Wild Cat(10)By: Christine Feehan
Her heart hammered madly. God. He was beautiful. Masculine. All roped muscle, wide shoulders and thick chest. With every movement, his very defined muscles rippled. Her mouth watered. Her pulse throbbed deep in her core. His wide shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and her eyes dropped lower. Her breath caught in her lungs.
“Siena,” he said again, this time firmly. A command.
She swallowed hard and let out her breath slowly. “Elijah.” She could barely get his name out. Her voice didn’t sound the same at all. It sounded husky. Sexy. Not at all her.
They stared at each other. Her breath refused to leave her lungs. He’d sucked all the air from the atmosphere until her lungs burned and felt raw. He looked predatory. Dangerous. Scary. He looked delicious. She licked her lips, holding on for dear life to the steering wheel, otherwise something terrible was going to happen. Her blood thundered in her ears, drowning out common sense.
“My grandfather sent you a belated birthday present, Elijah. A case of his reserve.” She nearly stammered the words. Her voice wasn’t her own. Husky. Sensual. Needy. Hungry.
His gaze drifted over her face and dropped to her chest. She couldn’t control her breathing. “So this is how he does it. He uses you. You’re a part of this? He uses you for his dirty work?” He nearly snarled the words at her. “And you let him?”
She had no idea what he was talking about. She barely heard the words through the roaring of her blood in her ears. She could barely think. Her mind was melting along with her body. So hot. Her breasts were on fire. She needed to drive away. Her finger instinctively went to the starter.
“Don’t.” His voice was low. She froze, her gaze skittering to his. “Get out of that fucking car right now.”
She didn’t dare obey him. His voice was every bit as husky as hers. Predatory. Hungry. She tried to shake her head, to tell him it wasn’t a good idea, but he was down the walkway and leaning into her car to unhook her seat belt. He simply lifted her into his arms, pulling her right out of the car and striding back to his house. Into the house.
She felt his hands burning like brands where he touched her. She clung to him, staring into his eyes, shocked at his behavior. All the while that burn got hotter until she was afraid she’d burst into flames. He slammed the door behind them and put her down, leaving her breathless. Her breasts heaving. Her stomach rolling. Damp heat spreading like wildfire between her legs.
“Take off your shoes.” It was a clear order, delivered in a harsh, rough voice that seemed to stroke her skin and leave behind flames.
She licked her lips, looking up at him. She was in way over her head, but he was so compelling she couldn’t move.
Impatient, a snarl on his face, he bent to the pale green strappy sandals and undid them, lifting her leg to force her to step out of them. She backed away from him on bare feet, unsure what to do.
“I’m not supposed to be in here. In your house,” she blurted stupidly.
Elijah stalked toward her. Siena backed up at the fury gathering in his eyes. It was so intense, the room smoldered with his temper. She had no idea why he was angry, but when her back hit the wall, she gave a small cry and turned to flee the house. Elijah smacked the wall hard, his hands on either side of her body, caging her in.
“I’ll just bet you’re not supposed to come in the house,” he hissed, his body utterly still. His eyes were so focused on her, she felt pinned beneath his stare. Mesmerized. His prey. Unable to move.
One hand came up to her hair, his fingers going to the elastic holding her ponytail in place. He dragged it out and sifted his fingers through it. “Soft as it looks. Is your skin as fuckin’ soft as it looks?”