Page 14 of Cash

“Sorry!” An alarmingly tall, impossibly built man stood in one corner of the room with his hands up, palms out. “I thought you knew I’d be here.”

“I don’t even know who you are.” But it was all so obvious. The way he was built, the way they were all built. Tall and wide and muscled. The broad shoulders, bulging biceps, larger than I had ever seen on a human man who didn’t consider physical fitness his mission in life, like a professional wrestler, an Olympic weightlifter.

A shifter. He was my subject.

“You must be Cash,” I said when I got my head screwed on straight.

He narrowed his jade-green eyes. “You already know my name?”

I composed myself. It would be important to put myself in a position of authority straight away. If he knew the very sight of his piercing, penetrating eyes or the square jaw under that dark beard gave me goosebumps, it could make for an uncomfortable situation.

I was used to pushing my personal feelings aside for the sake of maintaining credibility. “Of course. Though I have to admit, I don’t know much else about you.”

Those eyes of his. They traveled over me, taking me in, sizing me up—normally, this would piss me off. I imagined Ryan doing the same thing and knew I’d want nothing more than to introduce his balls to my knee. But this shifter, Cash. He was different.

“You have the advantage over me,” he finally said, sliding big hands into jeans pockets. “You know my name. I don’t even know yours. The way Mary made it sound, some friend of hers would be testing me. And the friend is a guy.”

“Harrison,” I blurted out, then wished I hadn’t.

Nervous babbling. The less he knew, the better. What was I even allowed to tell him about the circumstances which brought us together?

“Maybe she wanted to surprise you,” I suggested.

He chuckled, then ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. That’s exactly something she’d do.”

I looked over his shoulder, where there was an almost invisible door in the wall. “I see. You’re on the other side of that door?”

“Oh, yes. My penthouse suite for the foreseeable future.” He stepped aside and revealed a panel on the wall. “I don’t need one of those badges to get in and out. Just my fingerprint.”

Sure enough, when he tapped his thumb to the sensor, the door slid open. I saw what the people in charge had clearly tried to turn into a bedroom—but it was still a room for test subjects. No matter how comfortable the bed looked or how big the TV on the wall, there was still the ugly, glaring light mounted on the ceiling and the same plain, bare walls. The same ugly, gray tile floor in between the throw rugs somebody thought would make the place a little homier.

Discomfort hung between us. I didn’t know what to say. What did a person say to their test subject? That was the beautiful thing about working on rats. They didn’t expect conversation. And they never made the back of my neck feel prickly and sweaty when they looked at me.

“I guess we should get started.” I turned to a tray which somebody had thoughtfully placed beside the laptop. There were alcohol wipes, syringes, tubes. I waved him over before pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

“I guess so.” He sat on a stool beside the work table and presented one impossibly thick arm. I was almost afraid to touch it, which struck me as a ridiculous response. There was no helping it. He was strength, power, masculinity all wrapped up in one handsome package.

And underneath that, he was something else. An animal. I had to keep that in mind, too. I couldn’t afford to let myself get too comfortable.

“This will sting,” I warned after cleaning his skin.

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