Wild Cat(9)

By: Christine Feehan

She stared out into the wild, beckoning land. She needed to take some control in her life. She’d escaped to school, she realized. Ran away. She didn’t want to be home anymore. It wasn’t a sanctuary or a haven; it was an alien place filled with men who walked all over her. She needed to talk to her grandfather, without either Paolo or Alonzo around, and explain she was due a lot more freedom.

She had her own money. Her grandmother had left her a trust fund. Her parents had left her a second trust fund. She didn’t need to stay under her grandfather’s thumb if he disagreed with her. She needed to get some guts and actually confront him. It was time to get rid of the bodyguards. She was tired of living her life under the scrutiny of his army of men. She actually thought of them like that. Soldiers.

With a small sigh she took a deep breath and started up the drive again, toward the house. Her heart beat hard in anticipation of seeing Elijah. She hadn’t really been close to him since that last dinner, when she was nineteen. Just as when she was fifteen, his gaze had rested on her more than once, making her heart pound just the way it was doing now. Given that her body seemed to be raging with runaway hormones, this wasn’t the best time to be alone with him.

She decided to put the wine on his front porch and obey Paolo’s rule of staying out of the house. It was the only safe thing to do to keep from making an absolute fool of herself. She wasn’t even certain she could talk to him. Say a word. Maybe she’d gotten lucky and it had been his security people who had allowed her inside the high gates.

She pulled into the circular drive and stared up at the house. It wasn’t a mansion like her family home, but it was beautiful. Perfect. Homey. Not in the least ostentatious. She loved the wraparound verandah with the huge columns holding up a sloping roof that shaded the wide, inviting porch.

Elijah stood waiting at his front door, wearing a tight-fitting pair of jeans that rode low on his hips and fit very lovingly around his extremely nice butt. The breath left her lungs in a long rush. His jeans were carelessly buttoned, the top two left undone. He wore no shirt, displaying a heavily muscled chest. His black, black hair was unruly and damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. She swallowed hard, trying not to stare. Her already soaring temperature went up a couple more notches. She had forgotten how good he looked. He was definitely a man – no soft edges to him at all. Right now, intimately barefoot, his anger seemed to simmer right below the surface.

She couldn’t understand his anger, unless she had interrupted him with another woman. She blushed. Of course there would be a woman there. She hadn’t called. Her grandfather never had her call, saying he wanted it to be a surprise when she delivered his best reserve for whatever the occasion. She could see how intruding on a date with a willing woman would make Elijah mad.

Still, he looked so gorgeous. Handsome. Masculine. Dangerous. Immediately, that wild thing inside her stretched and unfurled. She felt hot. Very hot. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. She told herself he probably had a woman in the house with him, but it didn’t matter. Already, her blood rushed through her veins, so heated she knew she was flushed. Her breasts ached. Her sex spasmed. There was a burning between her legs that was worse than anything she’d ever experienced. She had the mad desire to fling herself at him, tear his clothes off and beg him to pound into her, filling her.

She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles grew white. His eyes drifted over her, an intense scrutiny that saw way too much. She had never seen a man more sensual in her life.

“Siena.” He said her name softly and took a step toward her.

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