Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

onto a branch from the neighboring tree. The rain increased in strength, as it often did in the wet season. It wasn’t cold, and with the onslaught of moisture and heat, steam rose around them, turning the canopy into an eerie world.
    His fingers tightened around hers, signaling silence. She heard the sound of voices drifting through the veil of mist and a thousand butterflies took wing in her stomach. Her mouth went dry. Conner never even hesitated, walking along the branches as if they were a sidewalk, going from tree to tree. Twice he made a chuffing noise as if warning some larger creature of his presence, but most of the time, the sounds he made were somewhere between strange purrs and low, rumbling growls. Instead of menacing, the notes were soothing.
    She became aware of the creatures in the canopy. Where before the animals had been frantic, racing away from the fire and shrieking warnings to one another, now they were much calmer—like she was becoming. It was his voice—that beautiful, reassuring, comforting voice. It made no sense. She should have been terrified. She was a hundred feet above the forest floor, surrounded by smoke and mist so thick it was nearly impossible to see the hand in front of her face, carefully placing her feet on slippery branches. Somewhere below, men with guns hunted them and she was with the man who had shattered her world and left it in ruins.
    Birds settled in the trees around them rather than flying in fear. Monkeys merely looked at them curiously, but the frantic chatter had faded to normal. The rain poured down steadily and life seemed to return to usual just that fast. She looked at the man leading her with such confidence along the twisted highway of branches. It was Conner. The sheer force of his personality extended calm not only to her, but to the animals.
    She followed him, trying to figure out how to stop her reaction to him. How did one block his voice, his charisma, his sheer magnetism? He was the type of man who stood out in a crowd. How was she supposed to keep her blood cool and her pulse normal after sharing a wildfire with him? Every time he looked at her it was there again—that wild, passionate response she couldn’t prevent.
    She should have known. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man like him would want. His gaze was too focused, too absolute, making her feel as if she were the only woman in his world. As if he could never see anyone but her. It was the animal in him. The leopard. Stalking prey. She’d been his prey. A single Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    sound escaped, a low and wounded cry she hastily choked back.
    At once he whirled around, his body graceful and fluid, almost balletic on the narrow branch. He bent to her, pulling her into the shelter of his body. “What is it?”
    You. The accusation was there in her mind. In her heart. God help her, in her soul. He was what was wrong. The way he moved. The sound of his voice. The memory of his hands and mouth and his body belonging to her. Isabeau shook her head. She hadn’t known it would be so difficult to see him—to smell him. The wild, dangerous scent of him.
    “It’s just a little scary up here,” she lied. And she heard the lie in her voice. She could tell by his eyes that he heard it too.
    “Lies have a scent all their own,” he said.
    “Do they? You taught me a lot of things, but you neglected to teach me that.”
    “It wasn’t all lies, Isabeau.”
    She shook her head, her heart so painful she brought her hand up to press against her chest. “I don’t believe you. And it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? We have to find a way to get those children back.
    That’s all that matters.” She forced herself to say it. She wasn’t a coward. “You weren’t wrong about him—my father. I did a lot of digging and found out the truth. He was involved with the terrorist cell you uncovered. He was taking their money.” Her eyes met his. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love him, or that what you did was right, but he wasn’t innocent.”
    “I’m sorry, Isabeau. Finding those things out must have hurt.”
    “Not as much as watching him die.” Or finding out that the man she loved above all else had only used her to get close to her father. She had believed in him with every fiber of her being—she’d given him everything she was or would ever be. And it had all been a lie.
    Conner’s heart clenched. Isabeau would never be