Lion's Heat

by Lora Leigh

  h his tongue, and swore it would go no further.

  "I want to taste you," he groaned. "Just one kiss, but I know what just one kiss will do. It will destroy both of us."

  Her fingers were flexing against the door, her nails scraping the wood as his hands slid lower, bunched the fabric of her gown and began drawing it upward.

  His control was splintering. He could feel it. Every shred of strength he possessed was centered on holding her to him, keeping her locked in place while he touched.

  His cock was throbbing as he rolled his hips against the firm muscles of her ass. He imagined pushing her dress higher, tearing her panties from her, spreading the smooth globes and watching as he pressed his cock inside the heated depths of her pussy from behind.

  She would be tight.

  His fingers met the smooth flesh of her thigh, the material of her skirt and lacy underskirt flowing over his arm as he let them stroke the silken flesh until he worked his way to the tender skin at the crease of her thigh.

  "Jonas, if you don't stop now, you won't--" Her soft protest ended with a gasp as the pads of his fingers raked over the silk covering the humid heat of her pussy.

  "I'll stop." But he wasn't so certain.

  Jonas could feel the hunger rising now, the hormone spilling harder from the glands beneath his tongue and heating his senses with the need to share it.

  "Tonight, I have to walk into another of those parties, and I have to see other men watching you, smell their lust and their intent, and know you aren't yet my mate."

  "I'm not your mate, period," she argued breathlessly.

  His lips peeled back in a furious snarl.

  She was denying him, again.

  His fingers slipped beneath the elastic leg of her panties and before she could protest, two slid through the slick, hot juices hidden between the soft folds of flesh there.

  She was wet. Hot. She was his mate, whether she wanted to admit it or not. His mate. God help him, but he didn't know if he could let her go.

  Pleasure. She had never known so much pleasure in a man's arms in her life.

  Rachel fought not to arch against the touch of Jonas's fingers between her thighs, the callused pads rubbing, stroking.

  "Oh, God." The words slipped from her lips as heat swirled through her body, built and wrapped around her senses. "Jonas, we have to stop."

  He had to stop. She couldn't break away from him, even if he allowed it. All she could do was stand there, her nails raking against the wood of the door as her legs parted further for his touch.

  "I want inside you." His voice was so deep, so rough now. "You're so sweet, Rachel, so hot. The thought of how tight and slick you'll fit around my cock steals my breath."

  Hearing it stole her breath.

  Rachel's head fell back against his shoulder as sensual weakness assailed her. The dangerous, overwhelming sensation of vulnerability washed through her, making her feel feminine, more sexy than she had ever felt in her life.

  Jonas did that to her. Whether he was touching her or not, he had the ability to make her feel too soft, too female.

  "There, my Rachel," he crooned, a rough, rasping sound that sent shivers of arousal racing over her as his fingers circled her clit. "Just rest against me, baby. I'll take care of everything."

  Everything was sliding his fingers lower, pressing two together, and with blunted force thrusting into the narrow, tight confines of her vagina.

  "Oh God, Jonas." The words tore from her throat. "It's too good. It's too good."

  She was so close. She could feel her orgasm raking at her womb, pounding at her clit. Flames were licking across her flesh, centering between her thighs and causing her abdomen to clench with violent pleasure.

  "Think how much better it could be." His fingers bent just enough to caress, to stroke previously hidden nerve endings and tender tissue. "Think, Rachel. I could be fucking you, filling you with every inch of my hard cock instead of my fingers."

  She should have been insulted. She had never allowed Amber's father, Devon, to talk so explicitly to her. She had never enjoyed it--until she heard Jonas do it.

  Fighting to breathe, she turned her head, her lips glancing the hard line of his jaw as he continued to thrust slow and easy inside her. His fingers caressed with knowing strokes, rubbing, easing through the clenched muscles of her pussy as his other arm wrapped beneath her breasts to keep her on her feet.

