Leopard's Kiss (Shadow Guardians) (Shadows Guardians Book 1) (10 page)

"Feels good, doesn't it?" The question was a whisper every bit as soft as her touch on his jaw.

He didn't answer, unwilling to break the spell she was weaving.

He felt her smile, and then she kissed him again, this time, a real kiss, a kiss of lips barely parted, a kiss of tenderness and intimacy, a kiss of slow, sensual teasing, a barely-there kiss that promised a night of sin and seduction...and intimacy.

Blood raced to his cock, and lust boiled through him—

No.
She whispered the command in his mind.
Don't. Let me.

He went still, forcing himself to stay relaxed as she kissed her way along his lower lip, mixing in a light nibble, and the brush of her tongue. Her touch was so light, he could barely feel it, but his blood was thundering through him, searing every cell in his body.

She slid her lips along his jaw, and then down the side of his neck, kisses so light he would have missed them if he wasn't so intently focused on her. She brushed a kiss over his collarbone, and his entire body trembled in response.

Her hands settled lightly on his shoulders, as if to settle him, while she pressed a kiss to the center of his neck, into the hollow of his throat.

Jesus, Anya.

She pulled back then, and he opened his eyes. He knew that his need for her was stark on his face, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. She made him transparent, and he hated that, but at the same time, there was something hot as hell about it.

She smiled, a triumphant, satisfied grin that was so arrogant that he wanted her even more. "That, my dear assassin, is why
fucking
someone is not always the way to go. Sometimes soft, slow kisses are so much better. Get it?"

"I got it." Yeah, he got it. "Do it again."

She laughed then, a light-hearted, engaging laugh that made him smile. "Maybe someday, if you're a good boy, but right now, we need to go to Connecticut. I assume we're going the same way as before?"

He wasn't sure that having her wrapped around him was the best idea right now. "We have time. We'll drive."

"Drive? You have a car?"

He raised his brows. "Of course I have a car. I have fifty-seven of them."

Her eyes widened. "Why on earth do you need fifty-seven cars?"

"Because I never know where I'll be when I need one. Come on." He took her elbow and turned her toward the door. Hell. He was going to have to walk her past all those gyrating people again? When he was this turned on? Shit. He'd always thought he had impenetrable discipline, but he was no longer so sure, at least when it came to Anya.

She didn't lose a beat in her questioning. "What does that mean? You have them stashed in assorted places around the globe?"

"Yep." He opened the bathroom door, and the scent of sex and lust hit him. His cock got even harder, and he swore as he urged her out into the room.

"Exactly how rich are you, Slade?"

"Richer than sin." He made it halfway past the dance floor, and he thought he was safe, when someone bumped into Anya, knocking her against him. His arm brushed against her breast, and heat poured into him.

She stared up at him, and time seemed to freeze for an instant. Then, suddenly, he wanted to be the one in control, the one who knew how it was really supposed to be. He tunneled his hand through her hair, a slow, sensual caress a thousand times more intimate than what she'd done to him in the bathroom. "It doesn't always have to be about fucking," he murmured. "And it doesn't always have to be like a butterfly's kiss. Sometimes, it can be pure sensuality."

Her eyes widened, and her hands went to his forearms. "We need to go, Slade."

"Yes, we do, but not for another minute or two." He shoved the bundle of clothes back into her arms, slid his other hand into her hair, and then kissed her.

Not just a kiss.

It was the kind of kiss that existed only in his fantasies...until now.

A
nya knew
the moment Slade kissed her that it was going to be different. At his safe house, the kiss had been bruising and intense, exploding through her so fiercely that she thought she would shatter.

This time, as he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, she knew it was going to be a thousand times more dangerous.

And it was.

His kiss was pure sensuality. His tongue slid across her lower lip in a decadent invitation that made her belly tighten with longing that seemed to come from deep within her, from places in her soul she didn't even know existed.

He wasn't fucking her this time. He was ridiculing her attempt to show him what else there was besides fucking. Her kiss seemed like a five-year-old's innocent exploration compared to the pure sin he was pouring into her.

She wanted to lose herself to him, to surrender completely to his strength and his seduction, but she knew she couldn't. She had to stay focused, strong, and grounded, and there was no way that was going to happen if she kept kissing him. Somewhat desperately, she shoved against his chest. "Don't. We need to go—"

"We have time." He pulled her more tightly against him, his hands roaming her body as he moved to the music, dragging her into its seductive rhythm with relentless, unending kisses, and the slow, sensual undulation of his hips against hers. His powerful thigh slid between hers, pressing up against the junction of her thighs as he slid closer against her, moving like a wild predator closing in on his prey.

