Leopard's Prey
Page 8
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Remy rubbed his aching eyes. He didn’t want to be like Amos, sacrificing his personal happiness in order to preserve the leopard species. Amos had married the wrong woman, a leopard, and stayed with her for years. Only after she died did he marry Pauline, the woman he truly loved. A part of him understood, but he was tired of being alone. He wanted a family, a woman to come home to. He’d traveled the world looking in the rain forests in the hopes of meeting someone who not only attracted him physically, but who could live with a man like him. He had all but given up hope of finding a female that not only suited him, but who he could love.
Leopards were lethal cats, wild and savage and wanting a mate as well. A man couldn’t just bring home anyone, because if their cat became edgy and dangerous, so did the man. Sex could get rough and his temper could be short. He had great control, but lately his leopard had been displaying every negative trait a leopard had.
He sighed and forced himself to move through the trees toward the chateau. He’d been on for nearly seventy-two hours gathering evidence for a murder in the French Quarter and had been on his way home when Gage had called him.
He was edgy. Restless. His body hard and hurting. His mind a little chaotic. Not a good sign in the middle of a murder investigation and never good when he was going to see his wild sister. He didn’t need to say a word to her about going to the swamp at night, she’d know what he thought and she’d be on the defensive. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t blame her.
His leopard needed to run. Leopards didn’t do well cooped up. If they weren’t let out every now and then, the human side became every bit as dangerous as the animal side and he’d never felt so edgy in all his life, not even when he was in the jungle.
“Saria,” Remy raised his voice. “Where are you, honey?” He walked farther into the darkened entryway. As always, his heightened animal senses took over. He could see easily even with the lack of lighting. He inhaled, taking scents into his lungs.
It always smelled good at the Inn. There was always a seemingly endless supply of fresh coffee and he could count on his sister to have a large pot of stew or meatballs and gravy simmering on the stove. Saria and Drake managed to give the old place a welcome feel of home from the fireplaces to the fresh-baked bread and home-style cooking. Besides the rich aroma of coffee and spices, he smelled the faint scent of lavender. Without thought, he followed that drifting, inviting scent through the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Saria? I’m lookin’ for a cup of coffee. Where the hell are you?” he called out again. She should have known he’d be coming no matter how late it was, if for no other reason than just to make certain she was all right.
“Saria is in her darkroom developin’ her photographs. I can get you a cup of coffee if you like.” The voice came from the kitchen. Smoky. Suggesting dark nights and silken sheets. Sex and Sin. Velvet like a neat whiskey so smooth, yet burning all the way down.
Remy closed his eyes. His body tightened, a savage, urgent reaction to that amazing voice. No woman should be allowed to sound like that. That candlelight and “come take me to bed” tone gave her unfair advantages over a man.
He turned slowly. No one could possibly live up to that sultry, southern drawl so erotic and sensual, an invitation to wild nights and temptation. She stood draped against the wall, one hand on her hip, her enormous eyes on his face. He would never forget those eyes. Before, they’d taken up her face, a wild cornflower blue fringed with impossibly long, thick feathery lashes, as dark as the cloud of hair tumbling around her face. Now, her eyes drew attention to her remarkable skin and the perfection of her bone structure.
As if her inviting skin and the wealth of thick black hair cascading down her back weren’t enough to bring a man to his knees, her body was all soft inviting curves, and firm defined muscle. Her legs were long and slender and she had a small waist, emphasizing her breasts and hips. Her generous mouth had full, curved lips, bringing on enough fantasies to last a lifetime. His breath caught in his throat and need slammed low and mean into his body.
His reaction to her shocked him. His leopard raked and clawed for supremacy. His body hurt, a deep savage ache, every muscle tense, his cock thick and hard, demanding to be sated now. He’d never had such a visceral, intense sexual reaction to a woman in his life. He wasn’t a gentle man, his cat was too aggressive, but he’d learned control and kept a tight grip on both the man and the leopard. What the hell was it about Bijou Breaux that sent him spinning out of control?
Remy was grateful for his ability to keep his features expressionless. Bijou was sixteen years younger than him—a damned baby—and his body had no business reacting to hers no matter how sexy she was. It was wrong in every way.
She pressed her lips together, the tiniest movement. Her lashes fluttered, veiling her eyes, but not before he caught a glimmer of hurt. “You probably don’ remember me. I went to school with Saria.”
She stepped forward—into his space. His leopard ripped at him. His body tightened until he almost felt sick with need. He actually flexed his fingers, his palms itching to run over all that glorious skin. Lavender engulfed him, nearly drove him out of his mind. She extended her hand.