  Her lips parted, pressing to his jaw, her tongue stroking over his sweat-dampened flesh to taste a hint of cinnamon and cloves. Her hands held on to his wrist, her fingertips rubbing against his flesh in concert with the strokes of his fingers inside her pussy.

  "You make me regret," he groaned as he lowered his head, allowing her lips to move as close as the corner of his lips.

  "Don't regret, Jonas." Her voice was broken, breathless from pleasure. "You have nothing to regret."

  He was a man. A man who had broken rules, one who had done things that perhaps were not even legal. But he had done what he had thought had to be done to save himself as well as his species.

  He was a man whose touch was pure pleasure, pure heat. A man who held her with strength and yet a gentleness in the face of overwhelming, animalistic pleasure. And still, he was in control. She could feel him fighting for it. Feel the struggle for it. The intent.

  Her body tensed, drawn tight as the pleasure built inside her. His fingers thrust deeper, stroked, firmed, fucked her with increasing speed until she began to pant for air, for mercy.

  Her nails bit into his arm, her lips parted against his cheek as a wail began to tear from her.

  Rapture exploded inside her. Blood pounded, boiled, erupted. Sensation raged, flaming through nerve endings, racing across her flesh, striking her clit, then deep inside her pussy at the same time, and throwing her into a cataclysm of such astounding pleasure that she completely lost her breath.

  Flaming fingers raced up her spine and back again. Her muscles trembled as sensation tore across it and her entire body became a writhing mass of complete ecstasy.

  "You're mine, Rachel." The growl at her ear was a snarl, a hard, primal vibration of sound that in no way resembled Jonas's voice. "Remember that when their eyes flame with lust, when the scent of their hunger is like a disease filling the fucking room. Damn you, remember you're mine."

  She shook her head desperately and could have sworn she heard him say with utmost softness, "I belong to you."

  CHAPTER 8

  The party for the ambassador to Switzerland was everything Jonas had known it would be: completely and utterly fucking boring and filled with the scent of male lust. There wasn't a second to escape the overwhelming male hunger each time their eyes centered on Rachel.

  She was like a breath of fresh air in the room, an oasis of color and sweet ease they couldn't resist. A buffet of sensual pleasure, which they were greedy to partake of.

  In other words, a typical D.C. party. Plenty of booze, high-calorie food--there wasn't a steak to be seen or smelled--and enough false joviality to make a saint curse. Enough attention given to his mate that he was on the edge of violence at any given moment.

  Drey Hampton's ballroom was filled to capacity. The double French doors on the garden side were thrown open; the band on the patio was smooth and unobtrusive, but it wouldn't have mattered. The noise level inside the ballroom would have drowned the music out anyway.

  And then there was the ambassador to Switzerland, David Slussburg--a fine piece of work. What the hell had ever possessed the president--who seemed to be a fairly astute individual--to assign this man as ambassador to any country, Jonas couldn't figure out. He was a cesspool of greed, deceit and lust. Beady eyes, a vain, pinched expression filled with calculating interest.

  "So tell me, Wyatt, has Racert managed to convince you of the value of joining some of his pet projects?" Slussburg gave a false little laugh as he asked the question. "Now's the time to get in."

  "Actually, he hasn't, Slussburg," Jonas replie
d smoothly, watching as the ambassador's eyes narrowed at the obvious insult of using his last name only. "Racert and I have a difference of opinion on what constitutes a worthy cause."

  He felt Rachel shift nervously beside him.

  Glancing over, he nearly caught his breath at the sight of her once again. That damned gown tempted a man in ways that should be illegal. The fall of lace gave the slightest hint of stockings shot with sapphires, while the bodice cupped and hugged what had to be perfect breasts. He thought he might have even glimpsed the hardened buds of her nipples beneath it after they had danced earlier.

  He knew her nipples had been hard in his receiving room earlier that evening. Her nipples had been hard, her pussy so tight and hot it had clamped on his fingers like a hungry little mouth.

  "That's not a wise move, Wyatt." Slussburg lowered his voice as he moved closer, the scent of greed, lust and hatred pouring from him as he interrupted the pleasant thoughts Jonas had been building in his mind. "Senator Racert could be the wrong enemy to make."

