“Maybe, but you probably would have caught on to what he was doing. He talked instead of acted. He knew Harry and Alberto might walk up at any moment but he kept talking to me. I should have put it together. I didn’t know until he taunted me with where Suma was. I tried drawing him into the open by talking and taking little steps backward. He followed, but then he grabbed me, and when I gave the signal, Jeremiah didn’t take the shot.”
She bit down hard on her lip, the memory of that moment terrifying her. At the time, she couldn’t give in to fright, but now, safe with Elijah and Conner, and far away from Ottila, she found herself trembling. She lowered her eyes, ashamed, but determined to tell Conner everything. “And then
she
got all amorous on me.”
Conner straightened in his chair. Elijah took another sip of coffee. “Keep going,” Conner encouraged.
It was only his fingers on hers that gave her the courage. “He got really ugly, and then she—my leopard—swiped at his arm when he tried to force me to go with him. She marked him. He said something about it that made me think I’d done something wrong—that it was more than just protecting myself. It was the
way
he said it.”
Conner’s eyes met Elijah’s over her head. He lifted her fingers to his mouth again and bit down gently on the tips. “It’s all right, Isabeau. You got away. You used whatever means you could and you didn’t panic.”
“But what does it mean?”
“He has the right to challenge me for you.”
Her heart jumped. Ottila was strong. He had confidence in himself. She thought it was significant that he hadn’t shot her. She’d been out in the open. The two leopards were rolling together in a wild scramble, but she’d been the one exposed most of the time. She had a rifle in her hands and he had to have known she was trying for a shot at Suma, yet Ottila hadn’t shot her.
She leaned her head into the heel of her hand. “I’m tired, Conner. I just want to lie down for a few minutes. Maybe take a shower first. I swear those people made me feel dirty just being in the same room with them.”
“Back in the forest, there’s a resort owned by the doctor’s son. Mostly leopards stay in the area because it isn’t well known, they don’t advertise, it’s mostly word of mouth. We can stay there tonight. They have individual cabins. We’ll be close enough to Jeremiah to keep an eye on him and yet still be safe. This road looks as if it dead ends, but there’s a small side road about a mile up, swinging deeper into the woods. Most of the time it’s passable. Not always after a good rain.”
The doctor walked into the room, looking tired. He drew up a chair and sank into it. “He’s going to live, but he’ll have a very different voice. And he’s going to have to do some swallowing therapy. He’s breathing and that’s what counts.” He sighed and looked directly at Conner, his eyes demanding. “Do you want to tell me what you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in? You didn’t do that to that boy, did you?”
Conner looked a little shocked. “No. I should have known it would look that way. He was attacked and I jumped in. Elijah pulled him out. You don’t want any part of this, Doc.”
“You made me a part of it by bringing that boy here.”
Conner shrugged and glanced at Elijah. “Imelda Cortez kidnapped children from Adan’s village. She took my half brother as well and killed my mother.”
“Ah.” Few things shook the doctor, but he was visibly shocked. “In that case, let me call my son and get you a place to stay. Your other men are going to need something hot to keep them going while I clean you up.”
15
THE cabin Conner chose was the greatest distance from all the others and deepest in the forest. He needed to feel the safety of the trees around Isabeau. Her leopard had marked another man, and that gave that man the right to step forward and challenge his claim on her. Their species was an old one and they followed the higher law of the wild. It wasn’t Isabeau’s fault. She hadn’t been raised leopard and she didn’t know how it all worked. She didn’t yet know how to fully control her leopard. The girls living in the villages were taught from the time they were little so when the Han Vol Dan occurred, they had a better chance of keeping their leopards under control.
His father had taken advantage of that law. His mother had been young and impressionable. An older, handsome man, strong, a village leader, she’d been flattered that he’d courted her. When he pushed his suit before her time, she’d made the mistake of marking him. There was no one capable of challenging him for her hand, and wherever her true mate was, if he was even alive, he hadn’t been in the village to save her.
