Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

palming the knife lying along his thigh, even as his body aggressively slammed into hers, driving her back against the wall, one hand pinning both her wrists above her head. He held her absolutely still, vulnerable, a leopard’s strength running like steel through his body, his heart thundering in his ears as his gaze locked on to hers.
    Her eyes were cat’s eyes, although different in that the pupils were vertically oblong rather than linear like his, or round as some of the other cats showed. Right now, her eyes showed exactly what she was thinking, a fierce hatred, a hint of heat she couldn’t stop that only made her loathe him more. Wholly amber, her eyes had gone just as focused as his, refusing to bend to him.
    “I didn’t make you a whore. You’re doing that yourself.”
    “Fuck you, Vega. And get your hands off of me.”
    Instead he stepped even closer, shoving his knee between her legs, nearly lifting her off the floor. As it was, she had no choice but to go up on her toes. “You want me dead. I can see it in your eyes. You came here thinking you were going to kill me.”
    Air burned through her lungs so that she gasped for breath, the effort pushing her breasts against his chest. He felt the heat waves sliding over him like a tsunami, swamping him with need. Not just his need.
    Hers. She was so close to her heat and his close proximity was triggering her leopard. He could feel the burn of her body, and the unwanted desire in her eyes—desire she’d been hiding all along.
    Her eyes stared directly into his, spitting flames. “Yes,” she hissed. “As long as I know you’re alive somewhere I think about you and I hate that you still have the ability to hurt me. Yes, I want you dead.”
    He slammed the knife into her hands, forced her fingers to close around the hilt. “Then fucking do the job right. Do it clean. Here’s your chance, baby.” He dragged her arms down until the razor-sharp point of the blade was against his chest, directly over his heart, his hands covering hers, preventing her from dropping the knife. “You kill me right here, right now, fast and clean, because I’ll be damned if you do it inch by slow inch.”
    Her body shuddered. He felt her fingers flex. “You think I wouldn’t?” She whispered the words even as her fingers moved under his.
    “This is your only chance. Do it and walk away clean. If you don’t, you won’t be getting another chance, but you’ll never seduce another man.” His teeth snapped together and he deliberately jerked the point of the knife into his skin. Blood ran down his shirt.
    Isabeau gasped and tried to pull back, but he was too strong, his hands clamped around hers, forcing her to push the knife into his body. She shook her head. Tears swam in her eyes. He went still, leaving the tip where it was.
    “Look at me, Isabeau, not at the blood. Look me in the eye.”
    Isabeau swallowed hard and tilted her head to once again meet his compelling gaze. She had wanted him dead, prayed for him to be dead, dreamt of killing him, but she’d never imagined feeling like this. She was terrified by the look in his eyes. He would do it, force the knife into his heart. She’d never imagined him so strong, but she couldn’t move away from him and she felt every muscle in his body coiled—ready.
    “Shove the knife into my chest. You’re no coward. You want me dead—just get the job done, don’t play games. You seduce another man you’ll get him killed too. This is between us. Don’t drag anyone else into our mess.”

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    Isabeau couldn’t breathe and her vision had gone blurry. Tears burned in her eyes. In her throat. In her lungs. She’d thought she was all cried out, but just seeing him tore her apart again. The betrayal had been so devastating, the cut so deep, the wound as raw as ever. The idea of him with another woman made her physically ill, but rage was strong, strong enough, she’d thought, to carry this through.
    His body was trembling, this man who had cut her heart into little pieces and left her without a father, with nothing, absolutely nothing, her life in ruins. She couldn’t sleep at night with wanting him, with loathing him. He thought she’d sent for him for revenge, but the truth was worse than that—she’d sent for him because she couldn’t bear not to see him again. She couldn’t wash enough times to get him off her skin, the taste of him