Wild Fire

by Christine Feehan

  He looked around the small rustic cabin. This would be her life with him, at least for a long while. Always traveling from one assignment to the next. He could never be far from the forest, he knew he could never live in a city. He'd spent time in the United States on a large ranch, a beautiful place, but not for him.

  "Can you live like this, Isabeau?"

  She smiled at him. "With you? This is exactly where I want to be."

  Conner shook his head. "I want you to give it some thought, beloved. You have to really think about what it would be like day in and day out. I'm a demanding man. I like my way. I've tried to be honest about what I want with you and I look around and see I'm not exactly offering you the world. At times it will be dangerous, and the intensity of those moments can be overwhelming in a bad way."

  She frowned at him. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

  His hands framed her face. "No. Of course not. I just want you to be very sure of the reality of loving me. It won't always be wonderful."

  "Like finding dead bodies in a garden or having to kill someone?" Her voice cracked and she scowled at him. "I know exactly what I'm getting into, Conner. You haven't exactly soft-soaped it. I met you while you were on an assignment, remember? That didn't turn out so well for me. I'm not a princess caught in a fairy tale. I'm a real-life woman who has a brain and can figure out consequences."

  "Have you figured out what it will be like living with me? The man? The leopard?"

  She reached back and touched the bite mark on her shoulder with trembling fingers. "That's one thing I do know. You're not a mystery there, Conner. You like your way when it comes to sex."

  "In all things."

  She laughed at him. Amusement sparkled in her eyes. "Really? In all things? I don't think so. I think you care about what I want, what makes me happy. Even in sex, you want me thinking of your pleasure, but while I am, you're thinking of mine. You don't see yourself nearly as well as I see you."

  "I know I love you, Isabeau, with every breath in my body, and I wouldn't survive you leaving me. I had an endless fucking year without you, and I never want to go through that again."

  Isabeau smiled and leaned into him, her tongue sliding over his shaft. She took her time, lapping at him lovingly, while his hands settled in her hair and stroked caresses. She was answering him in a way no other woman would think to do and his heart nearly burst with love for her.

  She took her time, making certain that he heard her--that he knew exactly what she was saying--shouting--in silence to him. She was aware of every shiver of his body, every tiny nuance, as she took care of him, bringing him back to his semi-hard state. She sank back and smiled up at him. "I'm going to go clean up and fall into bed and sleep for hours. Do not wake me up."

  He knew he would. And he knew she knew it. Her smile was like the cat that ate the canary. She knew exactly what she did to him with that mouth of hers. With the way she loved him. He watched her walk away, and for the first time, she seemed comfortable with her nudity in front of him, her hips swaying provocatively, enticingly.

  "Little minx," he whispered and lay back on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his neck, satisfaction humming through his veins. She made him feel on top of the world. She made him feel--magic.

  He contemplated the ceiling, his body languid and sated, stretching like the cat that he was. She came back into the room, her body fluid and graceful, very feminine, and both he and his leopard admired her as she crossed to his side and sank down onto the bed.

  Conner lay on his side, one elbow propping him up while his other hand stroked caresses through her wild mane. She was right about her hair. The strands had dried into a riot of curls he found intriguing. She usually wore her hair sleeker, hiding her untamed look. He liked her wild side.

  "I've been thinking, Isabeau," he murmured, watching the moonlight play across her face. "Neither of us have family anymore."

  "You have a brother."

  It was an unexpected body blow. "I do. I didn't think about that aspect--of what I'd be asking of you."

  Her lashes veiled her eyes. "And what would that be?"

  "Well, of course I have to take the boy in. Raise him myself. He's only five years old. If you were with me, I'd be asking you to be a mother to him."

  She made a small sound, much like a sigh. "I'm way ahead of you, Einstein. Of course we'll raise him, what else would we do? Your mother would haunt us forever if we didn't. Besides, I've met him. He has your eyes and mop of hair. He's a darling boy. Now go to sleep."

