Leopard's Prey (13 page)

The last three nights he’d sat in a chair on her balcony while she slept, her silent sentinel. The scent of her filled his lungs and left him hard and hurting all night, unable to sleep even in the chair. He’d known she was his instinctively, but touching her confirmed it.

She wore a lacy midnight blue bra, sexy as hell, her soft curves spilling over the tops, her nipples hard and erect, pushing through the lace to tempt him. Her breath came in ragged gasps, lifting her breasts toward his hungry mouth. Her rib cage was narrow, her waist small. The loose drawstring pants she wore rode low on her hips. She was so beautiful, so sensual, her body moving against his, her lips swollen with his kisses and her eyes slightly glazed.

He pinned her against the wall with his body, lifting his hands to her breasts, feeling the supple weight, the exquisite softness of woman, before bending his head to taste. She gasped and caught his head to her, cradling him close, while her heart pounded in his ears and the scent and taste of her engulfed him.

His mouth moved over soft flesh, tongue laving her nipples through the lace. He couldn’t wait another moment, yanking the bra down and away from treasure, so that the lace pushed her full breasts upward toward him all the more. He covered her right side with his palm, his mouth drawing her left breast deep into his mouth. She moaned and writhed against him, tightening her hold on his head and pushing herself tightly into him. Her leg slipped higher, so that the soft cushion of the vee between her thighs rode his hip, inflaming him further. She was so damned sexy he was losing his mind.

He fed on her breasts, first one, then the other, tugging and rolling her nipples, his teeth nipping, tongue sliding over the ache to ease it. She was sensitive to his every touch, to his mouth and hands and he felt her reaction, the shudder of her body, her hips bucking against him, the grinding of her body tighter along his thigh. He needed her to burn just as hot as he was. She had to want him as much.

Bijou was on fire, burning from the inside out. Her body didn’t feel as if it was her own, yet was more of a fit than she’d ever felt before, which made no sense to her. She’d been fine, sitting in her room, going through the plans for the renovation of her apartment above the club, when she suddenly couldn’t sit still. A tidal wave of urgent demand swept over her.

Her breasts ached and tingled. Felt swollen and needy. Her skin was too tight and far too sensitive. Even her clothes hurt. Wave after wave of heat surged through her body, rushed through her veins and pooled low and mean. She couldn’t stop moving, her body rippling with sensual sensations she couldn’t hope to control. She’d fled her room, trying to run away from herself and the way her skin itched and her groin throbbed with need.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known Remy had gone all protective on her. He was that kind of man. She knew that going into it. She knew he felt responsible for her and admitting to him she was afraid of one of her stalkers had set him off. His kiss had ignited a fire and she couldn’t put it out, no matter how many times she reminded herself his kiss had been for the cameras and the tabloids to draw out her stalker. So why had it hurt so much to hear Saria confirm what she already knew? Why had it felt as if she’d been stabbed through the heart?

She ran, her mind in chaos, her body in such urgent need she could barely catch her breath. She had never run from anything. She was a fighter, or she made a decision with her brain, not impulsively. Yet, this time, she couldn’t think. She couldn’t stop the blood coursing so hotly through her body. Running was the only thing to do. She had no idea what she would do when she got into town. Certainly she couldn’t have been looking for a one-night stand… And then Remy was there, so calm and cool, so totally in charge, like nothing ever got to him.

He’d taken control, like he always did, in that charming, you’re-so-young and I’m-so-grown-up-and-in-command infuriating way of his. She both detested and loved his confidence, and that just showed her how truly screwed up she really was. When he’d taken her car keys right out of her hand, smirking at her, she’d experienced a truly frightening fury.

She didn’t have a temper. Certainly not one with such intensity that it would cause an all-consuming reckless, rash,
idiotic
compulsion to slash Remy in his face. She wanted to rip his face right off his skull – to wipe that smug, self-confident smirk right off his face forever. For a moment, she even thought of leaping on him and biting him. So very un-Bijou-like. There had been a roaring in her ears. Her hands ached, knuckles swollen until her fingers curled like claws and she could barely stand it.

