“They come out of the jungle sometimes,” I say in response to Nora’s question. “It’s rare, but it happens.”

“How did you get away from it?” She gives me a concerned look. “You said you were only nine.”

“I had a gun with me.”

“So you killed it?”

“No. I shot a tree next to it and scared it off.” I could’ve killed it—my aim was excellent by then—but the thought of harming the fierce creature had been repellent for some reason. It wasn’t the jaguar’s fault it had been born a predator, and I didn’t want to punish it for having the misfortune of wandering into human territory.

“What did your parents say when you told them about it?” Nora sits down on a broken tree trunk and looks up at me. Her smooth shoulders gleam with the light reflected off the lake. “Mine would’ve been terrified for me.”

“I didn’t tell them.” I sit down next to her and, unable to resist, bend my head to press a kiss to her right shoulder. Her skin smells delicious, and the hunger ignited by our play at the pool returns, my body hardening at her proximity once more.

“Why not?” she asks huskily, turning to look at me as I lift my head. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

“My mother was already frightened of the jungle, and my father would’ve been upset that I didn’t bring him the jaguar’s pelt. So there was no point in telling either of them,” I explain. Reaching for her hair, I thread my fingers through the thick, silky mass, enjoying the sensuous feel of it sliding through my hands. My cock is stiff with need, but this is as far as I intend to take it for now.

There won’t be sex until tonight, when she’s comfortable in our bed and I can be sure I won’t hurt her.

“Oh.” Nora tilts her head, moving it closer to my hands, and regards me through half-closed eyelids. Her expression is reminiscent of a cat being petted. “What about your friends? Did you tell them what happened?”

“No,” I murmur, my arousal growing despite my good intentions. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why not?” Nora all but purrs as I slide my fingers through her hair again, lightly massaging her scalp in the process. “You didn’t think they would believe you?”

“No, I knew they would believe me.” I withdraw my hands from her hair as my need intensifies, threatening my self-control. “I just didn’t have close friends, that’s all.”

Something uncomfortably close to pity flickers in her gaze, but she doesn’t say anything or ask any follow-up questions. Instead, she leans closer and presses her lips to mine, her small hands coming up to rest on both sides of my face.

Her touch is strangely innocent and uncertain, as if she’s kissing me for the first time. Her lips just barely graze mine, each touch a hint, a promise of more to come. I can almost taste her, almost feel her, and the urge to fuck her is so strong I shudder with it. It’s only the memory of last night—of the wounded, betrayed look in her eyes—that enables me to stay still and accept her not-quite-kisses, my hands resting on her shoulders. I know I should stop her, push her away, but I can’t.