“Damn you, Baptiste,” she uttered, her eyes rolling back in her head, her body swaying. “I can’t…I’m not meant to be there…”
She passed out. But before she fell, Jean-Baptiste pulled her into his arms and held her close, then dropped easily from branch to branch until they hit the ground. As he headed around the side of the house and toward his car, he growled softly. He didn’t relish in the fact that he was taking this female into the Wildlands against her will, but these were desperate times.
Not just for the Pantera.
But for him.
* * *
Genevieve awoke to rich, yellow beams of sunlight, the earthy scent of coffee, the delicious feel of Jean-Baptiste’s warm, thickly muscled body against her back, and the breath-stealing intrusion of his steel-hard cock slowly pushing inside her.
She instantly arched her back, groaning as she gave him better access. Jean-Baptiste brought an arm around her waist and up to grip her shoulder. As he filled her, inch by wondrous inch, he pressed down on her shoulder, sending him as deep as possible.
Grinning, her entire body flaring with heat and hunger, Genevieve let her eyes drift downward. Jean-Baptiste’s other hand had slipped between her legs and was working its way to her sex. The muscles inside her pussy clenched in anticipation, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep her back arched or swing her hips forward. But before she could even pull another thought from her already-fuzzy brain, she felt his teeth on her shoulder. Growling, he scraped gently over her skin as his fingers slipped into her wet pussy lips.
After that, it was impossible to do anything but give in and let her body react and respond.
Thrusting inside of her, nipping at her shoulder, circling her plump clit, Jean-Baptiste hit all the right spots, and Genevieve moaned and fisted the sheets and moved with him. God, being filled by him, taken by him, felt so right. Like the perfect breeze off the bayou, the perfect day when everything goes just as you planned it—the perfect kiss from the one male on earth who sees past your buttons and starch and into your splayed heart.
“Genny,” he uttered roughly. “Just the thought of being inside you, so deep inside your tight pussy, is enough to make me come.” He cursed and bit her shoulder again. “But the reality…Christ, it’s like a drug. A drug I never want to come off of. A drug I will never let anyone else near—”
He pinched her clit. Lightly. But it was Genevieve’s undoing.
She moaned, arched her back even farther, circled her hips over and over, feeling the volcanic rush of impending orgasm spread through her. And when he did it again—pinched her sensitive bud, a little harder this time—she screamed and came apart in his hands.
It was too much for Jean-Baptiste. He roared into the beams of sunshine cascading down upon them, gripped her, nipped her, and as she bucked wildly in his arms, he gave her three hard, deep thrusts before he came inside her, before he filled her with hot, milky seed, before he gathered her up and held her impossibly close.
It seemed like hours, days, maybe even weeks before either of them moved again. Before they even stirred. They lay still and sweaty as the sunbeams were temporarily overtaken by clouds, then returned, brighter and warmer than ever.
Then Genevieve purred and rolled in Jean-Baptiste’s arms until she faced him. She draped her leg across his powerful thigh and stared. Sweat agreed with him. So did sex. His eyes were glowing. His dark hair fell around his neck, the tats, his jaw. And his mouth was a dusky, well-worked-over, crimson color. She wanted him again.
“Yes, Miss Burel?” he said, his eyes flashing with heat.
She grinned. “I smell something amazing.”
“Well, thank you.”
She laughed. “No, not you.”
“Not me?” He plastered on a frown, which frankly only made him look sexier. “Then it must be the beignets and coffee.”
“You’re kidding?” Her heart pinged and she came up on her elbow. “You did that for me?”
He reached down and gave her backside a playful slap. “Just trying to impress you, Miss Burel.”
She loved being called Genny, especially when he was inside her. It was soft and gentle and intimate. But she had to admit there was something that made every inch of her skin tingle when he called her Miss Burel. “I can’t believe you went out just to get me coffee and beignets. Where are they? I need them now.”
He laughed. “Easy, ma chérie. I’ll get it. I’ll be serving you. Feeding you. Though, with how late it is, the coffee might be a little on the cool side.”
