Wild Fire (21 page)

She flushed all over again, but her pride didn’t matter as much as his words. She held them close to her heart, for the first time feeling as if her mixed up world could come right again. Was it only her cat that wanted him? She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure, and Conner was right, she had to be certain. It made things easier knowing he hadn’t totally rejected her.

His hands framed her face, his thumb sliding over her lips as his gaze burned into hers. “You’re mine, Isabeau. You’ll always be mine. Make no mistake about it. Whether you choose to forgive me and give us a second chance, or you don’t, you’ll be my only.”

Her heart stopped. Just stopped. She could feel it there in her chest, twisting tight and then beginning a frantic pounding. For once her cat stayed quiet and she was allowed that perfect moment. She looked up into his face, a face that was etched forever into her mind—into her soul—and knew she was lost all over again. “Why didn’t you come after me?” That had hurt more than she could say.

“I made up my mind to come,” he admitted. “Six months ago. I knew I had to try to explain when I really had no excuse. I had a job to do, Isabeau, and the moment I realized I was slipping, taking us both in too deep, I should have shut it down. I’d like to say I didn’t because the kidnap victims mattered so much to me, but I’ve thought a lot about that and it isn’t the truth. Once I was with you, once I had gone over the line, there was no going back for me. I couldn’t find the strength to do the right thing and give you up.”

His words were stark. Raw. And they were truth. She saw it in his burning eyes, heard it in his velvet voice and smelled it with a leopard’s acute sensory system. She could only stare at him, trying not to let the happiness blossoming in the pit of her stomach and spreading throughout her body with absolute joy show on her face. Her tongue touched her lower lip and instantly his gaze was there, following the small movement.

She held still. Absolutely still. She even held her breath. He’d rejected her advances earlier—she wasn’t making a fool of herself a second time, even when he’d assured her their time together hadn’t all been a lie. The truth washed over her and into her, bringing such relief her legs trembled. Or maybe it was arousal teasing along her thighs and sending her temperature soaring.

He lowered his head. Slowly. Waiting for her reaction. She stood still beneath his hands, watching his gaze drift possessively over her face. Watching the way his eyes changed, going leopard, blazing with hunger. His mouth was everything. Seductive. Heart-stopping. Perfect. And then his lips touched hers. A mere brush. Her stomach flipped. Her womb clenched. Liquid heat gathered. His mouth moved again over hers, a small back and forth movement designed to tempt her—to drive her wild. And it did.

Her breasts ached, nipples peaking into two tight buds, straining against the material of her shirt in an effort to get closer to his heat. His tongue licked her lower lip. Savoring her taste. His teeth nipped, and the bite of pain sent another spasm crashing through her core. He made a sound, a low growl in his throat that drenched her immediately in need.

“I missed you every single second,” he whispered. “I dreamt of you when I could close my eyes and most of the time I couldn’t sleep with needing you.”

He kissed her, a long, drugging kiss that intoxicated every one of her senses. When he pulled away, it was to press his forehead against hers as he drew in a harsh breath. “I love the sound of your laughter. You taught me so many things, Isabeau, about what matters. When you find everything and then lose it . . .”

His mouth found hers again, over and over, each kiss more demanding than the last, more filled with hunger, so that he was nearly devouring her, sweeping her away on a tidal wave of desire. He’d always been able to do that, remove every vestige of sanity so that she was no thinking person, but a creature of pure feeling. She’d never known she could be passionate or sexy until Conner had come into her life, and everything had changed—
she
had changed.

His fingers bunched in her hair, pulling her head back, anchoring her in place, while his gaze burned a brand over her. Lines of passion etched deep in his face, dark lust glittered in his eyes. Her heart jumped. Another rush of heat spread like liquid fire. Her knees went weak. She’d always been susceptible to his sensual appetites, but now his hunger was a drumbeat in her veins.

Her breath hissed out as his mouth descended again. The gentleness was gone, replaced by raw passion. He took her response in his confident, dominant way. His hands were strong, his body hard, the heat rising between them like the steam in the forest. Her body went boneless, soft, melting into his. He growled, a low, vibrating note that sent fire licking like tongues over her skin. His hands slid down her spine to the curve of her bottom and he lifted her. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles.

