Leopard's Run

by Christine Feehan

  He didn’t take his eyes from hers and, damn him to hell, he wasn’t going to lie. “That’s who I am right this minute, yes. I came here to find the truth, and if you were a threat to either Evangeline or Fyodor, damn straight I’d end you in a heartbeat.” And go the rest of his life without a woman, because he knew she was the one and it had very little to do with his leopard driving him.

  Her long lashes swept down and then back up. He found himself looking at her cat, and then the lashes did another sweep and he was looking at her. There was nothing there to suggest she found him despicable as he expected.

  “If I knew someone had threatened my parents, I would have killed them.”

  He hadn’t expected acceptance. He found himself going still inside. Feeling hope. Trying to squash it down so he wouldn’t be bitterly disappointed. He’d been disappointed all his life. He had learned not to want anything. To feel anything. He had known there would be no home for him. No loving family no matter if he dreamt of that. That dream had been destroyed before it could ever get off the ground.

  First his father made certain his leopard was a killer by beating him so severely and repeatedly that it forced the young cat to emerge in an effort to defend the boy. Then there were the training sessions, vicious ones, where men beat him with clubs to bring out his savage nature. His father drilled it into Timur that women were only to be used and then cast aside. He did that in a brutal way as well, wanting to harden his son. He raped and then beat women to death in front of him and then ended the lessons with the cruel murder of Timur’s own mother.

  “You make me believe there is good in the world after all,” he said. Even giving her that felt like giving too much. She made him feel vulnerable when he couldn’t afford to be. He was the one who kept everyone else safe. He couldn’t afford to feel too much.

  “I don’t know why. I did come here under false pretenses. I’ll tell Evangeline tomorrow.”

  He shook his head. “You’re going to see this thing through. Until I know what’s going on, I want you where I can see you at all times.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you have a roommate.” He pulled out his phone and texted, first Fyodor, because he knew his brother would be waiting to hear if there was any threat to Evangeline, or if he had to cushion the blow and tell her Ashe was dead. Then he sent a group text to Gorya, Kyanite and Rodion. They would have to keep a wall around Fyodor and Evangeline, whether or not his brother was agreeable.

  Ashe drew back, shaking her head. “No way will you be sleeping in here with me.”

  “I didn’t say I’d be sleeping in here.” He had other ideas. Sleeping just wasn’t one of them. “You know where the extra blankets are kept?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not used to such a big place. This is huge.”

  It was very small in comparison to the mansion where Evangeline lived now. Timur thought the house was the perfect size. Other than the windows that gave him nightmares, he really liked the place.

  “Do you know how to cook?”

  “Why? Because I’m the girl?” she challenged. Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  “No, because I like to cook and if you don’t, I can take over that duty.”

  Ashe sent him a faint smile. “If you forgive me that one, I’ll forgive the choke-me-to-death one.”

  “I’m not certain the two can compare.”

  “I told you,” she reiterated. “If someone wanted my family dead, I’d do whatever it took to protect them. My father was all about keeping us safe, so I do understand. I just don’t want it happening again.”

  “Then don’t ever lie to me like that.” He edged toward the door. His body had just about all the abuse it could take. He wasn’t used to his cock being so damned hard every fucking minute. He needed a little respite from her.

  “Good night, Timur.”

  “Good night, Ashe. If you have to go wandering around in the middle of the night, make noise. You don’t want me thinking you’re sneaking up on me.”

  He found extra blankets in the linen closet and tossed a pillow and blanket on the couch. He had to think about why the messenger had arrived before she had. What was he doing there? He believed Ashe, her story about her parents, but there was more going on then met the eye. She was a good liar. He’d barely caught the tiny imperfections in her voice the few times he had. Something was just a little off and he needed to get to the bottom of it.

  He told his leopard to guard him and then allowed himself to drift off. The nightmares came the way they always did, but this time, it was Ashe murdered in front of his eyes, not his mother.

