Did the woman not know the meaning of stay put? How fucking hard was it to do that? He knew exactly what she was going to say, the excuse she would use. Drake and Tomas showing up to help him. He didn’t need help. He didn’t want help. He wanted to rip that fucking bastard Paolo from one end to the other. Shred him. Make him feel what Siena had felt. He didn’t need help with that. At. All.

She was on the bedroom patio, pacing. His male both caught sight of her as well as scented her. In the dark, she looked ethereal, beautiful, her long hair up in that messy knot thing she did on her head to try to keep all that silk contained. She had pulled on one of her camisoles and the little shorts that went with it. They hugged her hips and accentuated her tucked-in waist. He could see the thickness forming and the cute little pooch at her stomach.

She drew in her breath sharply when the leopard vaulted over the low wall to land, already shifting right in front of her. Before she could say a word, he tagged her hand and dragged her back into the house. He didn’t care that he was naked, bloody and sweaty. Neither did she. She didn’t try to pull away, instead, the moment they were in the bedroom, she flung herself in front of him, her arms going around his neck, jerked his head down to hers, her mouth on his, tongue sliding in to kiss him. Wild. Wet. Hot.

He was angry. Furious. Leopard furious. But it didn’t matter. It never did when the heat flared and the burn started. His kiss was angry. Ferocious. He took her mouth. Hard. Wet. Hot. More than wild. He bit her lower lip. She gasped. He took her mouth again. Her taste drove him crazy with need. Her sweetness was tinged with fear. With love. With hunger. With that wild he loved so much.

He was already naked, and he stripped her, lifting her, dragging first one leg and then the other around his hips while he kissed her, walking them right into the bathroom where the large shower waited. She didn’t seem to notice they were moving. With the roped muscles of his kind, it was nothing to carry her, and he turned on the water, testing it with one hand, all the while kissing her. Feeding her hunger. Feeling her desperation. Feeding his own fierce temper with that building burn.

Water poured down over them, soothing some of the deeper scratches on him, so that blood and sweat ran in rivulets down his back and chest. All the while he kept his mouth on hers, kissing her. Biting at her lips, her chin, that sensitive soft spot he loved so much between her neck and shoulder.