Ruthless Game (51 page)

He bit down gently on her most sensitive bud, thrusting deep with his fingers, his tongue circling, and she felt herself flying apart, rocketing. She screamed, and she couldn’t remember ever doing such a thing, but she couldn’t stop the sound. His arms slipped up her hips, around her waist, holding her to keep her from falling, lowering her to the unyielding floor.

He rose above her, stripping fast, nearly ripping the buttons off his shirt, not nearly as gentle with himself as he’d been with her, answering her long-ago worry that a husband might not find his wife who had recently given birth wildly attractive.

Kane managed to rip off his clothes in record time, feeling almost desperate to be inside her. He felt like he’d waited a lifetime for this moment—much like he did every single time he took her, which was as often as he could. He dragged her very sexy, silk-clad legs around him, lifting them over his arms so that he could use leverage, and drove deep into her pulsing center.

The feeling was exquisite. Hot, living silk grasping him, clasping tightly, stroking and caressing him. Each time he entered her, he was shocked at the need building so fast in him. He wanted hours inside that tight haven. Dark lust crossed his face, made his fingers flex once right before he began plunging into her over and over, hard and fast, a desperate man. Her breathy cries incited him, her dazed, sexy look, the spill of her breasts over the demi-cups excited him all the more. No one was more sexy to him—no one ever would be.

Sensations tore through him with each hard stroke. He tried to keep her still, pinning her hips, feeling her muscles tighten around him, sending streaks of fire rushing from his groin throughout his body. He groaned, trying to tell her, trying to stop her. He needed more time with her. Always more time. Her keening cries only fed his arousal, sending him careening out of control.

Rose dug her nails into Kane’s back. His cock felt like steel driving through her scalding velvet folds. She could barely catch her breath, barely hang on as the room around her spun away and there was only his body pounding into hers, sending fire racing through her, into her veins, into her belly, streaking down her legs so that she locked her ankles, high heels and all, behind his back, rocking with him, thrusting up to meet each surge.

She had no warning, no tightening of her body, only the sudden ripping through of a wild rogue wave, high and long, taking her tumbling over the edge of a cliff, her body spiraling out of control. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t find breath, could only hang on while she shattered beneath him.

Kane felt her body clamp down like a vise on his, milking and grasping, the friction sending him plummeting, free-falling, while his body burned and his heart raced. She consumed him. Burned him clean. Took him somewhere he couldn’t reach on his own or with any other woman. He collapsed over the top of her. Rose. His miracle.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered. An admission. A confession. The raw truth.

She put her arms around him, holding him to her. “I love you more than you could possibly know.”

He smiled, satisfied, not moving, his body locked with hers, his weight holding her there on the floor, his arms keeping her spread open, their hearts pounding in rhythm. When he managed to bring his ragged breathing under some semblance of control, he pushed her bra away from her breasts, bending his head to suckle there. He teased her nipple, laving and drawing that hard peak into the hot depths of his mouth. She gasped, her body writhing under his assault, her sheath clamping down hard as more ripples spread through her.

He lifted his head and grinned at her. “We don’t really have to go back to the party, do we? Because I’d love to just feast on your body all night.”

Rose stared up at his face with stars in her eyes. Her arms went around his neck, drawing his head back down to her flushed breasts. “Feast away, Kane. I’ll never have enough of you, and after all, this is our night.”

One thing about Kane—he never did anything by halves.

Keep reading for a special preview of the next book in the Leopard People series by Christine Feehan

SAVAGE NATURE

Available in May 2011 from Jove Books.

The sun dropped from the sky, a molten, fiery ball, pouring red and orange flames into the darkened waters of the Mississippi River. The air was heavy, nearly oppressive with humidity, just the way he liked it. Drake Donovan stepped from the barge with a casual grace, lifted a hand to the men on board and stopped for a moment, there on the wooden walkway, to admire the rolling river. With night falling, shadows delved sweetly into the ripples, giving the water a mysterious, beckoning feel. The pull of the river’s secret places was strong.