“Bijou Breaux.”
Self-preservation or white knight? He detested hurting her. She’d been hurt by enough people. Silently he cursed. He couldn’t stand seeing that small flash of hurt, not associated with him. He was going to race to the rescue and let her know he hadn’t forgotten her.
Leopards were lethal cats, wild and savage and wanting a mate as well. A man couldn’t just bring home anyone, because if their cat became edgy and dangerous, so did the man. Sex could get rough and his temper could be short. He had great control, but lately his leopard had been displaying every negative trait a leopard had.
He sighed and forced himself to move through the trees toward the chateau. He’d been on for nearly seventy-two hours gathering evidence for a murder in the French Quarter and had been on his way home when Gage had called him.
He was edgy. Restless. His body hard and hurting. His mind a little chaotic. Not a good sign in the middle of a murder investigation and never good when he was going to see his wild sister. He didn’t need to say a word to her about going to the swamp at night, she’d know what he thought and she’d be on the defensive. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t blame her.
His leopard needed to run. Leopards didn’t do well cooped up. If they weren’t let out every now and then, the human side became every bit as dangerous as the animal side and he’d never felt so edgy in all his life, not even when he was in the jungle.
“Saria,” Remy raised his voice. “Where are you, honey?” He walked farther into the darkened entryway. As always, his heightened animal senses took over. He could see easily even with the lack of lighting. He inhaled, taking scents into his lungs.
It always smelled good at the Inn. There was always a seemingly endless supply of fresh coffee and he could count on his sister to have a large pot of stew or meatballs and gravy simmering on the stove. Saria and Drake managed to give the old place a welcome feel of home from the fireplaces to the fresh-baked bread and home-style cooking. Besides the rich aroma of coffee and spices, he smelled the faint scent of lavender. Without thought, he followed that drifting, inviting scent through the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Saria? I’m lookin’ for a cup of coffee. Where the hell are you?” he called out again. She should have known he’d be coming no matter how late it was, if for no other reason than just to make certain she was all right.
“Saria is in her darkroom developin’ her photographs. I can get you a cup of coffee if you like.” The voice came from the kitchen. Smoky. Suggesting dark nights and silken sheets. Sex and Sin. Velvet like a neat whiskey so smooth, yet burning all the way down.
Remy closed his eyes. His body tightened, a savage, urgent reaction to that amazing voice. No woman should be allowed to sound like that. That candlelight and “come take me to bed” tone gave her unfair advantages over a man.
He turned slowly. No one could possibly live up to that sultry, southern drawl so erotic and sensual, an invitation to wild nights and temptation. She stood draped against the wall, one hand on her hip, her enormous eyes on his face. He would never forget those eyes. Before, they’d taken up her face, a wild cornflower blue fringed with impossibly long, thick feathery lashes, as dark as the cloud of hair tumbling around her face. Now, her eyes drew attention to her remarkable skin and the perfection of her bone structure.
As if her inviting skin and the wealth of thick black hair cascading down her back weren’t enough to bring a man to his knees, her body was all soft inviting curves, and firm defined muscle. Her legs were long and slender and she had a small waist, emphasizing her breasts and hips. Her generous mouth had full, curved lips, bringing on enough fantasies to last a lifetime. His breath caught in his throat and need slammed low and mean into his body.
His reaction to her shocked him. His leopard raked and clawed for supremacy. His body hurt, a deep savage ache, every muscle tense, his cock thick and hard, demanding to be sated now. He’d never had such a visceral, intense sexual reaction to a woman in his life. He wasn’t a gentle man, his cat was too aggressive, but he’d learned control and kept a tight grip on both the man and the leopard. What the hell was it about Bijou Breaux that sent him spinning out of control?
Remy was grateful for his ability to keep his features expressionless. Bijou was sixteen years younger than him—a damned baby—and his body had no business reacting to hers no matter how sexy she was. It was wrong in every way.
She pressed her lips together, the tiniest movement. Her lashes fluttered, veiling her eyes, but not before he caught a glimmer of hurt. “You probably don’ remember me. I went to school with Saria.”
She stepped forward—into his space. His leopard ripped at him. His body tightened until he almost felt sick with need. He actually flexed his fingers, his palms itching to run over all that glorious skin. Lavender engulfed him, nearly drove him out of his mind. She extended her hand.
“Bijou Breaux.”
Self-preservation or white knight? He detested hurting her. She’d been hurt by enough people. Silently he cursed. He couldn’t stand seeing that small flash of hurt, not associated with him. He was going to race to the rescue and let her know he hadn’t forgotten her.
