Wild Cat

by Christine Feehan

  "I do remember that," Elijah murmured. "Your grandfather went ballistic."

  She nodded. "It was a terrible time. He didn't keep me home, although I begged him to. He sent me right back to school, but with different bodyguards. Alonzo was one of them and he practically didn't leave my side. Still, there was another attempt. After that, he made it clear I wouldn't be going on dates or to the home of any friend. I was even more isolated."

  She sighed and made a move to inch away, to put some distance between them. The heat from his body had begun to seep into her, warming her. His masculine scent surrounded her until she felt as if she was breathing him in with every breath she drew. Instantly, his arms came up to surround her. He locked his hands over her waist.

  "Stay put. I'm interested."

  "I can tell you just as easily from a distance."

  "Yes, but I want you right here. Close to me." His hands dropped lower until his palm was over her womb, his fingers splayed wide. "I like sitting here on our bed, you between my legs, my arms around you and our baby in my hand. Talk to me."

  There it was. His bossy. It was natural to him. Before she could protest, he rubbed his face against the side of her neck, his lips leaving behind tiny flames with each kiss he gave her. Tiny ones. Barely there. She felt them all the way to her toes. She felt her sex flutter and clench, a slow burn starting. She sighed heavily, but he didn't loosen his hold on her, so she gave in. Like she seemed to be doing a lot of with him.

  "Somewhere my grandfather got the idea that he wanted me to marry either Paolo or Alonzo. They ran things for him, carried out his orders, knew the business inside and out, he said. I thought he was talking about the winery and our other legitimate businesses. We own several, mostly to do with wine. We own several vineyards as well. I wasn't happy about it and I figured when I got my degree, rather than come home and face disappointing him, I would continue my education."

  "You went clubbing." It was an accusation, and it came out like one. "I saw you. You were dancing and every man in the place was watching you. You wore a dress that clung to your body. Dios. So beautiful. I wanted my hands where that material was. All over you. It was all I could do not to carry you off that night."

  "I didn't see you." And she usually had radar where he was concerned.

  "I was so damned hard looking at you I could barely walk, let alone dance," he admitted. There was a definite edge to his voice. "I couldn't take all the men drooling over you, and I knew if I stayed, I'd end up hurting someone."

  She glanced at him over her shoulder again. His handsome features had settled into hard lines and flecks of dark burst through the mercury of his eyes. It was fascinating to watch his eyes changing color.

  "What did you do?"

  He cursed in his native language, a rapid staccato of Spanish. "I took a woman home and fucked her brains out. It didn't help. I took a shower and jerked off. That didn't help either."

  She blinked, shocked at his honesty. Reading his anger in his darkening features. "Why are you upset with me, Elijah? I went dancing."

  "In that fucking dress, without me to protect you."

  "I had bodyguards."

  "I don't give a fuck whether you did or not. You wore that dress. You look the way you do, and every bastard in the place had his eyes on you. Hell, half of them probably went into the bathroom and jerked off. I knew you were my woman, and I don't share with others. Not any part of you."

  She didn't like a word he said. Conversely, she liked everything he said. That's what he did to her, confused her until she didn't know how to think or feel. She liked that he noticed her. She secretly liked that he was jealous, but the rest of it . . . Even that. She needed help. He was making her crazy. She decided the best course of action was to carry on with her story because she was making a point.

  "I didn't date. Not ever. You know I hadn't been with anyone."

  "Which is one of the reasons you didn't find yourself over my knee."

  She started laughing. She couldn't help it, and the sound startled her.

  "What's so funny about that?" he growled, his chin settling on her shoulder.

  "That's such a you thing to say. If you're trying to convince me I'm safe with you, that's not the thing to say."

  "You are perfectly safe with me. That doesn't mean I won't protect what's mine. You don't go anywhere in dresses like that without me right next to you."

  She wasn't touching that. Not even a little bit. "The point I'm trying to make here, Elijah, is that I never had a home, and that hurt. My grandfather wasn't who I thought he was, and that hurt. The man he chose for me really wasn't the man I thought he was, and that hurt big-time. I've had enough of being alone. I've had enough of never feeling loved. I want that. I don't want to be hurt. You could hurt me. You did hurt me. The way you hurt me was worse than all the rest of it."