Groves of trees, tupelo and cypress, graced the water’s edge enticingly. He had seen many inlets and isles as they approached the banks. Great blue herons walked in the shallower waters of the bayous, canals, and marshlands, graceful figures drawing one’s eye to the beauty of the surroundings.

He listened to the night sounds creeping in as he watched the first of the bats, dipping and wheeling in the air overhead, catching the insects drawn to the massive body of water. Not too far from the river’s edge, a small fox darted toward a mouse scurrying into the leaves. An owl sat very still in the dusk, waiting for the sun to sink into the river, leaving the night to blanket the swamps and bayous.

The wildness in him reacted, rising with a great leap, demanding freedom. It had been so long. Too long. His thick five-o’clock shadow, composed of tangible hairs embedded deep into the tissue, supplied nerve endings with tactile information. Always, that guidance system would plug him into the air currents and enable him to read objects. And this time, unexpectedly, when he gathered information, his cat reacted aggressively, raking at him, snarling with his demands.

Drake lifted his nose to the airways, drawing the night deep into his lungs, drawing in—
her
. His heart skipped a beat and then began to pound. Every nerve ending in his body came to life. Need punched low and mean, a wicked, unexpected blow that staggered him. Her scent was alluring, captivating, unleashing a deep, primal command impossible to ignore.

The animal in him leapt hard, challenging the man. Fur rose beneath his skin in a wave of demand, leaving behind a terrible itch. His jaw ached and he felt the slide of canines pushing into his mouth. He tried to breathe, tried to calm the lethal beast pushing so close to the surface. His muscles rippled, contorting before he could get himself under control. He’d experienced his cat’s edgy need before, but not like this, not this dangerous, the temperamental leopard pushing so close he couldn’t distinguish between man and beast.

His mind became a haze of red, primal instincts drowning out civilized man. Drake had always had enormous strength, holding back his animal side with more discipline than most of his kind, but this time the struggle for supremacy was more like mortal combat. Bones ached and his left leg pulsed with wrenching pain. Strangely it was the pain that allowed him to hold on. He was out in the open, a danger to any male—human or leopard—near him. He kept his face in the shadows and simply breathed in and out, relying on the simple mechanics of an automatic reflex to keep the wild animal caged.

“Just for now,” he whispered—a promise he intended to keep no matter the cost. His leopard had been caged long enough. “Wait a little longer.”

The beast subsided, snarling his reluctant obedience, more, Drake was certain, because the alluring scent had drifted away on the night breeze than because the man was stronger. He wanted to follow that scent—he needed to follow it, but it was as elusive as the females of his kind always were. The sexy fragrance was gone and he was left with a clawing need and an aching groin as the scent gave way to the normal smells of the river’s edge.

“Mr. Donovan? Drake Donovan?”

He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the melodic sound of a woman’s tone. She had the sultry lilt of Cajun country in her voice. He turned his head slowly, not believing any woman could match that voice. He didn’t know what he expected, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected his reaction to her. That same low, mean, wicked punch to his groin, the same assault on his raw senses he’d experienced earlier repeated itself even harder.

She stood several feet from him but he was instantly aware of everything about her. His senses were heightened by his leopard, he had no doubt about that, but this time his reaction was all man. She wore faded and ripped blue jeans and a short tee that clung to her curvy form lovingly. Her face was young, but her eyes were old. Her hair was thick, a dark blond, but heavily streaked with silver, gold, and platinum strands. Beautiful dark chocolate eyes spiced with golden flecks seemed at odds with the sun-kissed hair that was worn in a ragged, jagged cut that would never have suited anyone else, but somehow only enhanced her appearance.

Drake could barely breathe, knew he was staring, but couldn’t stop himself. She stood there, just looking at him with a curious expression on her face, waiting for an answer. Her lashes were long, and she had a tiny scar on her chin and melting dimples. Her mouth was a thing of fantasy, full lips like a fascinating bow, her teeth small and white, although her canines were sharper than normal. He had a strange urge to drag her into his arms and taste her.

