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Back Wild Fire Save as PDF
Chapters (27)
  1. Praise
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgements
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Teaser chapter

It felt like giving herself to him all over again, but how could she explain that to him? His magic voice, so soft, and slow, like a thick molasses that moved over and into her, filling every empty space inside of her with him. Smoke drifted through the trees, animals scrambled above their heads and ash rained down on them. She heard the sound of gunfire, and a stray bullet hit around them, but he never flinched, never grew impatient. Just waited, his back exposed to danger, his body protecting hers.

She realized she felt completely alive for the first time since she’d learned the truth about him. And that scared her more than anything.

Chapter 4

4

FOR a long moment, Isabeau allowed her body to lean back into the comfort of Conner’s. It would be better to die trying to get away than to be shot down by Imelda Cortez’s assassins or killed in their fire. It was a good argument for trying to climb the tree—much better than wanting to please him—to prove to him that she had as much courage as he did—okay, to prove to herself. A matter of pride. She closed her eyes and forced herself to think of a leopard, to picture the large cat in her mind. She needed the sound of his voice, his encouragement.

“Tell me what she’s like.”

She felt rather than heard Conner’s swift indrawn breath. His lips whispered over the vulnerable spot between her shoulder and neck. “She’s beautiful, like you. Very intelligent, and that shows in her eyes. Everything was always a challenge to her and she could be very moody, one moment loving, the next, raking me with her claws.”

There was a soft, almost seductive note in his voice, and he didn’t seem to notice that he was talking as if he’d known her leopard intimately. “She loved the night, and often, we’d have to go out under the stars and just walk for hours. She’s wary of outsiders, slow to trust, smolders with fire. She’s so beautiful, Isabeau, and secretive, mysterious and elusive. She has such a quick, intelligent mind.”

“What does she look like?” The words were strangled. He was describing her personality, yet not. She identified with everything he said, and his voice had grown husky, sexy, as he articulated his intimate knowledge of her innermost, guarded self.