d like to offer you the job.”

“Really?” Part of me wants to fist-pump the air in triumph. I gave the worst impression ever, and I still got the offer. Take that, Interviewing for Dummies.

The rest of me is skeptical.

“There’s no second interview or anything?”

“Nope. You scored 100 percent on the test, and management liked you.”