  4

  FOUR o’clock in the morning came too soon. Ashe lay in the very comfortable bed and stared up at the ceiling. She hadn’t expected to sleep, not with Timur in the house. He was sexy, gorgeous and dangerous as hell. Just the kind of man she was attracted to. She’d never had any sense when it came to men. Never. She knew better than to even go there. A woman could dream of men like him, but she didn’t actually make that mistake. Not unless she wanted to pay a hefty price—which she most definitely did not .

  She’d fallen asleep dreaming about it. It was the first time in a long while she’d felt safe enough to really fall asleep, not just dozing, but actually a deep, restful slumber. Well, as restful as a woman could have when she was totally perving on a man. Her dreams were mostly erotic. She didn’t mind that so much, unless she moaned like an idiot and kept him awake. That was a very real possibility.

  She sat up slowly, holding the sheet to her neck, as if the thin material could somehow protect her. There was no protection. There was only common sense. She had to keep her distance from Timur if she wanted to come out of this alive. She’d told him the truth as much as she could. It was a matter of choosing the right words. As long as she kept that up, she’d be golden. He was suspicious, but then, what kind of a head of security would he be if he wasn’t suspicious of everyone? He had to be.

  She touched her throat and then stroked her fingers over the marks he’d put there. He’d scared her. Really scared her. At the same time, she’d been wildly exhilarated. That was her shameful secret. She liked danger. She liked dangerous men. She craved both. Still, there was the sane part of her that prevented her from making mistakes. Until now. She sat up straighter and circled her throat with her palm. Now she didn’t know exactly what she was going to do.

  She hadn’t expected that Evangeline would be the same sweet girl she’d met in the mountains a couple of years earlier. She thought she would be a spoiled woman, putting on airs, threatening the world with her gangster husband. Instead, Ashe found her to be the same genuine spirit, compassionate, helpful and a very hard worker.

  Evangeline could hire any number of people to work at her business, but she didn’t. She did the baking and worked harder, even, than Ashe. There was nothing at all about Evangeline that suggested she considered herself entitled just because she’d come into money. She hadn’t changed at all. Evangeline was sweet and very genuine. It was no wonder her husband and Timur were protective of her. Ashe felt a little protective as well.

  She forced her body to move, to make it into the master bathroom. Hot water helped to wake her up. She had to decide what to do and she needed to make up her mind fast. She had brought danger to Evangeline. She’d had a completely different idea of who these people were. Criminals to be sure. But …

  She turned her face up to the pouring water, letting it cascade over her and run down her body as she closed her eyes. Evangeline being so nice, being such a wonderful person, complicated things. They’d known each other such a short time and it had been a few years earlier, yet right away she’d given Ashe the use of her home. She’d offered immediately, without hesitation, once she’d made up her mind to help Ashe. Clearly she’d gotten in trouble with both her husband and the head of security, but she’d stood up to them for her. Who did that? If she was the wife of a terrible criminal, would she do that?

 
She washed her hair, contemplating that. What if Fyodor wasn’t really a criminal after all? What if the couple didn’t deserve hell knocking on their door? She pressed her forehead against the tile. What have I done? She’d set things in motion, and maybe she couldn’t turn them around. If she couldn’t, then she would have to confess to Timur and he would kill her for sure. Still, that would be better than setting up an innocent woman and her husband to possibly die.

  She wrapped towels around her, winding one around her hair and the other around her body. She didn’t have much in the way of clothes, but she hadn’t planned on being there for very long. Now, she would have to leave even faster. Once she’d made up her mind, she felt better. She could lead trouble away from these people, just as she’d led it there in the first place. She just needed a good plan.

  “Coffee’s hot.”

  Timur stuck his head in the space between the bedroom door and the doorjamb. He’d obviously showered. He looked wide awake and very hot. Handsome. Sexy. Too much for her so early in the morning. Coffee sounded good, especially coffee she didn’t have to make herself.