  She knew what she was admitting. She'd had feelings for him long before she'd ever driven the wine over. She had known she was being ridiculous, but she'd still fallen in love with the mythical man--especially after they had ignited together. She thought he felt the same way--that what they had together was love burning so hot and bright they wouldn't ever be able to be apart. She'd been wrong. Way wrong. She knew she'd been naive. It had been just sex. Raw. Hot. Over-the-top chemistry.

  "Baby." He whispered it softly. Gently. His voice moved over her like velvet. "I'm telling you, what happened between us was something beautiful. The gift you gave me was precious. I didn't treat it like that after. I was so far gone, a dead body on the floor, and the shock of what I thought bouncing around in my head, nothing registered. That's totally on me. You have no part of that. I should have taken care with you. If I hadn't been so fucking selfish, I would have taken that care and I would have realized what you'd given to me. Never again. I swear to you, Siena, never again."

  "You can't promise that, and I'm not strong enough to take what you're capable of dishing out."

  "I'm not saying we aren't going to fight. Couples fight. The more passion they feel for each other, the greater the likelihood of it happening, but I know what I have now, and I'm telling you, I'll take care with you. I can give you my promise, my word on that."

  Siena didn't know what to say so she didn't say anything, more confused than ever. She liked everything he said, but he wasn't asking. She wasn't so blinded by her fantasies of him that she hadn't caught that. He was a man in charge. He could be in control nice or he could take control rough. She liked that he wanted to take care with her, but she had no idea how to process everything that had happened to her, let alone that he wanted to claim her permanently. He hadn't actually said that. He wanted the baby, that much he had said.

  "Siena? Talk to me."

  "I don't know what to say. I don't know what you mean. Are you asking me to stay here with you until the baby's born?"

  His hand reached around, caught her chin and pulled her head around and back until it was lying against his chest, turned toward him. His eyes moved over her face. There was a hard stamp of possession there. It was in every line and the hard set of his mouth. Possession burned in his eyes.

  "You know what I'm saying. I don't want you until the baby's born. I'm talking us. Together. Raising our child. You in my bed. You're my woman. I'm your man. I'm talking, you don't wear that dress unless I'm with you."

  That dress had really made an impression. She was going to have to go back and revisit that dress.

  "I see." Because he'd made it so clear even an imbecile--like her right now--could see. "I don't know."

  "You don't know about what?"

  "You scare me, Elijah. I've been scared all my life. I don't want to be scared anymore."

  "You feel safe with me, Siena," he corrected.

  She started to shake her head but he stopped her.

  "You're sitting here on this bed with me. You came home with me. You protested, baby, but you didn't throw a fit. You didn't tell the cops you wanted protection. You came with me because I make y
ou feel safe. That's the truth."

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but then closed it again. He had a point. The problem was, she did feel safe with him, it was her heart that didn't feel safe. There was a difference, but she wasn't about to tell him that, so again, she said nothing.

  He nuzzled her neck again. "It's all right, baby. I'll give you time." He tugged her braid. "Let's go. I want you to meet Emma." He moved around her to slide off the bed and reach for her. "It's important for you to feel like you have a few female friends out here. Emma and Catarina both live on neighboring ranches."

  "I can't go out there like this."

  He tugged her to her feet. "My shirt's long enough on you to be a dress." His eyes darkened. "Longer than the dress you wore to the club."

  "I was wearing underwear at the club."

  His eyebrow shot up. "I didn't see any lines."

  "Oh. My. God." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You looked that close?"

  "I've got news for you, baby. Every man in that damned club looked that close. You're lucky I didn't commit murder that night."

  She rolled her eyes and turned away from him. She had to have a long skirt she could slip on. One that dropped to her ankles and flowed around her so no one could tell whether she wore underwear or not. She rummaged through her bag and came out with a ruffled skirt that dropped to the floor.