The vee between her legs fit tightly over the thick bulge, welding them together. All the while his mouth ate hungrily at hers. Her world tunneled—narrowed to just Conner. His hands. His heat. The taste and texture of him. She was aware of every ragged breath, of the bite of his teeth, of the roughness of his caresses, even the feel of his skin beneath the material that kept her from touching him.

Everything receded until her mind was consumed with only Conner. He tasted like sin. Like a mixture of heaven, for the pleasure—and hell, for the craving that would always be for him. His mouth moved from hers and began traveling slowly, seductively down her face, the side of her neck, her throat and then shoulder. She felt the edge of his teeth and shivered in need. She didn’t want soft and gentle. She needed his rough possession, claiming her, branding her, taking her in a firestorm of heat and flame that would end the world around them, leaving them nothing but ashes, clean and fierce and forever welded together.

His head came up alertly and his golden gaze swept the forest around them. The men, off in the distant clearing, melted away, simply disappeared as though they’d never been. Conner allowed her shaky legs to drop to the ground even as he inhaled deeply, drawing in the air—and information.

9

SHAKEN, her entire body trembling, Isabeau clutched at Conner’s shoulders for support. “What is it?” She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe right.

“We have company coming this way,” he said. “The forest is getting mighty crowded these days.” He wrapped his arm around her and drew her beneath his shoulder, sliding back farther into the brush. “We’ll be fine. The boys are closing in on them.”

“Them?” she echoed faintly. If survival meant being alert at all times—she wasn’t going to make it. He had caught the scent of the intruders, or felt them in some way, while she’d been overcome with her own passion. How did he do that? She was almost upset with him, even though she knew it was a skill he needed—
they
needed—to survive.

“Two men. They move like they know the forest.”

“I don’t understand.” She didn’t understand what he meant, but more than that, she didn’t understand how her body could be screaming for relief, every nerve ending crying out for him to stay—to keep his attention solely on her. It was stupid in the face of danger, but she’d been so consumed by him, aware only of him, thinking he had the same awareness and need and obsession with her.

“Most people come into the rain forest and try to dominate, hacking their way, but these men are familiar and comfortable with it, telling us perhaps they inhabit the interior on a regular basis.” His palm curled around her nape and he dipped his head, skimming the side of her neck with a trail of kisses. “I could kill them just for interrupting us.”

It was his voice, shaking a little, rough—even harsh, revealing he meant those damning words that ironically allowed her to forgive him for his survival skills. She leaned into him and let him hold her close, trying hard to cool the rush of heat that had sent her body into meltdown.

“Take a breath. It helps.”

“Does it?”

He laughed softly, a mere thread of sound. “Not really. But we’ll pretend. When I’m with you, Isabeau, it’s a little like lighting a match to a stick of dynamite. I can’t seem to control it.” His teeth nipped her shoulder and he buried his face briefly against her neck, obviously struggling to cool the heat of his body as well. He was still thick and hard and, in spite of the potential gravity of the situation, she felt happy.

“At least it’s both of us.”

“How could you think otherwise?” He lifted his head and his gaze jumped from the forest to her and stared with that focused piercing intent that always managed to set fire to her blood. “Is it your cat who wants me?” His voice was velvet soft. Almost a caress. But there was just the slightest hint of uncertainty in his query.

“Why would you think that?”

A leopard grunted. Birds took flight. Several howler monkeys called out a warning. She couldn’t help the little gasp of alarm that just seemed to slip out.

Conner pushed her behind him. “Never panic, Isabeau. In any situation your brain is always your best weapon whether you’re in leopard or human form. There’s always a moment when you’ll have the advantage. All these defense techniques we’re teaching you are great, but conditioning and thinking are always going to be your best weapons.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, imparting the information even as he crouched lower in the brush, shifting position so he could find the slight breeze moving through the forest. Low, on the floor, there was rarely a wind unless a big enough storm generated it. Mostly the wind stayed in the canopy, but with his acute senses he could gather the information needed. Isabeau tried to follow his example. She was determined to learn, to be an asset to him.