  Jonas smiled, careful to ensure that he flashed the incisors at one side of his mouth. For some reason, the sight of those healthy, primal teeth had the ability to fill most men with a strong measure of trepidation.

  "Wisdom doesn't seem to be my forte then, does it?" Jonas kept his smile tight, hard.

  Slussburg wasn't to be outdone. He turned his gaze to Rachel, the lust-filled scent that emanated from him increasing as his gaze raked over her.

  "It seems it's not," he murmured. "I hear our lovely Ms. Broen is learning that as well. Rumor has it that gas explosion in her home was a strike against you. Now you're not just endangering your own life, but your employees' as well."

  "Jonas, I see Senator Tyler." Rachel's tone was firm at his side as he and Slussburg locked gazes. "He needed to speak to you tonight."

  Tyler was the Breeds' go-between with Drey Hampton, the billionaire whose fingers were tipped ever so tentatively into the Genetics Council sewer due to his family's past relationship with them.

  "Ah, Rachel, always the tactful little soul." Slussburg all but sneered in her face, causing the beast in Jonas to awaken with predatory interest.

  "As always, Ambassador." Rachel nodded her head regally before turning and gazing up at Jonas. "Are you ready?"

  "As you command, my dear." He nodded, though he wanted nothing more than to rip out the ambassador's throat.

  Moving through the crowd, Jonas could sense the relief pouring off Rachel in waves. She didn't like being around the ambassador, and Jonas had a feeling he suspected why.

  "What did he do to you?" He leaned close and whispered the words at her ear.

  "Who?" The tension in her body assured him that she knew exactly who he was talking about.

  "I can go back there, lure him outside and rip his fucking tongue out," he murmured in her ear. "Or you can simply tell me what I want to know."

  And he had no problem whatsoever doing exactly that. Or at least letting them both believe he would. He was fairly good at that.

  "He's an ass," she said quietly. "We've had some run-ins."

  And how very tactful she was.

  "Did he touch you?" His hand tightened at the small of her back. If the bastard dared to have touched her, then he was dead. It was that simple.

  "He didn't touch me." And she wasn't lying, but there was more to the story and he knew it. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to get the answers he needed at the moment, and he knew it.

  "We're going to discuss this later," he warned her. And she would tell him the truth. One way or the other.

  "There's nothing to discuss, Mr. Wyatt." Prim and proper, her cool little voice pricked at his anger, as well as his lust.

  "We'll see about that." His hand tightened at her hip as they approached Senator Samuel Tyler, Merinus Lyons's uncle and a career senator who had stood by the Breeds from the day he learned of their existence.

  Standing with him was Drey Hampton, the current head of the Hampton family and business empire, which stretched across three nations. Tall, blond, with penetrating dark blue eyes and cynically brooding features. Seth Lawrence and his Breed mated wife, Dawn, were part of the group. Dawn had come a long way from the frightened, scared Cougar Breed Jonas had first met eleven years before. Most of that change could be attributed to Seth and his patience and unending love for the woman who had spent ten years denying the bond between them.

  Dawn was the only known Breed in the group besides Jonas. There was the son of an African industrialist, Dane Vanderale and his assistant, Rye Desalvo. The Vanderales easily rivaled, if not outpaced, the Hamptons completely in wealth, as well as multinational power. Among the Breed opponents who were a part of the group were Senator Racert, General James Wayne and the man known as the leading contender in the next presidential race, Senator Aaron Bressfield.

  The most elite and politically powerful members of society were in attendance, which was befitting any party Drey Hampton threw. This one small group represented both the most powerful support for and against Breed freedom as it stood at that moment.

  "Ms. Broen, how charming to see you," Drey greeted Rachel with a quick, brooding charm that instantly set Jonas's hackles to rising. Damn, if he didn't take her soon, then he was going to begin slicing and dicing would-be suitors like the hapless little bastards they were. Drey included.