She regarded him with a mixture of reticence and wariness. “I’m Saria Boudreaux, your guide. You are Drake Donovan aren’t you?” She tilted her head to one side, studying him with concern. “If you don’ feel good from the trip, it’s all right. We can wait before we get you back on the water. Maybe get you somethin’ to eat?”

Her accent curled in his stomach. He could feel the reaction pulse through his groin. “I’m fine, Miss Boudreaux. I’ll be staying at the Dubois Inn, as you recommended. You said it was close to the canals and marshes I’ll be visiting?” He’d made certain the bed-and-breakfast she’d recommended was rarely visited and near the bayou, where there were groves of trees, marsh, and swamp. He’d rented the entire B&B on the chance he’d need his team, as well as to ensure his privacy.

She nodded. “Call me Saria. It will be easier since we’ll be spendin’ a week together. Is that your bag?” She indicated his small war bag with a nod of her head.

He’d be damned if she carried it for him. He reached down and lifted it himself, sending up a silent prayer that his very full groin would allow him to walk. “Just Drake then. Thanks for meeting me so late.” He
never
had such a reaction to a woman. It had to be the fierce need of his cat.

She shrugged and turned away from him, walking down the wooden sidewalk toward the grove of cypress trees dipping long, shimmery beards of moss into the water. She made no sound as she walked, a graceful, silent sway of her hips so enticing, his breath caught in his throat. He was not a man given to shocking, erotic images at the sight of a woman walking, but every cell in his body went on alert and he had the mad desire to leap on her, pin her under him, and devour her. He shook his head to try to clear the madness from his brain.

It was his leopard; that was the only sane answer. He’d been injured too long ago and his cat had been unable to emerge. Recently the man he chose to work for—well, okay, Drake had to admit it, his
friend
—Jake Bannaconni, had arranged an operation for him, grafting the bones of his kind to his bad leg in the hopes that he could someday shift. He wasn’t quite healed, and when he was tired he still occasionally walked with a limp, but his cat was growing more restless as each day passed, eager to test out the new material in his leg.

More and more the leopard fought to surface. He had purposely asked his guide to find a bed-and-breakfast in a remote area with the idea that he might try to allow the animal side of him freedom—it was that or go insane. He pushed down the voice of his surgeon to take it slow. He’d taken it so damn slow he really was losing his mind and his poor, unknowing guide was in danger of being savaged.

He was a man who automatically noticed everything, and there was no way not to watch Saria walk. He felt so damned old and she looked fresh and innocent and so far out of his league it wasn’t funny. But still, she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He breathed normally now, years of discipline taking over. The wildness receded even more. The small breeze caressed the wispy ends of her sun-kissed hair and his heart stuttered.

Saria turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, a slight frown on her face, her eyes assessing him. She slowed her pace. “Are you all right?”

He gave her a direct stare, the kind that usually scared the hell out of people. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He was gruffer than he intended, but she looked so damn young and innocent, and he wasn’t having a great deal of success controlling the images of her naked body, writhing under his—and that made him feel like a lecherous old man.

“You’re limpin’.”

There it was again, that little accent that seeped into his skin and made his cock jerk hard. And he wasn’t limping. No way. He kept his stare steady, regarding her without expression. “I don’t limp.” He walked with ease now, fluid and strong and damn it all, he’d gone from a lecherous old man to a decrepit one in her eyes. Faced with the sexiest woman alive, he had obviously forgotten suave and power.

Her eyebrow raised slightly. A dimple melted into that full, tempting mouth. She gave him a small, half-smile. “I’m glad we got that straight because the dock is a distance away. We can cut through town and a sort of Christmas tree forest, and then maneuver the edge of a cypress grove. That will save a few steps.”

He gave her a faint grin, not admitting a thing. “The quicker we get started, the better.”

The setting sun dropped a fiery shower of light just before it sank fully into the river, bathing her in red and orange flames. The silken fall of her hair beckoned him, impossible to resist. He reached out and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, his heart pounding. He felt a rush of heat pour through his bloodstream. Blood roared in his ears, thundered in his head.