  He continued to play with her hair, watching her breathe. The long expanse of her skin looked soft and tempting in the moonlight. The ache in his groin was pleasant, not painful, and he rather enjoyed just lying there, his body spooning hers, his cock tight against the crack of her butt, his thighs pressed against hers. This would be his nights. Isabeau in his bed. He looked down at her breasts, the nipples soft and inviting. Someday a child of his would nestle there and feed and it would be the most beautiful thing in the world.

  "Marry me, Isabeau." His hand left her hair to cup her breast, his thumb brushing lazily back and forth across her nipple, knowing he was sending tiny sparks of arousal straight to her clit. He kept his touch gentle and undemanding.

  She kept her eyes closed. "I already said I would. Now go to sleep."

  "Marry me tomorrow, Isabeau," he whispered, his hand stilling, his palm curling around her breast to just hold the soft weight.

  Her lashes lifted then. She blinked and turned her head enough to look over her shoulder at him. "Tomorrow?"

  "I want you to be my wife. Neither of us has family--other than the boy. The team is our family. The doc could arrange it for us. My guess is this valley is made up of leopards. The doc would only settle where his expertise would help his own people. I want to know that you're waiting for me at the other end of this thing."

  She rolled over slowly and pressed her hand to his face. "Conner. I love you. I know what you have to do to get those children back. And I know it makes you feel dirty and not worthy of me, but it makes you more so. Don't you see that? You're an extraordinary man to risk what we have for the safety of others. I meant what I said when I told you I stand behind you one hundred percent. You tell me what to do to help you and I'll do it."

  "Marry me tomorrow. Be my wife. That would help me."

  She swallowed. He watched the motion of her throat, intrigued that she would be nervous when he knew she was so committed to him. He stroked his fingers down her throat and felt that convulsive swallowing and then traced her lips with the pad of his thumb and felt them tremble. "What is it, baby?" He kept his voice soft and low, intimate. "Are you afraid?"

  She blinked rapidly again. "I just have a difficult time sometimes . . ."

  "With . . . ?" he prompted, his hand shaping her breasts again and then sliding down to rub small circles on her belly.

  "With believing that a man like you could really be satisfied with a woman like me."

  His hand stilled. He stiffened. "What the hell does that mean, Isabeau?"

  Isabeau turned onto her back and stared up at his face, scarred and tough, experience and danger in every line. Although the moonlight spilled across her, he was still hidden in the shadows, something she equated with him. He would always be that shadow man. Rugged. Tough. A little mysterious. And so--so experienced in every way she wasn't. "Way out of my league."

  His mouth quirked, his smile slow in coming. "You have it backward, honey. I've always known you were way out of my league with your innocence and your trust. You're the most beautiful thing in my life, and I'm not talking about your exceptional body, which I'll admit I'm quite fond of. You're everything I want, Isabeau, and you should never feel like you can't keep up. If anything, it's the other way around."

  "I'm not talking about intellect here, or even courage. I feel I can be an asset to you, Conner, but here, in bed, I don't have any experience, other than what you've taught me."

  His shaft jerked ag
ainst her bottom, grew hotter and thicker. He laughed softly. "Feel that, baby? That's what you do to me. You're so willing to please me and you follow instructions beautifully. A man wants a woman who gives him her trust and her body without reservation. You do that. I can't ask for anything more. You aren't afraid to tell me--or show me what you like. You don't think that's a turn-on? To watch you enjoying my body is the biggest turn-on there is. Sex is just sex, Isabeau. Love is different. Love is both mind and body, heart and soul. I don't know how else to say it. When I'm with you, it isn't just about my body being satisfied. I've had love--your brand of love--and I don't ever want anything else."

  She rolled back over onto her side and scooted her round, firm bottom tighter into his lap. "Fine then. I accept. Now go to sleep."

  Conner stared down at her, at the long lashes once more veiling her eyes, and he started to laugh. "You're going to be hell to live with, aren't you?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Well, aren't you going to talk about dresses and suits?"

  "I don't have a dress."

  "Are we getting married naked then? It has its possibilities."

  She laughed softly. "You would think that. No. We're wearing clothes. Now go to sleep. Talking makes you hard."

