Page 19 of A Roar for Magic

“Right. Because Ilaria Katz, legendary tigress of the Western Pride, absolutely needed a lavender sleep-aid candle at two in the afternoon.”

Clover yanked the floaty dress over her head, adding it to the growing pile of rejects. “Shouldn’t you be terrorizing the neighborhood birds or something?”

“And miss this fashion show? Never.” The crow hopped closer, examining a deep purple dress with critical eyes. “Though I do think the first one was better. This current strategy of ‘trying so hard to look like you’re not trying’ isn’t really working.”

“I’m not—” Clover caught sight of the clock and nearly tripped over her own feet. “Stars and shadows, he’ll be here in fifteen minutes!”

She dove back into her closet, emerging with the first dress she’d tried on—a flowing sundress in soft lavender that absolutely hadn’t been chosen because it made her eyes look greener or hugged her curves in a way that had nothing to do with hoping to catch a certain shifter’s attention.

“Not a date though, right?” Poe’s voice dripped innocence.

“Absolutely not.” She shimmied into the dress, trying to simultaneously fix her hair and locate her favorite sandals. “Just two business associates attending a community event.”

“Ah yes,business associates. Like how he helped you reach that high shelf yesterday was strictly professional?”

“The jars were stuck!”

“For ten minutes?”

“It was a very stubborn jar.”

“And I suppose his hands on your waist were essential to the jar-unsticking process? Along with all that... what did you call it... ‘accidental brushing’?”

A knock at the front door saved Clover from having to defend her completely professional relationship with shelf-reaching. Her heart performed a series of acrobatic maneuvers as hermagic sparked with recognition—tiger energy, powerful and familiar, waiting on her porch.

“Not. A. Date.” She jabbed a finger at Poe while hastily checking her reflection one last time. “Behave.”

“Me? I’m a model of decorum.” The crow’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Unlike some people who get all flutter-pated around certain shifters and knock over their own displays.”

“That was one time!”

“Yesterday, it was two times.”

“He startled me!”

“By existing attractively in your general vicinity?”

Clover shot him a warning look before opening the door. Her carefully prepared greeting dissolved into nothing like smoke in a breeze.

Rook filled her doorway in a way that should have been illegal, his broad shoulders making the space seem smaller. He’d foregone his usual suits for dark jeans and a forest-green Henley that did devastating things to his arms. His hair looked slightly windswept as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and his smile when he saw her...

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This was bad. This was very bad. Because that smile made her want to do ridiculous things like run her fingers through his hair and find out if his lips were as soft as they looked and?—

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice carrying that rumbling undertone that made her magic fizz.

ELEVEN

“You too.” The words slipped out before Clover could catch them. “I mean, you look nice. Different. Good different.” Stars above, she was babbling. Why was she babbling? This wasn’t a date. She’d explicitly told herself, Poe, and her traitorously excited magic at least fifty times that this was Not A Date.

His smile took on a dangerous edge. “Good different?”

“She means you clean up nice for a cat,” Poe supplied from behind her. “Though Clover thinks you’d look better with fewer?—”

“Time to go!” Clover grabbed her bag, shooting her familiar a death glare that promised revenge in the form of inferior treats for at least a month. “Don’t wait up.”

“Have fun on your not-date!” Poe called after them. “Try not to compose any awkward love poems!”

“Love poems?” Rook asked as they walked toward his car—a sleek black vehicle that probably cost more than her entire shop inventory.

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