He could hear the water turn off abruptly in the shower. The scent of lavender drifted to him through the open door. He sat waiting for her on the bed. She was exhausted—so was he—but there was one more task he had to finish tonight. He smiled as he looked out the large picture window. Moonlight barely managed to make it through the high canopy, but there were breaks where the trees had been cleared to make room for the cabin, and beams burst into the room, spilling silver across the tiled floor.
He leaned back and stared at the high ceiling, a light wood with darker knots scattered all through it. The cabin’s walls were wood and covered in rake marks. He could see deep furrows decorating each of the four sides and the ends of his fingers tingled with the need to leave his own mark. He should have left his mark on Isabeau.
He’d been saving that ritual for marriage, but he should have done it. Any male would have thought twice before trying to force a claim. Ottila had judged correctly that she was innocent and wouldn’t have knowledge enough, or control enough, to elude his trap. He swore under his breath. It was his fault. Any other male would have made certain she was marked. It was just that . . .
He sighed. He’d betrayed her by seducing her while he was working a job. She hadn’t even known his real name. He wanted choices for her. He wanted to be certain
he
was her choice—Isabeau—the woman—not her leopard. He wanted all of her to be his.
“Damn it.” He raked his fingers through his hair, angry with himself.
“What’s wrong?”
She leaned one slim hip against the doorjamb, a towel wrapped like a sarong around her body while she towel-dried her hair. The shower had done her good. Her skin wasn’t quite so pale, although the bruises on her arms stood out.
His breath suddenly caught in his throat. “Did he put his mark on you?”
She frowned. “Like how?”
“Did he bite you? Claw you?” He leapt up, one fluid movement, swift and purposeful, but obviously intimidating. She retreated into the hall, her eyes wide.
“No. He didn’t get the chance. Felipe came and scared him off.” Her frown deepened. “He wasn’t exactly scared. He actually was very confident. I don’t think Suma was the dominant between them. I think it was the other way around.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the dark blemishes marring her upper arm before taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For having the courage to kill the man who murdered my mother. I know that wasn’t easy for you. And for braving a leopard in the throes of madness.” He turned up her arm to examine the four marks there. They matched the scars on his face, although they weren’t deep, more like scratches than lacerations. Still . . . He kissed each red streak, his mouth gentle.
Isabeau leaned into him until he was surrounded by her scent, until he surrendered to it and took her into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Her towel slipped a little, but that was all right with him. The feel of her breasts rubbing along his skin helped revive his body. Every nerve, every cell came alive.
“Marisa was my friend, Conner. But honestly, all I was thinking about was you.” She tilted her head to look up at him. “Well, you,” she hedged, “and maybe shooting boss-man Rio. Sort of accidentally on purpose. I think if he yelled at me one more time, I might have gone psycho on him.”
He took a step, forcing her backward toward the bed. “And then he had the audacity to threaten you with a syringe.”
“In front of everyone. He was lucky he didn’t try it,” she added.
His next step put the backs of her legs against the bed. He took the damp towel from her hand, gave her hair a slight rub as though he was drying it and then simply tossed it away.
“If I don’t dry my hair, it curls everywhere. Little ringlets.” She made a face. “And it’s so long and thick, it takes forever to actually dry.”
Isabeau made a movement as though to retrieve the towel, but he bunched her sarong in his fist and tugged until it slipped off her breasts, spilling them into his sight, before he took the entire towel from her. “I don’t really think it matters, do you?” he asked, and bent his head to her breasts.
Her nipples peaked and she gasped as his hot mouth closed over one tip and drew it deep. His hand drifted down to the junction between her legs. “I like your curls. All fiery. The way you are inside.” His fingers teased at the dampening entrance.
He sank down slowly until he was sitting on the bed, and tugged until she followed him. At the last moment he spun her around and bent her over his knees, yanking so that she fell over his lap, facedown, her buttocks exposed. He placed one hand on her upper back to hold her position while he surveyed her thrashing bottom.
