Ghostwalker 09 - Ruthless Game

more. No one was more sexy to him—no one ever would be.
    Sensations tore through him with each hard stroke. He tried to keep her stil , pinning her hips, feeling her muscles tighten around him, sending streaks of fire rushing from his groin throughout his body. He groaned, trying to tel her, trying to stop her. He needed more time with her. Always more time. Her keening cries only fed his arousal, sending him careening out of control.
    Rose dug her nails into Kane’s back. His cock felt like steel driving through her scalding velvet folds. She could barely catch her breath, barely hang on as the room around her spun away and there was only his body pounding into hers, sending fire racing through her, into her veins, into her bel y, streaking down her legs so that she locked her ankles, high heels and al , behind his back, rocking with him, thrusting up to meet each surge.
    She had no warning, no tightening of her body, only the sudden ripping through of a wild rogue wave, high and long, taking her tumbling over the edge of a cliff, her body spiraling out of control. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t find breath, could only hang on while she shattered beneath him.
    Kane felt her body clamp down like a vise on his, milking and grasping, the friction sending him plummeting, free-fal ing, while his body burned and his heart raced. She consumed him. Burned him clean. Took him somewhere he couldn’t reach on his own or with any other woman. He col apsed over the top of her. Rose. His miracle.
    “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered. An admission. A confession. The raw truth.
    She put her arms around him, holding him to her. “I love you more than you could possibly know.”
    He smiled, satisfied, not moving, his body locked with hers, his weight holding her there on the floor, his arms keeping her spread open, their hearts pounding in rhythm. When he managed to bring his ragged breathing under some semblance of control, he pushed her bra away from her breasts, bending his head to suckle there. He teased her nipple, laving and drawing that hard peak into the hot depths of his mouth. She gasped, her body writhing under his assault, her sheath clamping down hard as more ripples spread through her.
    He lifted his head and grinned at her. “We don’t real y have to go back to the party, do we? Because I’d love to just feast on your body al night.”
    Rose stared up at his face with stars in her eyes. Her arms went around his neck, drawing his head back down to her flushed breasts. “Feast away, Kane. I’l never have enough of you, and after al , this is our night.”
    One thing about Kane—he never did anything by halves.

    Keep reading for a special preview of the next book in the Leopard People series by Christine Feehan SAVAGE NATURE
    Available in May 2011 from Jove Books.
    The sun dropped from the sky, a molten, fiery bal , pouring red and orange flames into the darkened waters of the Mississippi River. The air was heavy, nearly oppressive with humidity, just the way he liked it. Drake Donovan stepped from the barge with a casual grace, lifted a hand to the men on board and stopped for a moment, there on the wooden walkway, to admire the rol ing river. With night fal ing, shadows delved sweetly into the ripples, giving the water a mysterious, beckoning feel. The pul of the river’s secret places was strong.
    Groves of trees, tupelo and cypress, graced the water’s edge enticingly. He had seen many inlets and isles as they approached the banks. Great blue herons walked in the shal ower waters of the bayous, canals, and marshlands, graceful figures drawing one’s eye to the beauty of the surroundings.
    He listened to the night sounds creeping in as he watched the first of the bats, dipping and wheeling in the air overhead, catching the insects drawn to the massive body of water. Not too far from the river’s edge, a smal fox darted toward a mouse scurrying into the leaves. An owl sat very stil in the dusk, waiting for the sun to sink into the river, leaving the night to blanket the swamps and bayous.
    The wildness in him reacted, rising with a great leap, demanding freedom. It had been so long. Too long. His thick five-o’clock shadow, composed of tangible hairs embedded deep into the tissue, supplied nerve endings with tactile information. Always, that guidance system would plug him into the air currents and enable him to read objects. And this time, unexpectedly, when he gathered information, his cat