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Christine Feehan
up, nearly paralyzing her. It was only then, as she looked around the room, that she saw the two leopards curled up near the fireplace. One was watching her with a steady stare. The other appeared to be asleep.
She began to drag herself across the floor. It was purely instinctive, driven by fear. Rachael couldn’t focus her mind enough to know what was happening. It terrified her to remember the hot breath in her face. The feel of needle-sharp teeth tearing into her leg. The eyes staring at her with deadly intent.
She clawed her way up the wall, gritting her teeth against the sobs bursting from her throat, sweat blurring her vision. Tugging the gun from the leather, she leaned against the wall, the only thing holding her up. Her arms felt leaden and it was nearly impossible to aim the gun at the leopard, she could barely see it.
The door swung open as Rio stepped inside, arms filled with wood, his eyes immediately riveting to hers. His hair hung in wet strands, his naked body covered in droplets. Unhurriedly he closed the door with his foot and crossed the room to put the wood down carefully, almost directly in front of the leopards. “Put the gun down, Rachael.” His voice was very low, but it carried a hard authority. “It has a hair trigger. You breathe and it could go off.”
“They’re right behind you,” Rachael answered, clutching the wall for support. “Don’t you see them? You’re in terrible danger.” She tried to remember who he was, someone very familiar to her. Her beautiful naked man. She remembered the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. “Hurry, get away from them before they attack you.” She inspected his body, saw the bloody streaks on his belly, his hip. The gash on his temple. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine, Rachael.” He kept his voice calm, soothing. “Give me the gun.”
“It’s hot in here.” All at once she sounded like a forlorn child. “Isn’t it hot?” She wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand to clear her vision.
WILD RAIN
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Rio watched her through narrowed eyes, silently cursed as the gun swept close to her face. The blood on her leg was too bright, suggesting the need for immediate action. The muzzle of the gun wavered, far too close to her temple. She swayed slightly. He moved, casually maneuvering into a better striking position. “It’s all right, Rachael.” Deliberately he used her name, his voice soothing, persuasive. He gained another step. “They’re just pets. Clouded leopards. Small cats, really.”
Her eyes were overbright. She frowned at him. She kept wiping her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the blurring. “Look what they did to my leg. Come away from there and don’t turn your back on them.”
He moved with unexpected speed, slapping the gun away when it swung in his direction, his body slamming into hers, shielding her protectively as a deafening explosion reverberated in the small cabin. His body pressed hard against hers, her soft breasts pushing into his chest, her face against his shoulder. Her legs went out from under her and she began to slide to the floor.
Rio swung her up into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. She was burning up with fever. “Everything’s okay,” he soothed, trying to ignore the ominous thud of the bullet striking metal and what it meant to them. “Don’t struggle Rachael, you’re safe.”
She moved against his wet skin restlessly, the pain making her feel ill. His skin was so cool in comparison to hers she wanted to press herself closer. “Do I know you? How do I know you?” She frowned up at him, squinted through her spiky lashes to peer at his face. She made an effort to lift her hand, to trace the strong line of his jaw, his cheekbones, his mouth.
With great care, Rio laid her on the bed, trying not to jar her. He framed her face with his hands, forcing her to stay focused on him. “Can you understand me? Do you know what I’m saying to you?”