Wild Fire
Page 40

He watched her, afraid to move, afraid of doing the wrong thing and making her run. She kept moving toward him, in a slow, freeze-frame stalk, one hand out tentatively. Her hand was small, and trembling. He kept his mouth closed over his teeth, and a close watch on the leopard. The cat trembled and slowly sank its hindquarters down, first into a sitting position, and then finally to a prone one, although the golden eyes never moved from her face.
Isabeau took a cautious look around at the torn trees and shredded bark and then looked down at the leopard’s heavy paws. Traces of blood streaked the golden fur where he’d deliberately smashed his paws, using them like clubs against the tree trunks. The sea of rosettes created an optical illusion so that the large cat appeared to be moving when he was actually stationary. His penetrating stare was nearly lost in the sea of black spots. His sides heaved with every heavy breath. She knew she would never forget that smoldering hunger in the leopard’s eyes, or the sharp intelligence.
It might not have been such a good idea to follow him. All the others had shouted to her to come back, but she’d hastened down the ladder and sprinted after the leopard once she’d heard the terrible anguish in his voice. She couldn’t bear to hear him. She knew grief when she heard it. The idea that he couldn’t express that same grief as a man tore at her heart. She’d known his mother, what kind of woman she was. Conner had to have loved and admired her. What son wouldn’t have?
She took the last three steps to the leopard and let her fingertips brush over the powerful head. Her hand trembled and she sunk her fingers into his fur in an effort to stop shaking. “Are you all right?”
The leopard arched his neck under her scratching nails, turning his head from side to side, allowing better access. She sank down onto the one flat rock she could find near him, circling his neck with her arm, shocked that fear was receding so rapidly. The leopard stretched out beside her while she stroked the fur.
What did she know of leopards other than they were considered dangerous and cunning? Just looking into his eyes she could see that same keen intelligence that had attracted her to Conner. He was there—the man. And he was suffering. She wasn’t certain what she’d said, but she knew she’d been the one to upset him.
“I talked to her about what happened,” she admitted, searching for the right thing to say. “She knew I was upset. How could she not? I’d lost my father and then discovered terrible things about his business. And finding out the man I thought loved me had deceived me in order to get to my father—that was difficult, Conner—but I was coming to terms with it with her help. She didn’t know it was you. How could she?”
His eyes went sad. Stricken. Those fierce, burning eyes, so open to her when the man wasn’t, and she saw the truth. Marisa had known. Somehow his mother had known, and Conner knew how. She let out her breath and buried her face in his roped, muscled neck, unable to look at him. Conner had to think his mother thought the worst of him when she died. As much as Isabeau thought she wanted him to suffer—it wasn’t like this—not about his mother.
She rubbed her cheek against his fur, needing as much comfort and soothing as he did. Did he think she’d done it on purpose? Tried to make him look bad in front of his mother? It hadn’t been like that at all. “I was hungry for companionship—for a mother or big sister. A female I could talk to. My own mother died when I was a young child. I can barely remember her. Well, I guess she was really my adopted mother. I didn’t know my birth mother.”
She hadn’t known she was adopted until after her leopard had clawed Conner’s face. Instinctively her fingers went to the cat’s face. Sure enough, there were four deep furrows there. She stroked small caresses along the four scars. She was somewhat sheltered from the rain by the thick leaves overhead, but every now and then a few drops ran off the broad leaves in a steady trickle down her back. She squirmed uncomfortably.
Instantly the leopard was on his feet. Sitting, he was taller than her. His face broad and strong. He looked up at the surrounding trees as if studying them before turning back to her. He waited while she slowly got to her feet. She knew he wanted to get her off the ground and up into the trees, a leopard’s instinctive reaction.
“We can go back to the cabin and sit on the porch,” she suggested hastily.
She was a little nervous surrounded by absolute darkness, those golden eyes glowing at her. And she didn’t want to see any insects coming at her in swarms. For the most part, mosquitoes and other stinging or biting bugs kept a distance from her, but there were always the swarms of ants to contend with. She would never admit it aloud, after all her chosen profession kept her in the rain forest, but ants in particular gave her nightmares. It was rather comical to be standing with her fingers buried in the fur of a leopard and be scouring the churning vegetation for ants.
Isabeau took a tentative step in the direction of the cabin. She’d always had an amazing sense of direction, even in the interior of the rain forest, although she never entered without a guide, but now she felt even more confident. She took another slow step, her heart hammering hard, wanting him to follow her. The leopard moved to her side, keeping his neck under her palm and his body against her leg as they moved together through the heavy brush.
Wanting to keep his mind fixed on her and away from the loss of his mother, Isabeau continued talking. “When I was a child, I remember my father used to try to take me to those parks where they have roller-coaster rides, and I hated them. I was very adventurous, so he could never understand why I didn’t like the movement. Every time I rode one of them, something inside me would go crazy. It must have been my cat, but of course I didn’t know it at the time.” She sighed. “I guess I didn’t know a lot of things then.”