God, it felt good to be touched like that. To be held like she mattered. To be kissed like there was nothing in the world that existed besides this moment. She knew she didn't have time to enjoy his kiss, and she knew she didn't have the luxury of trusting him, but for one minute, one tiny minute, she wanted to forget about her life and who she was. For one minute, she wanted to simply breathe in the sensation of his strong body against hers, to feel his muscles flexing beneath her fingers, to taste his mouth, and to feel the heat from his body pouring into hers, easing the tension that had become such a part of her that she'd forgotten what it felt like not to be afraid.

You're dangerous.
His voice was a private seduction drifting through her mind.
You make me want to forget about everything that matters to me.

God. He felt the same way? His confession stripped away the last bit of her resistance, and she lost the battle to fight. All she wanted was
him.
Still cradling Beckett's abandoned clothes in one arm, Anya slid her other hand around Slade's neck and let herself melt against him. Her nipples ached where they pressed against his chest. Her entire being burned for his kisses and craved his touch, an aching need even more powerful than what he'd unfurled inside her at his safe house.

He groaned.
You're projecting.
He angled his head and deepened the kiss, teasing her with his tongue and lips, dragging her mercilessly into his sensuality. Fire licked through her, and when his hand slid to her ass, she couldn't stop the low groan that slipped from her lips.

He grasped her hair and pulled her head to the side as he kissed her collarbone, then her throat, and then the swell of her breasts—

Someone bumped them, and she opened her eyes to see a couple grinning at them. The man was tall and dark, almost as muscled as Slade, and the woman had straight brown hair and glasses, like a scholarly nerd who was being a bad girl by playing at the club. They both grinned at them, and the woman held out her hand to Anya in silent invitation.

"Oh..." Anya's fingers dug into Slade's shoulders. "No, thank you..."

"I don't share," Slade locked his arm tighter around Anya and spun her away. His eyes were dark and moody as he studied her. "You are too much of a temptation," he observed. "Everyone here wants to get you naked, both the men and the women. I thought I was special." There was an edge to his voice as his arm tightened around her.

Her belly tightened at the possessiveness in his eyes. "You are special," she said, her voice more breathless than she had intended. "You're the only one who gets to kiss me, right?"

He eyed her. "There is that." He locked his arm around her more tightly. "What the hell is it about you that is so irresistible? Tell me."

She shook her head, almost unnerved by the intensity of his stare. "Nothing. I'm just me." She became aware of others watching them, of the raw lust on the faces of strangers. Discomfort rattled through her, and she pushed at his chest, suddenly wanting space. She wasn't accustomed to being with men, certainly not one who was so intense, so sensual, and so overwhelming. Her life was with the three women who mattered to her, a foursome who relied on each other for survival, a foursome that had been shattered ruthlessly, leaving her vulnerable and scattered. "Let's just go."

She pulled away from him, and he let her go, an act which both relieved her and disappointed her. As much as she needed her independence, her yearning for intimacy with him was almost insurmountable. Forcing herself to walk away, she led the way out of the bar, but he stayed close, only a few inches behind her. The one time she glanced back, she caught him glowering at the other patrons, his "don't-fuck-with-me" stare clearly staking his claim on her.

"You don't own me," she hissed at him, embarrassed by his caveman persona...but at the same time, there was a part of her that was thrilled by it. She was so used to skulking about, trying to stay unnoticed, that it felt good to have someone so powerful on her side, making it safe for her to be noticed.

"No, I don't," he agreed as they reached the exit. "But I accepted responsibility for your safety, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure people know that if they approach you for any reason, it's me that they'll have to deal with." He held the door open. "I don't own you, but I own your safety, so you're going to have to deal with it. I'm not going anywhere."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she gave him a steady gaze. "You're not going anywhere...until it suits your purposes. And then you will."

He met her gaze for a long minute, so long that a flicker of hope rushed through her. Maybe he wouldn't leave... Then, to her dismay, he nodded once. "Until then."

"You still might kill me?"

His gaze flicked away from her for a brief second, scanning the streets outside, then he nodded for her to leave. "I don't make promises unless I know I can keep them, Anya."

"I know." Feeling strangely deflated, she moved ahead of him to walk down the empty street. It didn't matter how amazing his kisses were, or how powerful he made her feel by protecting her. She could never forget that he was on her side only because someone had trapped him into protecting her. If he found a way out, she was dead, and he was gone.

She couldn't forget that.

Ever.

* * *

S
lade shifted
gears in his Lamborghini, pissed off as hell.

Usually, the chance to drive this baby gave him a sense of peace. He liked the luxury of it, a vast change from sleeping in alleys and jungles like he did on missions. He was damn proud of it, and he liked the way he could feel every single bump in the asphalt, a machine of raw power and pure luxury. It made him feel civilized, like there was a chance that he wasn't only a monster. It was his moment of humanity.