  He hadn't moved and she turned, skirt in hand. "Are you going to watch me get dressed?"

  His white teeth flashed, reminding her a little of a wolf's. "Yes."

  She bit back her protest. What was the use? Elijah did whatever he wanted, and clearly he wasn't going to leave her side. She liked that it was important to him that she meet Emma--that he wanted her to have a female friend. That was nice.

  Siena pulled on the skirt without looking at him. She looked in her bag for a shirt that would go, but without wearing a bra, nothing really worked.

  "You look fine in my shirt. Come on, baby, stop stalling."

  She glanced in the mirror over the dresser and reached up to touch the gauze covering the laceration on her face. The stitches had been removed before she left the hospital, but she hated how red and raised the scar was so she kept it covered with gauze.

  He took her hand and tugged until she was beneath his shoulder. "Seriously? You look beautiful."

  She could hear the impatience in his voice. Mister Nice Guy clearly had a time limit on his nice. She hid a smile as she walked down the wide hall with him. Jake and his wife, Emma, were in the great room. The room was enormous and very comfortable with overstuffed chairs and warm tones, but the moment Elijah stepped into the room, he commanded it. There was no denying his presence.

  He took her straight across the hardwood floor to Emma. She was at least seven, maybe eight months pregnant. Jake sat on the arm of her chair, holding her hand.

  "This is Siena Arnotto, Emma," Elijah said. "Siena, Emma, Jake's wife."

  Siena sent the woman a tentative smile. She'd never really had a female friend, not one who was real. A few girls had wanted to know her because of her name. Others had thought her bodyguards were hot. None of them got to know her as a person, and she knew she'd developed a shell, keeping others out to prevent herself from getting hurt.

  "Finally," Emma said, her answering smile soft and beautiful. "I couldn't wait to meet the woman who has stolen Elijah's heart. Big, bad Elijah turned inside out by a woman. You have no idea how wonderful it is to meet you."

  Jake grinned, looking at ease and relaxed, not at all like the man in his office. "She's brought him to his knees, Emma."

  Siena blinked rapidly and glanced at Elijah, uncertain how to react. She didn't have his heart, and he certainly wasn't on his knees. That was one thing she knew for certain. He had told Detective Madison they were planning to be married. Was that the story Drake had come up with to keep her safe?

  She realized Elijah still had possession of her hand and she tugged, trying to get free. Instead, he brought her knuckles to his mouth.

  "Since I can't deny the truth of what you're saying, I'll just kiss my woman and be happy she's in my home," Elijah said.

  "I was sorry to hear about your grandfather, Siena," Emma said. "I know he raised you. Are you doing okay?"

  Siena nodded. She wasn't thinking too much about it yet. Every day the reality of his death sank in a little more. "I haven't really processed his death. I was there that night, up in my room. We'd had a fight." Her throat closed at the admission. She didn't know why she'd blurted that out, but she couldn't take it back.

  Emma's face grew even softer. "That makes it all the harder for you."

  Elijah steered her to a chair opposite Emma's, put a gentle hand to her belly, and she sank into it. He snagged one of the beers Jake had brought, and perched on the arm of her chair just as Jake had done. Even she could see the very line of his body was protective.

  Siena swallowed the lump forming. She didn't know how to take Elijah this way. She was completely unprepared for his dual personality. "I'm pretty certain I'm responsible for his death." She said it more to Elijah than to Jake and Emma.

  Drake sat in the chair beside hers and he swung his head toward her, suddenly alert. Jake leaned closer to her. Emma shook her head as if denying the statement.

  Elijah reached down and threaded his fingers through hers and pressed her hand to his thigh. "Why would you think that, mi vida?"

  His voice was so gentle she had to blink back tears. How could he be so sweet to her? How could she believe he was real? She'd never had sweet before, not even from her grandfather, and she had no idea what to do with it.

  She pressed her lips together, knowing they were all looking at her. Knowing she'd brought it on herself and she had to face the reality of what had happened that night. She had no idea why the sight of Emma, pregnant, with Jake hovering so close to her, had given her the courage to tell them, to tell Elijah, but she knew it was Elijah she was telling. It was Elijah she was confessing to. It was Elijah she needed absolution from.