  "You make me hard. Looking at you makes me hard. Lying beside you gets me hard. The sound of your voice, the touch of your skin . . ."

  She pushed back into him and wiggled, rubbing her buttocks back and forth across his shaft. "Stop! I get the point."

  "So you want to wear clothes. What clothes? We didn't exactly pack much and your dress has blood all over it. I shredded my clothes when I went to help Jeremiah."

  "I'll wear my jeans. I brought a change of clothes, jeans and a T-shirt. Well, a tank top, but it will be fine. The point isn't our clothes, right?"

  "So a dress then. And a suit. We'll have to ask doc where we can come up with something that will work."

  Her laughter was muffled against the pillow. "You're impossible. I have no idea where we're supposed to come up with a dress and a suit, but whatever." Her eyes opened and she looked at him again from over her shoulder. "And I can tell you're going to go through a lot of clothes. Perhaps you should practice stripping on the run without ruining what you're wearing."

  "Extreme circumstances call for extreme reaction."

  "Not if I'm the one having to try to repair said clothes. And if you go around ripping your clothes to shreds, what do you think your little brother will do? He's going to follow your example in all things."

  "Do you think so?" He rolled her over onto her back and swept his hand from her breasts to her thighs, slowing along her flat belly and mound before traveling lower. "I love the feel of your skin."

  "I'm not moving, Conner. If you're going to . . ." She broke off with a little cry when he dipped his head and swept his tongue along the same path as his hands, this time stopping at the junction between her legs.

  She laughed and caught his hair in her hands, holding him there.

  16

  ISABEAU took the cup of tea from Mary Winters with a small smile. "Conner wants me to find a dress to wear. For some reason it's really important to him."

  "And it isn't to you?" Mary asked gently.

  Isabeau looked down into the steaming cup. "I don't want it to be. It isn't like I have family. My mother died so long ago I barely remember her and my father . . ." She broke off. It wasn't like she had anyone to walk her down the aisle. The wedding was going to be taking place in the doctor's backyard right on the edge of the rain forest. White, flowing, traditional dresses wouldn't make sense anyway. "I think every girl dreams of this day, walking down the aisle with her father, surrounded by family and friends." She shrugged. "I want to marry Conner, of course, but I pictured it all happening quite differently."

  Mary reached out and sympathetically patted her knee. "Don't be depressed, Isabeau. You can make this day anything you want. When Abel asked me to marry him, we had no one either. Now . . ." Her smile was warm. " . . . our family is very large and we're blessed with several grand-children. I remember the day we got married as if it were yesterday. You want your day to be like that. Your man is so excited. I can see joy on his face."

  Isabeau's smile lit her eyes. "Me too. That's why I've agreed to this. It's such an imposition for you."

  "Did you know Marisa?" Mary asked, placing her cup carefully on the white-laced tablecloth.

  Isabeau nodded. "I met her a short while ago, right before she was killed. She was a good friend to me. At the time, I didn't know she was Conner's mother."

  "But she knew you were Conner's chosen mate," Mary said. "I know because I always knew with my sons. Mothers have that extra sense about them."

  "I hope she knew. I hope she approved."

  "Marisa was an accepting person. The man she chose when she was young and impressionable wasn't her true mate, but she remained loyal to him in spite of the fact that he was so wrong in the way he treated her. She raised her son to be a good man, and she would have raised the boy she took . . ." She broke off when Isabeau gasped.

  Mary nodded. "Yes, dear, we knew about little Mateo. Marisa brought him to us when she needed a doctor for him. She was a good woman, and she would be so happy that you are going to be the one to share her son's life. I know she would."

  "You're very kind," Isabeau said.

  "I knew Marisa very well, Isabeau, and she would want me to help you. I'd like to do just that if you don't mind. I never had a daughter--only sons. Fortunately I love all of their wives, but they have their own parents to handle things like weddings. Marisa and I often talked about that--how as a mother we both had dreamt of creating a wonderful day for our daughters. She had no daughter either, so she pinned her hopes on Conner's wife--you. She isn't here, but perhaps you would be willing to fulfill both our dreams."