This time, however, he couldn't concentrate on the car. His entire focus was on the woman sleeping in the passenger seat next to him. He could hear every breath she took. Her scent seemed to wrap around him, overwhelming the fine leather smell of his seats. She was small and fragile, vulnerable even, and his entire body vibrated with awareness. He didn't let anyone into his personal space, but for some damn reason, he'd invited her into his car. What the hell? He could have rented a car. He could have used one of his throwaways. But he'd selected
this
one and offered her a ride, which went against every rule he had.

No one
ever
got to see anything about him that was real. It was critical to his survival. So, why the hell was she there? Sleeping, like she was supposed to be there.

She mumbled something in her sleep, and he looked over at her. Her brow was furrowed, and she was shifting restlessly. Instantly, his irritation vanished. He brushed one hand over her forehead, soothing her energy. She relaxed under his touch, falling into a deeper sleep again. Satisfaction pulsed through him. He'd given her peace, not just peace before a death kiss, but actual peace.

It felt good. Really good. He wasn't used to doing shit like that. He hadn't done it on purpose. It had been instinct, something she'd drawn out of him, even though he hadn't even known it was a part of him.

Frowning, he glanced at her again, inspecting her more carefully, trying to figure out his reaction to her. He liked having her beside him, sleeping. Last time, when she'd slept in his safe house, he'd felt like shit, because his kiss had drained her to the point of exhaustion. She'd slept because he'd hurt her.

This time, she'd slept simply because she was tired, and because she felt safe enough with him to sleep. He, the shadow whose only purpose was to kill, had provided her with enough security to allow her to sleep. He knew it, because he'd picked it up from her as she was falling asleep. She was shielding her thoughts less and less from him, and her emotions when she'd gotten in his car had been evident.

The moment she'd sank into the soft leather, she hadn't been thinking about how nice his car was. She'd been thinking about how good it felt to sit down. She'd been thinking about how tired she was. And she'd been thinking about how she had to remember not to trust him, even though she'd never felt this safe in her life.

She'd never felt this safe in her life.

It was strange that she felt that way about him. It irritated him, because he wanted her to be smarter and more careful than that, but at the same time, it made him feel like he was worth something more than delivering death.

She'd fallen asleep five minutes after they'd gotten on the highway, and he liked it. He loved looking over at her and seeing her beside him. It was probably wrong in a thousand ways that he felt that way, but he did. Hell, she could drool all over his fine leather seat, and he wouldn't even care.

Which was why he'd been in such a bad mood. He lived by a careful, rigid set of rules, and she was making him break them one after another. It made him vulnerable, and he couldn't afford that...but at the same time...he didn't regret any of it.

Which was even more disturbing.

He hit the gas, inching the needle up even higher, muttering a litany of swears that usually made him feel better. They didn't work tonight, because he was beginning to realize why he'd invited her into his car, and why he liked having her sleeping next to him.

Her irreverence, her determination to make him see her as a person, her loyalty to her friend, and her vulnerability had gotten under his skin.

He liked her. He liked her as a person. As a human being.
As a woman.
Which was a major problem.

Since the day he and his dad had found his mom and sister murdered, he'd learned how important it was not to let anyone matter to him. Not just because it hurt like hell when something happened to them, but because if they mattered to him, it made them a target. His dad had made a lot of enemies in his work, and it was those enemies who had decided to make him pay by taking away something he loved.

The instant that Anya had given him that first stare in the bar, the one where she'd looked right into his soul, he'd noticed her as a woman. In that instant, she had become a weapon that his enemies could use against him. She had become a target. And now, after he'd tasted her? Talked to her? Listened to her stories? Every minute he spent with her upped the ante.

Shit. Letting her get into his car had put a bulls-eye on her forehead. Her scent would be in his car, and it would never leave. He'd smell it every time he got in his car, and so would anyone else who came near it, anyone in his line of business, that was.

What the hell? What personal code was he going to violate next? Was he going to start visiting his brother for a beer on Fridays? Might as well paint a target on his head as well.

The thought of his brother becoming linked to him made a cold sweat break out on his forehead. For a brief moment, he couldn't focus. All he could think of was a bullet finding his brother between the eyes, or a claw plunging into his heart, all because someone had found out he was related to the Black Swan. Swearing, Slade fought to bring his mind back under control, shoving aside the fear that haunted him every second of his life, that somehow, some way, he'd screwed up and his enemies would realize he had a brother who had been raised with humans, had no preternatural powers, and no defenses against anyone wanting to cause him harm.

His brother was a heart surgeon, a genius who spent all his time in people's chests saving them with his skill, as opposed to Slade, who spent his time in people's heads, killing them with his thoughts and his kiss. Even if being related to Slade wouldn't make his brother a target, it didn't matter. Slade would still never let his brother know that the anonymous funds that had supported him all his life was blood money from a brother he wouldn't want to know.