  "Paolo was Nonno's choice for me. He had planned that we get married. I came home that night, and Paolo was waiting for me and he was furious." She glanced up at Elijah. Met his eyes. He knew why. He would know his scent was all over her and Paolo would know they'd had sex.

  Elijah pressed her hand tighter against his thigh as if he could shield her--shield both of them from what was coming. He took a long swig of beer.

  Her eyes on Elijah, she continued. "Paolo beat me up. Not just slapped me. He used his fists on me. He kicked me."

  Emma gasped. "Oh my God, Siena. That's terrible. Your grandfather must have been furious."

  "That's what I thought." Siena soldiered on. "He wasn't. He called me names. Horrible names. I told him I would never accept Paolo as a husband. I told him to give the estate to Paolo if that was what he wanted, but I would never, under any circumstances, marry Paolo after what he did to me. Paolo was in the room. He heard everything and he knew I meant it. So did Nonno."

  Drake leaned forward in his chair. She sensed the movement but she kept her gaze locked with Elijah's. His features had darkened, but it was impossible to read his expression. His eyes were flat and cold and so dark it took her breath away.

  "My grandfather acknowledged my proclamation and indicated I would always be his heiress and he would accept my decision. I left the room and went to mine. I overheard Paolo arguing with him. A little while later I heard the gunshots, and I raced downstairs. Paolo was at the entrance of the sitting room and Alonzo was heading up the stairs toward me. My grandfather was dead."

  She couldn't look away, waiting for condemnation. Clearly Elijah would understand what she was saying. She had made her declaration, her grandfather had accepted it, but Paolo hadn't. Rather than allow her to choose her husband, he had killed her grandfather.

  "How was that your fault, honey?" Emma asked.

  Still looking at Elijah, she answered. Truthfully. "Had I just accepted my grandfather's choice of husbands, I
believe he would still be alive."

  "Accept a man who beat you?" Emma said.

  She nodded, still not looking away from Elijah. Her heart beat too fast. She still couldn't read him. Say something. Anything. She was terrified of his reaction. Of his judgment.

  Elijah put down the beer bottle, framed her face with both hands, leaned down and took her mouth. He kissed her hard. Long. Wet. Deep. He kissed her possessively. His mouth demanded a response. Demanded. There was no coaxing. No gentleness. This was Elijah. Rough. In total command.

  His kiss was unlike anything she could ever imagine. Just as it had the first time, his kiss ignited a firestorm in her. The world receded until there was only Elijah and his mouth. His perfect, unbelievable mouth and his extraordinary ability to kiss. She kissed him back, her mind melting. There was no thinking. No worrying. There was only the perfection of his mouth and the absolute ecstasy it brought.

  He lifted his mouth first and when hers chased his, he kissed her again before pressing his forehead to hers. "Fuck, baby. I want to kill that bastard with my bare hands. You didn't do this. He did."

  He whispered the words to her and her heart turned over. She shouldn't want to hear him say he wanted to kill Paolo with his bare hands, but somehow, his stark admission lifted some of the guilt that rode her so hard.

  8

  "SIENA. Baby. Open your eyes."

  She heard the voice from a distance. Familiar. Warm. Sweet. That velvet heat cut through the cold terror forcing her heart to pound and her pulse to go wild.

  "That's it, mi vida, open your eyes. Look at your man."

  So sweet, that voice. Rough. Sexy. All man. Reassuring and solid. She felt the brush of his mouth over her eyelids. Her lashes fluttered as she made the supreme effort to lift them. To see his face. The remnants of the nightmare clung to her, so that her mouth was dry and her stomach hurt. Down the side of her leg, pain flashed, but already, it was fading, driven away by that mesmerizing voice and the brush of Elijah's mouth.

  She opened her eyes and there he was. Close. So close. So beautiful. His jaw strong, dark with a two-day stubble. His cheekbones high. His dark features all man. His hair--she loved the wild, unruly hair that was so Elijah. He was wild, and his hair marked him that way.