  His gaze moved over her body and she just stood there like a sacrificial lamb, letting him look his fill. He took his time and there was genuine appreciation in his gaze. She kept her head up, trying not to notice that her nipples peaked and her sex fluttered under the intense scrutiny. She was susceptible as hell to him.

  “Get a move on, woman. Breakfast is almost ready.”

  His head disappeared and she let out her breath, aware for the first time that she’d been holding it. There was something about those cold, cold eyes that set off sparks in her. Not just sparks. A timber fire. He found something deep inside her that had never been touched before and it ignited just for him.

  She dressed slowly, afraid of spending too much time with him. She pulled on her tight tee, the one that was soft and thin and perfect, but clung to every curve. She’d never cared before, but now, her favorite shirt seemed a little too revealing and worse, it felt sensual on her skin. Sensual. A T-shirt. That was really his fault. Her favorite pair of jeans, faded to a near white, with a couple of genuine threadbare spots in them, felt as if the material caressed her skin as they slid up her legs and over her thighs and hips. That was just plain insane.

  The door opened and Timur strode in. He didn’t slow down, he just kept coming straight at her. Her breath caught in her throat. Her lungs seized. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He just dipped low, shoved his shoulder into her belly and lifted. Her head went down his back and she had to grab at the back of his shirt, clutching it in her fist.

  “What the hell? I’m not a freakin’ sack of potatoes.” She all but yelped it. Sadly, her weird sense of humor kicked in and there was also a note of laughter in her voice. She doubted it mattered one way or the other to him. Laughter or anger, he was striding through the house, taking her into the kitchen to the little breakfast nook. She liked that nook: it was round and comfortable, windows surrounding it.

  Timur set her on her feet beside the table and stepped back, fully expecting her to yell at him, or swing, one or the other. She did neither. She picked up her coffee mug and sipped. It was good coffee. The man not only cooked, but he actually made good coffee. She definitely couldn’t set him up to die. Men with his talents were needed in the world. She sent him a sappy grin and slid onto the seat closest to the window without a word.

  Timur went back to the stove and picked up a plate. “You a picky eater in the morning?”

  She shook her head. She was grateful for anything. She just happened to be the worst cook in the world, especially in the morning, because she didn’t want to do anything.

  “Good.” He returned with two plates. Steam came off the contents, declaring they were hot. He put one in front of her. He’d already set the table and had utensils waiting.

  She picked up a fork and tried the concoction. It looked like an egg scramble of some sort with vegetables and maybe ham or sausage in it. Whatever it was, it was darn good. Suddenly, she was hungry. The smell of coffee had gone a long way to making her feel human, and the fact that she could actually drink a cup right away, as soon as she was up, was a miracle.

  They ate in silence for the first few minutes. She put her fork down and picked up the coffee cup. “Thanks for this. It’s really good.” It had to be said. Manners were important.

  “You’re welcome. Are you grumpy in the morning?”

  “Yep. Don’t like to talk. Don’t like to get up. Don’t like to do anything but put the blankets over my head.”

  His slight grin was all about sex. Why she thought that, she had no idea. Maybe he looked at her like the Big Bad Wolf. She was no Little Red Riding Hood, but at the same time, her panties had gone damp and her sex clenched in a kind of warning. The lines carved into his face were purely sensual. Those cold blue eyes of his suddenly held a thousand secrets, all of which she wanted to know. She liked the way his tee stretched over his broad chest and all those delicious muscles were just waiting to ripple when he moved.

  “You put the blankets over your head when I call you to breakfast, I’ll be pulling you right out and bringing you in to eat, even if you don’t have a stitch on.”

  Heat slid through her veins. Little fingers of desire danced up her thighs. Her clit pulsed with need. She wondered if a woman could have a spontaneous orgasm just from a few words from a man. If it was possible, she would have put her money on Timur as the man who could accomplish such a feat.