And then he yanked her to him.

Her stomach bottomed out and the throbbing between her legs turned into a terrible drumbeat of savage need. His hand fisted in her hair and dragged her head back. The bite of pain should have had her kicking and screaming and running for her life, but instead, her body had flooded with a hot, welcoming liquid. Every cell in her body reached for him. Something wild and uninhibited rose like a tidal wave from somewhere deep inside her.

She was lost in the flames. In the intensity of his lust and her own. She didn’t even know she could feel so much. There was no turning back. No brakes. No thought. Only feeling. He’d ignited a firestorm, and there was no putting it out for either of them. She wanted to be closer to him, skin to skin. Anything else hurt. She could hear herself making frantic, mewling noises, desperation showing, but she couldn’t stop herself. His mouth was like a fountain of fire, a haven of molten gold she could never get enough of.

It was the most frightening, scary, exhilarating feeling she’d ever had. Her body felt more feminine than it had ever been. She was acutely aware of every curve and the effect she had on Remy’s body. She reveled in her ability to inflame him, to drive him over the edge into madness, and yet, at the same time, she was terrified – because she couldn’t stop. There was no stopping. No way to take a breath and just step back and think.

Her body drove her, not her brain. Not her heart. She needed his hands on her body. His mouth at her breast, his fingers inside of her. She needed him to fill her, to take the emptiness away, that terrible burning that refused to let up, consuming her with desperate lust for this one man.

He shifted her until he had cradled her in his arms, close to his chest, his mouth still feeding on hers, devouring her. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses, consumed by the taste of him, the wild exotic spice she was fast becoming addicted to. She felt herself floating, levitating, moving through the air as if in the clouds. The cool breeze from the lake rushing through the trees added to the intensity of sensation.

Remy’s roped muscles bunched and rippled. She felt each defined muscle imprinted on her heated skin. She needed her clothes gone, the material literally hurt she was so sensitive. She was burning from the inside out, afraid she wouldn’t live through it. She was barely aware of being inside her room, with no idea and no real caring of how she got there. Remy shoved her hard against the wall and ripped at her clothing, every bit as desperate to get the material off of her as she was, his mouth on hers, demanding her compliance.

She’d always wanted to see Remy out of control, to have him be on that edge of reason, to feel as if she could drive him that far, but she’d never once thought it would be like this – a fire raging out of control in both of them. It was as if one of them lit a match and both had accelerant poured over them, going up in raging flames the moment their lips met.

Her heart pounded with fear. She could even taste it in her mouth. She had no idea what to do, how to act, even how to have sex. Obviously, Remy knew exactly what he was doing. How in the world was she going to keep up? Her body might be driving her, but when it came down to it, what was she going to do? Even those questions didn’t seem to stop her, or pour water on the fire. She couldn’t stop kissing him, or touching him, or even grinding her body up against his like some hussy desperate for sex.

Remy suddenly lifted his head. His eyes glowed a strange, deep emerald green, wholly focused on her, like a predator. A great jungle cat focused on prey. The unblinking stare sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t let up on his unbreakable hold on her.

“You know there’s no going back for either of us.”

Bijou tried to think clearly. There was a strange roaring in her head. Her body moved constantly, rubbing against him like a cat. Her breasts ached for his mouth. She felt empty between her legs and needed him desperately to fill her. His words meant something, but he was making a statement, not asking a question. There was a wealth of possession in the glittering of his strange eyes that sent both panic and a thrill ricocheting through her body.

“I mean it, Bijou, it’s too late to ever go back.”

Remy read fear and confusion in her eyes. He could barely stand the clothes on his back and knew her skin was burning just as bad. There would be no going back. At the best of times his leopard was difficult, but hers had risen and accepted his. He wanted her with every cell in his body, every breath he drew. The intensity of need threw him. It was unexpected and a little crazy when he’d always been so in control.