  "Good evening, Mr. Hampton." Cool, yet charming. Rachel showed no personal interest in Drey; there was no scent of sexual allure, no sense of deception or of intent.

  Okay, he might allow the bastard to live a little longer.

  A thread of amusement lingered in his senses. Strange, never before had he been jealous over another woman. Never before had he thought to kill simply because she may have had the smallest bit of interest in another man. Hell, he'd never given a damn either way before.

  "Would you like to dance, Ms. Broen?" Drey's invitation caused Jonas to turn his head sharply, his lips parting on a growl.

  "No, thank you, Mr. Hampton," she declined graciously as Jonas felt her fingers against his arm. "It seems my dance card is full tonight."

  Possession. Intent. It was there now, directed at him.

  Jonas clenched his teeth involuntarily against the surge of need that tightened his balls and throbbed through his cock.

  The glands beneath his tongue began to pulse. Emotion fueled the powerful hormone as it spilled to his mouth and entered his system like a tidal wave.

  "I would appreciate it if you would excuse me for a moment." She nodded to the other men. "I need to go to the ladies' room."

  "I think I'll accompany you," Dawn decided after the quick, commanding look Jonas shot her.

  She might be the mated wife of one of the most powerful men in the United States, but she was also still an Enforcer, and under his jurisdiction if she were in the area at the time.

  Jonas ignored the quick frown her husband shot him. If worse came to worst and Seth decided to initiate a confrontation, Jonas was confident he could take him. The look he shot the other man was full of that confidence as well.

  For the briefest moment, Jonas wondered if he was actually beginning to lose the grip he once had on himself. Once, he would have been actively pursuing a manipulation, a game of words, any way possible to show the bastards here that they weren't better than he, as they believed.

  Instead, his mind was on one thing and one thing only: the information Drey Hampton might have, and the difficult job of retrieving Phillip Brandenmore from Iran.

  "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse myself and Mr. Wyatt, I believe we have some business to discuss with Seth," Senator Tyler announced as the women moved away. Turning to Jonas, he gave him a telling look. "Seth has an interesting proposition, Jonas. I believe you should hear it."

  In other words, Senator Tyler had information he needed to impart. If Drey had circumvented their normal information routes for such events, then there was a problem.

  Jonas nodded to Drey cordially before turning and mov
ing to the opposite end of the ballroom and the short, narrow flight of stairs that led to what was supposed to be a secured meeting room.

  Jonas rather doubted anything here was too secure. Drey might try like hell to keep his secrets, but that didn't mean he would actually triumph.

  Rachel entered the ladies' room with Dawn following close behind. Pushing into the powder room designed for several women to use at once--something she rarely saw in a private residence--she wasn't surprised to find Dawn close at her heels.

  "Jonas is a bit of a slave driver, isn't he?" Dawn stated as she moved to the wide, tall mirrors and opened her purse to repair her makeup.

  Tension didn't often go well with makeup. A fine sheen of perspiration appeared on Rachel's forehead and temples, making repairs imperative.

  "He can definitely be a little tense," Dawn murmured as she propped herself against a wall and met Rachel's gaze in the mirror. "But he generally knows what he's doing."

  Like sending Dawn to "protect" Rachel in the ladies' room? She'd been to Drey Hampton's parties more than once, and she had yet to run into a rabid human or Breed in the ladies' room.

  Finishing with her makeup, Rachel washed her hands, dried them, applied a fresh layer of lotion, then turned to the Breed female.

  "He's making me a nervous wreck," she muttered. "Have a talk with him or something." She knew better; he might well return to the subject concerning the ambassador.

  "Yeah, I'll get right on that." Dawn gave a short, amused laugh as her brown eyes lit with laughter.

  Turning to the mirror, the other woman straightened several shoulder-length golden brown strands of hair that had fallen free of their diamond-studded clip before turning back to Rachel. "Ready?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be." Rachel sighed.

  Dawn Lawrence gave her a small, seemingly understanding smile before moving ahead and opening the door.

