Leopard 05 - Savage Nature

talked to you about it? Isn’t the reason you hesitated going to the police because you realized whoever killed those men could be someone you know?”
    “I’m not,” she denied. She looked confused. Even frightened. “I’m not a shifter.”
    This was going to be far more complicated than he’d first imagined. She seemed to know little of shifters. He could see the genuine shock and denial when he told her she was a leopard. The idea was frightening to her. He was in uncharted territory. He could handle alpha males in their prime, but a woman on the verge of the Han Vol Dan was altogether a different matter.
    “Come inside, Saria, and dry off. It’s late and we have to be up early,” he coaxed. “At least be comfortable while we talk. I’ve got a dry T-shirt and you can get under the covers while we talk. I’ll stay on the other side of the room if it makes you feel better.”
    “You could give me back my rifle.”
    “I think we’ll be better off with just the knife you’re carrying.”
    She managed a small smile, shrugged, a small feminine lift of her shoulder that tightened his body to the breaking point, before she stepped inside his room. At once, her scent filled the air, the alluring fragrance of wild, rain, temptress, uniquely Saria. He drew her deep into his lungs, fighting to hold on to sanity. She didn’t quite trust him, but she had confidence, he had to give her that.
    Saria was afraid, but not for herself. Her very coolness shook him. She was leopard all right, entering a potential enemy’s den without batting an eyelash. She’d make a fierce mother, protecting their children, standing with him through every bad time. She was afraid for her family—she had to be. And he liked her all the more for that loyalty as well. He wanted her more than ever.
    Drake opened the bathroom door for her and stepped back to allow her entrance, thankful he’d cleaned all evidence of blood from the tiles. “Towels are on the shelf there. I’ll grab a T-shirt for you. Throw your clothes over the shower rod and they’ll dry by morning.”
    She nodded, already towel-drying her hair. Drake rummaged through his bag for another clean shirt. He forced himself not to look when she stuck her hand out the door for it. The idea of her stripping with only a thin door between them sent need rocketing through him.
    He paced back and forth in front of the French doors, inhaling the fresh rain. He needed to cool down. Already his temperature had soared several degrees and if he was going to convince his woman he was trustworthy, he had to be a gentleman—no—a saint.
    She came out with only his T-shirt on. It hit her just above her ee, was far too wide for her, but she managed to look sexy in the damn thing. Her hair was tousled, as if she might have just been made love to. He gave her a faint smile when she lifted an eyebrow at him.
    “You’re damned beautiful,” he said. “This might not be the best idea.”
    “You could always give me the gun,” she pointed out.
    “Get under the covers. You’ve still got your knife.”
    She hadn’t tried to hide the weapon from him. It was in her right hand, but he had the feeling she was adept at using it with either hand—and he was so far gone even that turned him on. He stayed across the room, toeing a chair around to straddle it, just inside the open French doors where he could get away from her potency if his cat became too difficult.
    Saria sat on the bed, pulling just the comforter over her legs. They stared at one another. He could see the answering heat in her eyes, which didn’t make things easier. She moved her hand absently back and forth, stroking the comforter, but the gesture made him suppress a groan. She was naturally sensual, the way her body moved, the heat in her eyes, her parted lips. She was throwing off so much sex appeal it was all he could do not to step out into the rain again. He had the feeling he’d find the raindrops sensual.
    “Tell me about the bodies.”
    She shook her head slowly. “You tell me about shifters.”
    “I’m not going to play this cat-and-mouse game with you, Saria,” Drake said. “You sent a letter asking for help, and Jake sent me.”
    “I shouldn’t have sent the letter. I was mistaken.”
    “Damn it.” He leapt to his feet, as restless as his leopard. “Now you’re flat out lying to me. What the hell are you doing in my bed if you’re going to lie?” Before she could respond to the question, he