Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers, #9)(124)
She regarded him with a mixture of reticence and wariness. “I’m Saria Boudreaux, your guide. You are Drake Donovan aren’t you?” She tilted her head to one side, studying him with concern. “If you don’ feel good from the trip, it’s all right. We can wait before we get you back on the water. Maybe get you somethin’ to eat?”
Her accent curled in his stomach. He could feel the reaction pulse through his groin. “I’m fine, Miss Boudreaux. I’ll be staying at the Dubois Inn, as you recommended. You said it was close to the canals and marshes I’ll be visiting?” He’d made certain the bed-and-breakfast she’d recommended was rarely visited and near the bayou, where there were groves of trees, marsh, and swamp. He’d rented the entire B&B on the chance he’d need his team, as well as to ensure his privacy.
She nodded. “Call me Saria. It will be easier since we’ll be spendin’ a week together. Is that your bag?” She indicated his small war bag with a nod of her head.
He’d be damned if she carried it for him. He reached down and lifted it himself, sending up a silent prayer that his very full groin would allow him to walk. “Just Drake then. Thanks for meeting me so late.” He never had such a reaction to a woman. It had to be the fierce need of his cat.
She shrugged and turned away from him, walking down the wooden sidewalk toward the grove of cypress trees dipping long, shimmery beards of moss into the water. She made no sound as she walked, a graceful, silent sway of her hips so enticing, his breath caught in his throat. He was not a man given to shocking, erotic images at the sight of a woman walking, but every cell in his body went on alert and he had the mad desire to leap on her, pin her under him, and devour her. He shook his head to try to clear the madness from his brain.
It was his leopard; that was the only sane answer. He’d been injured too long ago and his cat had been unable to emerge. Recently the man he chose to work for—well, okay, Drake had to admit it, his friend—Jake Bannaconni, had arranged an operation for him, grafting the bones of his kind to his bad leg in the hopes that he could someday shift. He wasn’t quite healed, and when he was tired he still occasionally walked with a limp, but his cat was growing more restless as each day passed, eager to test out the new material in his leg.
More and more the leopard fought to surface. He had purposely asked his guide to find a bed-and-breakfast in a remote area with the idea that he might try to allow the animal side of him freedom—it was that or go insane. He pushed down the voice of his surgeon to take it slow. He’d taken it so damn slow he really was losing his mind and his poor, unknowing guide was in danger of being savaged.
He was a man who automatically noticed everything, and there was no way not to watch Saria walk. He felt so damned old and she looked fresh and innocent and so far out of his league it wasn’t funny. But still, she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He breathed normally now, years of discipline taking over. The wildness receded even more. The small breeze caressed the wispy ends of her sun-kissed hair and his heart stuttered.
Saria turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, a slight frown on her face, her eyes assessing him. She slowed her pace. “Are you all right?”
He gave her a direct stare, the kind that usually scared the hell out of people. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He was gruffer than he intended, but she looked so damn young and innocent, and he wasn’t having a great deal of success controlling the images of her naked body, writhing under his—and that made him feel like a lecherous old man.
“You’re limpin’.”
There it was again, that little accent that seeped into his skin and made his cock jerk hard. And he wasn’t limping. No way. He kept his stare steady, regarding her without expression. “I don’t limp.” He walked with ease now, fluid and strong and damn it all, he’d gone from a lecherous old man to a decrepit one in her eyes. Faced with the sexiest woman alive, he had obviously forgotten suave and power.
Her eyebrow raised slightly. A dimple melted into that full, tempting mouth. She gave him a small, half-smile. “I’m glad we got that straight because the dock is a distance away. We can cut through town and a sort of Christmas tree forest, and then maneuver the edge of a cypress grove. That will save a few steps.”
He gave her a faint grin, not admitting a thing. “The quicker we get started, the better.”
The setting sun dropped a fiery shower of light just before it sank fully into the river, bathing her in red and orange flames. The silken fall of her hair beckoned him, impossible to resist. He reached out and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, his heart pounding. He felt a rush of heat pour through his bloodstream. Blood roared in his ears, thundered in his head.
She was potent, no doubt about it. She went completely still when he touched her, but she didn’t bat his hand away, as she had every right to do. Her eyes went liquid and she blinked, locking her gaze with his. She looked untamed, unattainable, and everything male in him responded to that challenge. He felt the ripple of response run through his heavily roped muscles, felt the strength and power of his body. She made him wholly aware of his power.
He had the ability to leap huge distances with absolute agility. He could land gracefully in either form—cat or man. He could slink like fluid water over the ground, so silent, not even the leaves dared move. Like his cat, the sheer power of his muscles enabled him to move fast to control prey. Those same muscles allowed him the stealth of freeze-frame motion, holding completely still until he disappeared into his surroundings.