  Two women were waiting in the hall, one a small brunette, the wife of a congressman, the other a matronly, pinched-faced middle-aged widow of a former governor. But the women took one look at Dawn, knew her for who she was, and rather than extending a cordial or even polite greeting, turned their noses up and turned away from her. It didn't matter who they were, what they were, they were extending to the Breeds the same disrespect as others whose family members or friends had invested funds in the Genetics Council did. Some had known what the Council was, some hadn't. Yet still, their associates and family members carried the same hatred and disrespect for life that those involved had shown.

  Dawn acted as though she hadn't seen the display, but rather walked regally back toward the ballroom.

  It happened a lot, Rachel knew. The Breeds were either loved or hated; there was very little in between. But here, amid the glitter, political intrigue, infighting and deals made and broken, she would have thought attitudes would have at least carried a polite face.

  As though she had sensed Rachel's thoughts, Dawn began speaking as they reentered the ballroom. "Those two have worked diligently to attempt to ensure that the Breeds go back to the labs. Some people seem to have an instinct for the animals that have been unleashed, wouldn't you say?" The edge of cynicism in her voice was at odds with the happiness Rachel glimpsed in her eyes whenever she was with her husband.

  "Humans fear change, or anyone different from themselves," Rachel said as they moved along a path that Dawn seemed to have an instinct for.

  The guests they passed smiled and many attempted to engage the two women in conversation, which Dawn effectively fielded.

  There was an additional tension filling her body as she began to move through the crowd with an added firmness to her step. Even dressed in a ball gown and heels, Dawn seemed to exude command as her head suddenly lifted, her nostrils flaring.

  Rachel was surprised that she noticed the signs of sudden, sharp instinct within the other woman. Something had happened, something that now had Dawn moving through the crowd like a hot knife through butter.

  Not that the other guests seemed to be aware of it. What they saw was the woman, sensual and yet predatory, drawing them in even as some human survival instinct warned them to keep away.

  The path Dawn was clearing had the women heading straight for the wide double doors that led to the large marble foyer and from there, the front entrance to the house.

  "Jonas is waiting on us." Dawn turned back to her briefly before continuing to the exit. "He, Seth and the Enforcers who were stationed outside are in the foyer."

  "Ms. Broen, leaving so soon?" Rachel would have ignored Ambassador Slussburg's smooth, sneering little voice if he hadn't suddenly gripped her arm and pulled her to a stop.

  Just that quickly, Dawn turned.

  Her expression remained calm and poised, but the dark brown of her gaze seemed to flicker with flames as her fingers clamped over Slussburg's arm.

  "Ambassador Slussburg," she stated, her voice cordial, even as it rumbled with danger. "I suggest you release her."

  His hand was lifting slowly, his fingers uncurling from her arm when Rachel felt the hairs at the back of her neck lift in primal warning. Hell, she wasn't even a Breed and she could feel the violence suddenly swirling in the air.

  Her head swung around, and there he was. Silver eyes almost neon, the black pupils nearly obliterated by the swirls of mercury as he stalked toward them.

  "Let's go." Dawn gripped her wrist and pulled her quickly from the ambassador. When they were far enough away not to be overheard, Dawn murmured, "Get control of him, Rachel, no matter what it takes. He's lost logic. That's the animal you see, and only you can control it now. We don't have time for this. Trust me."

  Rachel's heart was pounding out of control. She had seen the rage in the ambassador's gaze, had felt the pure, violent fury pouring from him as he stopped her. Her arm would hold bruises later from his hold.

  That hadn't been frightening. She hadn't been scared of the ambassador, but the man striding toward her now, his gaze reflecting death and pure fury, terrified her.

  In a second's insight, Rachel realized that none of the guests around them realized that the man striding through their crowded throng was an animal prepared to kill. That the wrong word, the wrong look, the wrong touch could unleash the very killer they all feared in the darkness of the night.

  "No!" She stepped in front of him, unafraid for herself, terrified for the ambassador and anyone who would try to save him or to get in Jonas's way.

  He paused, then attempted to move aroun