Brooke, Leah - Panthers' Prey [Black Panthers 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (3 page)

French doors?

She blinked again and took in the dark, masculine furniture—furniture more expensive than anything she could ever afford. Alarmed that nothing around her looked familiar, she stiffened, listening for any sound that would tell her where the hell she was.

Fighting panic, she tried to remember.

She’d been driving to her new home in Denby, anxious to get start cleaning and remodeling the bar she’d just bought and—

With a gasp, she grabbed the sheet and jerked upright, whipping her head around in search of her attacker. Oh, God. What the hell had happened to her?

She didn’t know where she was or how the hell she’d gotten here.

Frowning, she rubbed her head, eyeing the closed door and trying to figure out what had happened. The last thing she remembered was her attacker staring down at her, smiling as he choked the life out of her.

He wouldn’t have stopped and brought her here, but nothing else made any sense.

Was she dead?

No, if she’d died, she wouldn’t have all the aches and pains. Would she?

The more she thought about it, the more it made her head hurt, but she didn’t have the luxury of lying here trying to figure it out.

She had to find her car and get to town.

First, though, she had to get the hell out of here.

She started to get up, wincing when her foot fell from the pillow it had been propped on. Moving it tentatively, she bit back a groan at the throbbing pain, knowing she had no choice but to walk on it. Biting her lip to hold back a cry, she tried to be as quiet as possible as she eased her way to the edge of the bed.

“Don’t try to get up.”

With a cry of surprise, she yanked the covers up from where they’d fallen to her waist and spun toward the dark corner where the deep voice had come from.

She hadn’t seen anyone there before. Cursing her own stupidity at thinking herself alone, she tightened her grip on the covers and kept her eyes glued to the corner.

What she’d thought a shadow came to life as a dark form separated itself from the wall and moved toward her. Dressed in dark clothing, and with dark hair and glittering blue eyes, the mesmerizing man seemed almost ghostlike as he moved, his footsteps silent on the wooden floor.

Hard.

The word popped into her head and seemed to describe everything about him. His hard, masculine features appeared to be chiseled from stone. His body didn’t appear to have an inch of flab anywhere. He moved gracefully across the large bedroom, the strength and purpose in his slow, careful stride more than a little intimidating.

The fierce intent in his eyes shook her, eyes so laser sharp and beautiful she couldn’t look away, his dominant presence both alarming and fascinating her.

Those cool, assessing eyes stayed on hers, watchful and patient as he approached, using slow, cautious steps, the way one might approach a wounded animal.

No amount of stealth could hide the barely leashed power emanating from him. It was a power unlike anything she’d ever witnessed before, one that he exuded with no apparent effort at all.

Intrigued, and alarmed just enough to be irritated, she gripped the sheet tighter between her breasts and held out a hand as though that would be able to hold him off.

“Stop right there.”

Surprised that her voice came out as a hoarse bark, she swallowed, annoyed to find her throat hurt. Realizing it was a result of being choked, she lifted a hand to her neck, never taking her eyes off of what had to be the most captivating male she’d ever set eyes on.

To her relief, he stopped several feet from the bed. Standing there, he appeared to study her, the strangest look coming over his face. His nostrils flared, his expression becoming hard and tense for several heart-stopping seconds before he closed his eyes, a muscle working in his jaw. When he opened his eyes again, she sucked in a breath at the unadulterated lust swirling in the deep blue. Although his body remained tense, he extended his arms, as though trying to prove himself harmless.

A soft bubble of hysterical laughter fought to break free.

Never in a million years would anyone looking at him consider him harmless.

As she swallowed the sound, some of the hard lines of his masculine features softened, the small smile he allowed making her toes curl.

“I won’t hurt you. You need to stay in bed. You’ve been injured.”

The soft huskiness in his tone touched something deep inside her, scaring her more than even his presence.

Bringing her other hand to her chest, she swallowed heavily, grimacing that the pain in her raw throat made it difficult. Keeping the covers pulled high, she fisted her hands to hide the fact that they shook. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she surveyed her surroundings, looking for a way to escape. The stark masculinity of the room matched the man, dark, solid, and undeniably sleek, telling her that this must be his bedroom.

Scanning the room, she searched unobtrusively for her clothing, her unease growing when she didn’t see a trace of her things. Wrapping the sheet more tightly around her, she slid a glance at the French doors, weighing her chances of making a getaway. She considered using the sculpture of an eagle standing on the dresser as a weapon, if necessary. It looked heavy enough to do serious damage, but probably too heavy for her to swing with enough force.