“Very nice.” His hand rubbed and massaged her firm cheeks until she was squirming breathlessly, her breasts jiggling with every movement, an added enticement he hadn’t considered. His cock was being massaged with each thrash of her body, and her long, damp hair brushed like living silk against his thighs. “I could get used to this.”
“Well don’t,” Isabeau advised.
But he could tell his hands were already working magic. He could see the evidence of her desire, her receptiveness gleaming between her legs. He worked his hand down the curve of her butt to the crease between her thigh and buttocks and rubbed as well, inserting his hand to force her legs farther apart.
She softened more, became pliant for him. He bent his head to nip at the soft flesh, several little love bites, all the while continuing his massage. She moaned softly when his fingers slid through damp heat. Her stomach muscles bunched and her body flushed.
“Does this feel good, baby?” he asked, spearing two fingers into her hot core.
Her body shuddered, inner muscles tightening around him. She was so responsive, so open to him, always indulging him and any fantasy he had. He hadn’t started out thinking this was going to be anything but accomplishing an end, but now he couldn’t have stopped his explorations if he wanted.
His hands moved over her possessively, paying attention to her thighs and buttocks, and then plunging his fingers deep. He found her most sensitive spot and teased and circled until she was lifting her bottom and riding his hand.
“Does it feel good, Isabeau?” His fingers stroked and caressed, exploring every hidden secret recess and shadowed hollow of her body. “Tell me.”
Isabeau’s breath came in ragged gasps. “Yes. Everything you do always feels good.” She was truthful. The more she let him know what she liked, the better each time together was. She could never resist him. When he touched her, she felt alive. She’d thought to fall on the bed and just go to sleep for as long as she could, but the moment his hands touched her body, all she could do was want.
She never expected there would be something terribly erotic in lying over his lap with his hand holding her down and her buttocks being massaged and fondled, but there was a guilty thrill, a pleasure she had never considered. She could feel his heavy erection, hotter than a brand against her stomach. She knew this new position was arousing to him as well.
She wasn’t surprised when his hand lifted and came down experimentally on her bottom. The sting sent warmth coursing through her. The smack wasn’t hard, and she knew he’d test her response. She was as shocked as he was at the flood of liquid heat bathing his fingers. Every inner muscle clamped down around his fingers. His hand rubbed and caressed over the heat.
“What does it feel like?” He whispered the words, his voice a sinful temptation. “You have to tell me everything.”
“Hot. The nerves spread straight to my clit. I can’t explain it exactly, but there’s so much heat, like a fire building that I can’t stop.”
“Do you like it?”
“As long as it’s not really painful. I wouldn’t like that.” But she loved the massage and the way his fingers moved in and out of her—the way he explored her body without reservation, with his hands and mouth. He was cat, and it showed in his oral need to lap at her skin, to tease with the edge of his teeth and massage tactilely.
“Then I’m sorry, baby, but I have to do this.” He withdrew his fingers, reached behind him to get the syringe. He pulled the cap with his teeth, put the syringe in his mouth and brought down his hand a little harder, hoping the sting would momentarily numb her skin. He plunged the needle in and pushed the plunger to dispense the antibiotic.
She hissed, a long, slow promise of retaliation. He wasn’t a male leopard for nothing. He recognized a female cat’s displeasure and he wasn’t about to let her up until he soothed her and made her forget such an indignity.
“I’m sorry, beloved, but you refused even the doctor.”
She turned her head to glare at him. Her eyes had gone cat, taking on the fiery glow of the night. In the moonlight she looked incredibly exotic, her pale skin soft and enticing, the perfect globes of her butt tempting and her red hair tumbling around her furious little face. His entire body tightened, his shaft painful and full.
“There was a reason for that, you dimwit. It’s called a needle phobia.”
“You told him you weren’t allergic when he asked you,” he pointed out. His hand began a circular massage to ease the ache and, if he was lucky, start a new one.
“A phobia isn’t an allergy,” she explained. “Now let me up.”
She was becoming receptive to his attentions again but her voice said she didn’t like it, she wanted to keep her “mad.” He stroked his tongue across the sore spot and slid his fingers deep inside her again.