  “I don’t sleep in the nude.” She gave him the information in her snippiest voice and forked another bite of his delicious concoction into her mouth. Spices burst on her tongue. It tasted good. She wondered what he would taste like. His skin. His mouth. He had a gorgeous mouth. She risked a look. She could fantasize over that mouth all day.

  “That’s going to change.”

  “What’s going to change?” she asked absently, wishing he was nude and she could memorize his body with her tongue.

  “Sleeping with clothes. I want you naked when you’re sleeping with me.”

  He stated it so quietly, so perfectly matter-of-factly, that for a moment his declaration didn’t register. She stared at him, her lashes fluttering because she couldn’t quite believe her ears. Had he just said what she thought he had? She stole another look at his hard features. Yeah, he’d just said it.

  “That isn’t happening, although, I must say, the coffee was very welcome and this egg dish is amazing. But still, with regret, I have to decline your invitation.” She forked more eggs into her mouth and feigned being calm while she chewed.

  Who would pass up a chance to sleep with him? What kind of idiot was she? She was never going to have this kind of chemistry with another man. He didn’t have to touch her, he just looked at her with that mixture of detachment and dark, dark desire. The kind of desire that set a woman’s body on fire. She kept her eyes on his, not daring to look away.

  A very slow smile barely curved his bottom lip, as if he didn’t really know how to smile. His eyes remained as cold as ice. All that glacier blue. She could get trapped there if she wasn’t careful. The need to see that ice melt was becoming far too strong in her, and gaining more momentum with each passing second they were together.

  “It’s happening.”

  His voice was low. A caress. The sound stroked over her skin like a velvet rub. She resisted the urge to squirm—to rub her thighs together. To scratch the itch that was beginning to throb between her legs. It was the best morning she’d ever had.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I want you with every breath I take, and I always get what I want.”

  That was beautiful. Perfect. So what she needed to hear. She sighed with regret. “Not this time. I absolutely am not going to risk going to bed with you. You’re not a man who has relationships. You’re the kind of man who leaves. Fast. Do you even bother to buy a woman a meal, before or after?”

  Keeping his eyes on hers
, he shook his head slowly. A shiver of desire spiraled through her body. Why did she find him so sexy? Why was she so turned on, craving him like the worst possible drug?

  “So, we’re going to have sex, you’re going to leave and I can get on with my life?” There was far too much speculation in her voice, because she might be able to handle that.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, say it,” she challenged him. Maybe she was challenging herself. Would she take the chance? She didn’t have an answer for that yet.

  He took another sip of coffee and then set the mug on the table. He leaned back in his chair, sprawling out, long legs spread out in front of him. He looked lazy and yet in complete control. Bastard. She was a mess. The least he could do was be a mess as well.

  “I don’t tell lies the way you do, Ashe, especially to myself. Finish your breakfast. I’ve got to get you to work so I can get to work.”

  She’d forgotten all about work, she was so wrapped up in him. She glanced at her watch, only to find her wrist was bare. She was barefoot as well. “What time is it?” She looked around the room to find the clock on the wall. “Already? I’m going to be late.” She leapt up and ran for the bedroom—and for safety.

  He knew she was lying. Of course, he knew. He was leopard. Her father had cautioned her that leopards heard lies. He’d coached her from the time she was a toddler in how to word sentences to minimize the risk. The more truth mixed in with the lie, the more it sounded like truth. He made her practice all the time. They’d lived off the grid, but they’d had a few friends, others who, like them, for whatever reason, lived a life away from society.

  They’d gone without television, but he’d insisted on computers and all the modern technology. The very latest. Her father consumed newspapers, online and in every other form that he could get. Her mother helped him gather news and they would talk endlessly about it at every meal. Her father taught her how to fight, how to shoot, how to survive out in the wilderness. She could build her own gas mask a number of ways in just under fifteen minutes. He’d prepared her, telling her the day would come—and it had, she just hadn’t been as prepared as her parents had thought she would be.