“Late?” She looked around for a clock, but didn’t see one. How late was it?
“Nothing to worry about.” Jean-Baptiste growled, kissed her thoroughly, then flipped the sheets back and sat up. “And the beignets are only part of the surprise.”
“Really?” The time was momentarily forgotten as she caught sight of his smooth, broad back and the spear tattoo running up the length of his spine. God, he was truly mouthwatering. “Are you spoiling me, Mr. Baptiste?” she purred.
He glanced over his shoulder, gave her a heavy-lidded, highly sexual grin. “All day, every day, Miss Burel.”
Heat rushed through her. “Tell me.”
“I took care of our little problem.”
Confusion intermingled with the heat inside her and she came up on her knees. “What do you mean?”
He stood, lifted an eyebrow. “Isi is in the Wildlands.”
Genevieve’s lips parted, but nothing came out. No breath, no gasp, no words. Even though the sun was shining outside the glass doors, the room suddenly took on a gray cast, and inside Genevieve’s brain, electric shocks of fear and warning detonated.
No. He couldn’t have…she couldn’t have…
“I took her there myself,” he continued, standing gloriously naked before her. “It’s done, ma chérie. Our mission is complete, and we can stay here all—”
“No!” The word came out harsh and fearful, and Genevieve wasted no time in scrambling off the bed. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” What time is it? How long did we sleep?
“Genevieve? What the hell’s wrong?”
Everything. God, how could she be so stupid? So careless? How could she have allowed herself to forget the point of this trip in a one-night-of-meaningless-fun sinkhole? Shit, the one road to her future…
What the hell time was it?
“Genevieve,” Jean-Baptiste said again, this time with a growl attached.
“It’s over,” she said, grabbing clothes out of her bag and throwing them on.
“What’s over?” His voice was low, wary.
“My career. My shot.” Finding a way to fix the broken magic in my family. Where was the damned clock?
“What are you talking about? Raphael’s thrilled.”
She hastily toed on her shoes and zipped up her bag. “I have to go. Right now. I have to go.” I have to see if I can repair this damage. Beg the elders for a second chance.
“I thought this would please you. I thought…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll call for the car.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take a cab. I can get back on my own.” She wouldn’t make this mistake again. She’d swear it to them.
“Okay, this is bullshit.” Jean-Baptiste was at her side in a second, naked and tense, grabbing her by the arms. “Look at me.”
She stilled. She didn’t want to. God, she didn’t want to. When she looked at him, bad things happened. Bad things that masqueraded as amazing, wonderful, perfect, future-killing, things. But her eyes slid up anyway. And as she met his gaze, saw the confusion and the heat and his desperate need to understand her, her heart squeezed. And her mind whispered traitorously. Love?
“Is this about bringing Isi in yourself?” he asked. “Wanting to impress Raphael? First assignment kind of thing?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She shook her head, bit her lip.
“You need to talk to me.”
“I have to go.”
<
br /> “Not yet.”
“You don’t get to hold me here,” she said, her throat tight. “I want to go.”
“You want me,” he said, his face a mask of hunger and heat.
Oh, god.
“You want me, Miss Burel. Say it.”
“Of course I want you!”
“Then stop this. This ranting. This fear.” He released her shoulders and took her face in his hands. “I’m here with you, Genny. Don’t you understand that? You know how I feel, what I want—what I’m offering. My life is yours now. It’s insane and too fast, but it’s right. We both feel it. All I want to do is be with you, care for you, protect you.” His eyes searched her. “Whatever the problem is, I can fix it. Just tell me. Talk to me.”
She shook her head, her throat raw and tight.
“Yes,” he assured her. “It’s what males do for their females.”
Never in her life had someone looked at her this way. Wanted her this way. Utterly and unabashedly. And yet, she couldn’t embrace him. She’d chosen her path, made her commitment to the elders. And you didn’t go back on that. Not unless you wished to incur their wrath. Her family needed her now. And as she'd found out with her parents, running off, giving in to selfish choices, wasn't going to solve the problem of the busted magic attacking her family.