  Emotion nearly choked Isabeau. Tears burned behind her eyes and she had to bite down hard on her lip to stifle a sob. "I don't know what to say. You make me feel like anything is possible."

  Mary's face lit up. "Anything is. I just happen to have this trunk and it will be a treasure chest for us, I think." She assessed Isabeau's size, drawing her out of the chair and making her turn in a circle. "Yes, I think we'll be just fine, and if not, well, I'm pretty handy with a sewing machine. Let me just make a few phone calls. I have friends who will come help us."

  "Conner might be concerned about strangers around, especially with Jeremiah in a bad way," Isabeau pointed out reluctantly.

  "Jeremiah is doing much better. Go have a look in on him and let your man know what I'm doing. Remind him that Abel and I have known those I'm calling for over twenty years. I've got a million things to do. Go reassure yourself that your friend is doing better and then get right back here."

  Isabeau felt her heart leap in her chest. For the first time, she felt lighter, as though there was a chance she could make the day special and memorable. Most likely, she realized, because she had someone to share her happiness with, someone to talk to while she got ready. Conner had Rio and the others, even Doc, but she didn't know anyone that well. Mary made Isabeau feel as if she was being fussed over: Not only did she want to help with the preparations, but she looked forward to it.

  She nodded and went on through the house to the back room where Jeremiah was resting. Conner and Rio were in the room with him. Jeremiah looked pale, bruises and lacerations marring his body. An IV fed him and she noted a bag of antibiotics dripping into his arm.

  "How is he?" she asked.

  Conner wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to the side of the bed. "He's fighting an infection, but Doc says he'll make it. He's going to have an interesting voice for the rest of his life."

  Rio sighed. "I shouldn't have used him. He wasn't ready."

  "I don't think you could have stopped him," Isabeau said. "He felt guilty for listening to Suma in the first place. He had the need to make it up to himself and maybe to me. He would have just followed you."
<
br />   "He handled himself well," Conner pointed out. "He didn't panic and in spite of encountering an enemy, he went back to the original mission, trying to protect us. Suma was experienced and a fighter. I had a few bad moments with him myself. Isabeau shot him, remember? I just finished the job."

  "You would have taken him," Rio said, "but it was going to take time we didn't have."

  "I think Ottila is going to be more dangerous than ever," Isabeau ventured hesitantly. "He appeared to take a backseat to Suma, but I didn't believe it after encountering him. I think he was the brains. And I think his number-one priority will be seeking revenge for Suma."

  Conner shook his head. "It will be acquiring you."

  She frowned. "Suma and Ottila seemed like close brothers. He said they . . ." She bit her lip and forced herself to continue, although she found it embarrassing. "They shared everything--including women. He was willing to share me with Suma, although he said I would carry his child."

  "That alone speaks to who is the dominant," Rio said. "He would have taken her in her heat, not allowing Suma access to her, to insure the child was his. She's right, Conner, it was Ottila, not Suma, who was calling the shots."

  "And we know they aren't entirely loyal to Imelda," Conner added. "Or they would have told her Philip Sobre was recording their conversations. My guess is, they pushed Sobre to do it. Ottila probably had Suma approach Sobre and lay out a plan. They would pretend to work for Imelda, but really be working for him. They most likely suggested he tape the conversations, probably even told him how. Sobre isn't the brightest man on the planet."

  "Wasn't," Rio corrected. "Did you see the newspaper this morning?"

  Isabeau snuck a quick look at Conner from under her lashes. They hadn't looked at a newspaper or done much else other than enjoy each other's body. She had lost count of the times he woke her and still, when the morning light crept into the room, he'd already be moving inside her. She wasn't certain she could walk normally and definitely was a little sore.

  "Philip Sobre was found murdered. He was hanging in a closet with his entrails wrapped around his cut throat. His tongue had been pulled through the opening in the traditional 'Colombian necktie.' He had obviously been tortured extensively. The party was mentioned, but the guests were all seen leaving, and Philip waved good-bye from the door, kissing the ladies, even Imelda on both cheeks," Rio said. "They have video surveillance to prove it."