She caught a faint scent drifting in the air and recognized it immediately from Adan’s village. His people used roots for soap. She waited a few moments, aware Conner must have known, yet he didn’t show himself and neither did any of the others. They weren’t trusting, and maybe that was a lesson in itself.

Two men emerged into the clearing. Both wore only loincloths, one in sandals, the other barefoot. The rain forest was so humid, clothes hampered anyone routinely moving through the interior, and most wore the minimum. She knew that from experience. Even she dressed in as little as possible when she worked. She recognized the older man as one of the elders, Adan’s brother, Gerald. The other was Adan’s son, Will. She started to move around Conner to greet them, but he pulled her into his arms, one hand sliding over her mouth.

Her gaze met his and her heart jumped. In that moment he looked less a man and more a leopard. They stared at one another. He looked every inch predator, his eyes cold, burning with a lethal glow that sent her heart hammering hard. He slowly loosened the hand on her mouth and held up a finger between them, all the while staring down into her eyes.

She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. She found herself mesmerized—hypnotized—by his stare. She knew it could happen with a large cat. They had power in their focused stare, the enthralling moment when prey froze, waiting for that killing blow. She couldn’t breathe, locked there, trapped in the glow. She remained absolutely still. Silent. Unable to disobey him.

He turned his head slowly, breaking the contact, focusing on the two men striding across the clearing in the direction of the cabin. She didn’t turn her head, but rather shifted her gaze, afraid of making a movement, holding her breath. She could feel Conner beside her, utterly still, the tension coiling in him, his muscles locked and ready.

The men had blowguns in their hands and were advancing with care, watching the surrounding forest, stepping cautiously as was their way. Isabeau had seen them many times, moving with ease through the heavy brush. A leopard grunted. The two men froze, went back-to-back, hands steady on their weapons. Another leopard answered from a point in front of them. A third replied to their left. Conner made a sound, deep in his throat. Rio’s call came from behind them, cutting off their escape route, so that the men knew they were completely surrounded.

Gerald slowly put his weapon on the ground and raised his hands, one holding a book. When his nephew hesitated, he snapped a command and the younger man sullenly placed his blowgun beside his uncle’s. They stood with their hands raised.

“Stay put,” Conner warned. “If they make a wrong move toward you, I won’t be able to save their lives.”

“They’re my friends,” Isabeau protested.

“No one is our friend on a job. They could have changed their minds and want this handled a different way. Just do what I say and keep out of sight. Let me talk to them. If anything goes wrong, drop to the ground and cover your eyes. And, Isabeau . . .” He waited until her gaze met his. “This time do what I tell you.”

She nodded her head in agreement. She certainly didn’t want to see leopards killing two men she knew.

Conner moved out of the brush onto the edge of the clearing. “Gerald. Your brother said nothing of your coming.”

The two men swung around, the older one keeping his hands high and out from his body, the younger one going low, almost into a crouch, hands reaching for his weapon.

“You’d never make it, Will,” Conner said. “And you know it. You pick it up, I guarantee, you’re a dead man.”

Gerald snapped at his nephew in their own language. Conner had spent enough time in their village as a youngster to understand, but he politely pretended he didn’t know Will was being harshly reprimanded. They’d been friends once—good friends, but that had been a long time ago.

“We felt you needed to know the truth before you set out on this mission,” Gerald called to him. “Adan sent me with your mother’s book.”

“Why didn’t Adan bring it to me himself?”

“My mother had it,” Will said. “Marisa thrust it into her hands when the men came, and my mother dropped it. She didn’t remember until later, and my father was already gone when she went looking for it.”

Conner remained still, almost rigid, forcing his lungs to continue breathing in and out. He knew his mother kept a diary. He’d seen it enough times as a boy growing up. She journaled nearly every day. She loved words and they often flowed in the form of poetry or short stories. Will conjured up vivid memories better suppressed there in the rain forest with danger surrounding them, but it was a plausible explanation.