His voice deepened to a possessive growl. “I’ve claimed you, Genny. I nearly marked you with my teeth a moment ago, for fuck’s sake. And if we’d been inside the Wildlands, if I’d had access to my puma’s claws, I would have.”
She gasped then, her eyes going wide. All that he’d said when she was in his arms, beneath him, in front of him, crying out his name, came back in a rush. Yes, he’d offered for her and she’d allowed her mind to dismiss it. Pretend it never happened so she could enjoy the little bit of heaven she’d wanted so desperately. But now, looking up into his fierce, darkly handsome face, she could no longer dismiss it. The beautiful, perfect offer, and the ugly truth.
“No one can claim me, Jean-Baptiste,” she said with such deep regret it was palpable. “I’m not a Suit. Not anymore. I work for the elders. I can never be this way with you again. And I can never be your mate.”
Chapter 7
Dusk was settling over the bayou, soft and quiet and milky. The massive sable puma watched the one he wanted above all others scamper off into the trees, her nearly white gold pelt acting as a beacon, a spotlight. He wanted to run after her, block her path, growl at her, hiss at her. At least until she listened to reason, maybe dropped to her belly and let him curl up beside her again, lick her fur. But Genevieve Burel was determined to get to the elders, plead with them to forgive her and allow her back into their fold. And Jean-Baptiste had decided to let her.
He turned in a circle, snarling softly. She’d lied to him. And yet, how could he be angry with her? He’d lied to her, too.
He opened his mouth to scent her one last time, pull the sweet, delicate fragrance of her and her cat into his nostrils, then took off in the opposite direction. He’d give her twenty-four hours to come to her senses, listen to herself, her body, and her cat. Twenty-four hours to realize they belonged together. Twenty-four hours to come to terms with the fact that the elders were her past, and Jean-Baptiste was her future. Then he was going in.
Clock starts now, Miss Burel.
He yowled at a few black puma Hunters on patrol near the edge of the yellow cow lily-strewn bayou. They returned his call, and he continued on, weaving in and out of a stand of oak, catching the scents of Hunters and Suits among the pitcher plants and wild bee balm as he headed for town. Though his heart hurt like a motherfucker, he wanted to check on Ashe, Raphael, and on Isi. See what progress was being made. See if the voodoun was awake and plotting his demise.
The village was buzzing like the cave-top hive he’d stumbled upon as a cub when he broke through a patch of anise shrub. Must be close to evening meal, Jean-Baptiste thought, heading down one of the side streets. The Pantera pumas were all shifting into their human forms, waving goodbye to friends, rushing out of shops, making their way toward their residences. Baptiste spotted the clinic ahead and picked up speed. A few pumas, still in their cat forms, jumped out of his way, hissing, but Baptiste didn’t slow. Already up the steps and inside, he headed for his office, a place he’d hardly been in the last few months. He’d claimed to be either ill or working from home. He hadn’t wanted to risk a problem with his cat. But he didn’t have that problem anymore, did he? he mused, bursting into the lab. Not since Genevieve.
His lip curled and his cat purred. Damn, he missed her already. Maybe he should’ve insisted on going with her to see the elders, letting the three ancient females know just to whom their new recruit belonged. But he was trying not to be a possessive bastard. Trying to let her come to the realization that they belonged together on her own.
Of course, he wouldn’t wait long.
Twenty-four hours.
Tick. Tock.
“Come to check on your voodoun?”
His cat’s fur prickled and he turned around, eyed the party behind him. Raphael and two of the Pantera’s best physicians entered the lab, the latter wearing pale blue coats and looking very concerned.
Baptiste shifted instantly, loving the new and precious feeling of control he now had over his animal.
Raphael’s tired, green eyes narrowed with the new, quick and easy act. “Well, this a new development.”
Not confirming or denying the Suit’s assessment, Jean-Baptiste walked toward them. “The voodoun. She awake?”
“She is,” Angel said dryly, his night-black eyes and white short hair a startling contrast. “Awake and pissed.”