His leopard would mark her for certain. Hell.
He
wanted to put his mark on her, his warning to all other males to stay away from her. It was a dark, primitive need he couldn’t possibly ignore. He couldn’t wholly blame his leopard for not keeping his hands to himself. If he was being strictly honest, the moment he’d kissed her – and he’d lied to himself – told himself he was kissing her to get in a tabloid and flush out her stalker – but he’d
wanted
to kiss her from the moment he laid eyes on her again. No, he’d
needed
to kiss her. Once he had, for him, there was no going back.

She was addictive. He couldn’t stop kissing her. He never wanted to stop. The taste of her lingered in his mouth – in his mind. She’d somehow crawled down his throat to spread like a virus through his entire body, so that he was an addict. He needed to feed on that wild, elusive taste. That lavender scent mixed with her pheromones stayed with him every moment of the day and night. He’d waited, knowing her leopard was close to the surface and that it would drive her into a sexual frenzy of need. He had been ruthless enough to wait, to watch, to be close at hand so that no other had a chance to interfere or come between them.

He couldn’t resist her mouth, that full lower, almost pouty lip that drove him insane. He kissed her again, drowning in her those long, addictive kisses he couldn’t get enough of. He’d never be satisfied with anyone else. He knew it. She was branded in his very bones, wrapped tight inside of him. He kissed her again and again, keeping her pinned to the wall, one leg wrapped tight around his thigh. He lifted his head, once more coming up for air. There were things that had to be said. Explanations. Truths that needed to be revealed, but he couldn’t think straight enough, not with her leopard so close. The emerging was soon. Another day. Maybe two. Maybe tonight.

The idea of her coming to him like this, so in need, hardened his body into a painful ache of urgency. He knew in the morning there would be tears and regret, if her leopard didn’t emerge. Confusion. Perhaps even anger toward him, but he couldn’t stop himself to give her the explanations of being a shifter. She probably wouldn’t believe him and she was in no condition – and neither was he – to wait. Hopefully her leopard would rise and everything would turn out the way it should.

His thumb moved back and forth across the curve of the sweet temptation of her lower lip. “You’ll be afraid, Blue. I know you will, but look to me. Not anyone else. I’ll get you through this. Just keep looking to me.”

She stood in her lacy blue bra, her nipples hard and red from his teeth and mouth. Her breasts lifted with every ragged breath she drew in, a temptation impossible to resist. Before she could reply, he was kissing her again. There was too much confusion in her eyes. Trepidation. Fear of his roughness, and he couldn’t be gentle, as hard as he tried. His leopard drove him, and now, more than ever, with her female rising, his male was too close to the surface for tenderness to show.

Kissing Bijou was better than any fine wine he’d ever tasted. He tried to stop, tried to find enough semblance of control to at least reassure her he wouldn’t hurt her. He managed to lift his head inches from hers, resting his forehead against hers, looking into those amazing blue leopard eyes. He brushed back her hair, looking into her eyes, trying to reassure her when he was already ripping away her innocence with his roughness.

He was far too experienced not to recognize that she was innocent, but his leopard didn’t care, and neither did hers. His hands moved over her of their own accord, shaping all that soft exposed skin. His. She was his, now and for all time. Her skin was so soft, like satin, and he blazed a trail of fire from her mouth down her chin to her throat and back up to her mouth again because there was nothing else he could do. He had to kiss her. Had to touch her. Their choices were long gone.

6

Bijou made a sound, a soft little cry that tore at Remy, inflamed him, made him all the more desperate for her. He had to get skin to skin. Blood surged hotly, pooled low and wicked, until he was one giant ache. He bent his mouth to her breast, his hand going to the other nipple as his teeth tugged and teased. He wanted her more than aroused, more than ready. He wasn’t going to give her one moment to back out or change her mind. He was too far gone.

She writhed against him, pressing her back into the wall, a soft little cry somewhere between pain and pleasure escaping. He caught at her with hard hands, whirled her around and pushed her hard against the wall, his hands dropping to the waistband of her jeans. He stripped her clothes and shoes from her, holding her still with one hard hand against her back, unrelenting, not allowing her to move while he removed every bit of cloth that might come between them.