She had no idea how she got here, wherever
here
was,
or
how she’d come to be naked, and hated the fact that not knowing terrified her. She also didn’t know if the man watching her intently was a friend of the man who’d attacked her last night or had simply found her.

Had he found her naked? Or had the other man done more to her than just choked her?

What had the man who attacked her done to her after she passed out?

Taking a deep breath to hold back her panic, she tightened her hands on the sheet and cleared her throat, wincing again at the burning.

“Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?”

Her voice, scratchy and hoarse, came out low, probably too low for him to hear, and she opened her mouth to try again, but he surprised her by answering.

“My name’s Marcus Brand. Marc. We’re in my house.
You’re
in my bed. As for how you got here, I carried you.”

Swallowing again, she tightened her hold on the sheet, trying but unable to tear her gaze from his.

“Last night—”

Shaking his head, he started toward her again.

“Last night is over. All that’s important is that we got to you in time. I need to take a look at that ankle.” He started around the foot of the bed toward her, the aura of power and danger surrounding him overwhelming her already shaky system.

In a surge of panic, she leapt from the bed, keeping a death grip on the sheet.

“Get back!”

Her breathless shout, barely audible over his bit-out curse, hurt her throat even more, as did the husky cry that followed. Pain shot through her ankle and she crumbled, her other foot tangled in the sheet and making her lose her balance. Instinctively, she let go of the sheet and grabbed for anything that would stop her fall.

Unfortunately, that
something
turned out to be Marc.

He’d somehow crossed the several feet that separated them and caught her with a speed that made her blink. Cursing under his breath, he tightened his arms around her for several heart-stopping seconds, burying his face in her neck.

“Christ, your scent’s driving me crazy.”

Bailey froze at the low guttural tone, so out of place after his calm demeanor just moments ago. Breathless at the strength and heat surrounding her, she gripped his shoulders, her fingers flexing on the hard muscle there.

She’d never before been held by a man who made her feel so amazingly feminine, and she surprised herself by letting down her guard and reveling in the delicious feeling.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in the warm scent of him, the scent of male and the outdoors. She froze as a strange sense of inevitability hit her, as though everything in her life had been nothing more than a buildup to this moment.

Her breasts swelled, naked against his broad chest, her body softening in his arms and molding itself to the harder contours of his.

This is where she belonged
.

Shaken by the outrageous thought and her body’s automatic, almost instinctive, response to being held against his, she started to pull out of his arms.

Before she could, he cursed and pushed her away.

With his hands on her shoulders, he eased her back to the bed and bent over her, a muscle working in his jaw as his gaze lingered on her breasts, exposed when she lost her grip on the sheet.

Bracing one hand on the bed next to her hip, he lifted the other to her breast, his slow, measured movement keeping her transfixed.

Holding her breath, she braced for his touch, her nipple hardening in anticipation. She couldn’t look away from his hand, taking in the number of scars on his long, graceful fingers. Her heart raced in anticipation, the entire atmosphere taking on a dreamlike quality.

Without having any intention of doing so, she arched her back, touching her nipple to his finger. Gasping at the contact, she lifted her gaze to his, shocked at what she’d done.

Expecting him to laugh or smile smugly, she stiffened, her breath catching when his gaze lifted to hers.

His eyes narrowed, glittering with emotion.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I’ve been sitting here all night, watching over you, watching you sleep in my bed, and imagined touching you this way.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Bailey swallowed again, following his gaze when it lowered to her breast again.

He cupped her breast, lifting as though weighing it in his palm.

“Look how beautifully your breast fits in my palm. So soft. So firm. Perfect.”

Taken in by his gentleness and his apparent fascination with her, she remained perfectly still, silently giving him free rein.

She’d never in her life done such a thing, but nothing she’d ever experienced had ever felt so right.

At that moment in time, she wanted him as she’d never wanted another man, not just physically, but emotionally, which made no sense at all.

Some instinct had her curling her hands into fists at her sides and leaning back slightly to give him full access, lifting her breast against his hand in an unspoken demand that he follow.

To her relief, and amazement, he did, the threat of his powerful body looming over her, thrilling her when it probably should have terrified her. She gasped at the gentle slide of his rough finger over her nipple, the shock of it like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

The jolt to her system startled a cry from her as her abdomen and pussy tightened. Unsurprised at the moisture that dampened her inner thighs, she moaned when he ran his thumb over her nipple again, mesmerized by the sight of his dark hand against her much lighter skin.

Still hovering over her, he brought his other hand to her hair, threading his fingers through it and tilting her head back, his eyes steady on hers as he ran his thumb back and forth over her nipple.

“So responsive.”

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back, arching her back in offering.