Grabbing the stack of charts from Angel’s hands, CJ headed for her desk. “I think the last time I checked in on her, she was planning your death.”
Just as he’d expected. “Weapon of choice?”
The red-haired female glanced up from her charts. “A little of everything. She was talking blades when we examined her. Then a very dull saw when we took blood.”
They’d done a full work-up? Christ, she was going to be spitting fire. “Did you give her anything?”
“Just some anti-nausea meds. She was pretty green when she woke up. But the meds seemed to have given her some relief.”
“Has she seen Ashe?” Jean-Baptiste asked.
Raphael growled before anyone could answer. “She’s refused.”
Damned, stubborn woman. “I’ll talk to her.”
“You need to do more than talk, Baptiste,” Raphael said, closing the gap between them, his nostrils flaring. “You need to convince her to come and see Ashe, help her, cure her—”
“Raphael—” he began.
But the leader of the Suits was too far gone now. Rage and fear and misery coated his skin, was the air he breathed, directed every move, every thought.
He cocked his head to one side and flashed Baptiste his fully-descended canines. “Because if she doesn’t help my female and cub, I won’t be able to stop myself from killing her.”
* * *
“The voodoun is here?” came the soft hiss. “In the Wildlands?”
“Yes.” Genevieve sat before the elders, her chin lifted, but her insides twisting and turning with dread and grief and desire for the male she’d left back in the bayou. The three ancient, female Pantera, who existed in their puma state, were coated in mist, and sat in the three points of a triangle on the wide, cypress bridge that extended across the calm, moonlit bayou.
“You failed to stop her,” said Wilu. The brown cat’s words were not a question.
Genevieve nodded. “I know.”
“What is your excuse?” Gaya asked, the blue-gray cat’s matching eyes thoughtful.
I was asleep. I was in bed with a male.
I fell in love.
Her shoulders falling, Genevieve shook her head. “I can only claim inexperience.”
The third elder, Tyee, rose to all four paws and started toward Genevieve, her white fur
, thick and lush. “Do you wish to rectify your failure, Genevieve?”
“I wish to apologize for it,” she said quickly.
The cat shook her head, her pale blue eyes narrowed. “It’s not enough if your goal is to be one of our students. An elder yourself someday.”
Warring emotions swam in Genevieve’s blood. This was it. Her choice, her decision, and she had nothing but excuses. They wanted her commitment to a cause she believed in wholeheartedly—a cause that could stop the decline of magic both inside her home and out—and she was hesitating. But could she truly give up seeing Jean-Baptiste again? Never being touched by him? Kissed by him? Even the idea, the thought, damaged her heart.
She was weak.
“It’s no loss, Genevieve,” Gaya said pleasantly. “Just as your mother before you, it seems that you may not be suited for such an honor.”
The words had not been meant to bruise. The elders only spoke in facts, truths, hard as they might be to face. But Genevieve winced all the same.
“I don’t believe that,” she said, her chin lifting.
“Your passion is elsewhere,” Wilu said, her bright yellow eyes clinging to Genevieve. “As is your focus. Perhaps you wish to find a mate.”
“No,” Genevieve said, shaking her head, even as her brain screamed, I already have!
Tyee stopped before her, leaned in and touched her black nose to Genevieve’s hand. “Perhaps the magic inside your home wanes because your belief in the elders wanes.”
Her heart lurched. “Never!”
The white puma dropped her head. “You have disappointed us, Genevieve Burel.”
“Wait—”
“You are released.”
Before Genevieve could say another word, all three elders vanished from the bridge, leaving only a thick mist curling above the bayou.
* * *
“You can forget my shop exists. No more ink. No more metal. I don’t care if your cat chews your dick off, understand?”
Standing in the middle of the lab, a six foot, black-haired linebacker of a Hunter guarding her back, Isi glared at Jean-Baptiste. Arms crossed over her chest, blue-streaked hair wild around her face, the woman looked ready to murder him, and he didn’t blame her one bit.
Bayon/Jean-Baptiste (Bayou Heat) Page 14
