She didn’t have a temper. Certainly not one with such intensity that it would cause an all-consuming reckless, rash, idiotic compulsion to slash Remy in his face. She wanted to rip his face right off his skull—to wipe that smug, self-confident smirk right off his face forever. For a moment, she even thought of leaping on him and biting him. So very un-Bijou-like. There had been a roaring in her ears. Her hands ached, knuckles swollen until her fingers curled like claws and she could barely stand it.

And then he yanked her to him.

Her stomach bottomed out and the throbbing between her legs turned into a terrible drumbeat of savage need. His hand fisted in her hair and dragged her head back. The bite of pain should have had her kicking and screaming and running for her life, but instead, her body had flooded with a hot, welcoming liquid. Every cell in her body reached for him. Something wild and uninhibited rose like a tidal wave from somewhere deep inside her.

She was lost in the flames. In the intensity of his lust and her own. She didn’t even know she could feel so much. There was no turning back. No brakes. No thought. Only feeling. He’d ignited a firestorm, and there was no putting it out for either of them. She wanted to be closer to him, skin to skin. Anything else hurt. She could hear herself making frantic, mewling noises, desperation showing, but she couldn’t stop herself. His mouth was like a fountain of fire, a haven of molten gold she could never get enough of.

It was the most frightening, scary, exhilarating feeling she’d ever had. Her body felt more feminine than it had ever been. She was acutely aware of every curve and the effect she had on Remy’s body. She reveled in her ability to inflame him, to drive him over the edge into madness, and yet, at the same time, she was terrified—because she couldn’t stop. There was no stopping. No way to take a breath and just step back and think.

Her body drove her, not her brain. Not her heart. She needed his hands on her body. His mouth at her breast, his fingers inside of her. She needed him to fill her, to take the emptiness away, that terrible burning that refused to let up, consuming her with desperate lust for this one man.

He shifted her until he had cradled her in his arms, close to his chest, his mouth still feeding on hers, devouring her. She couldn’t get enough of his kisses, consumed by the taste of him, the wild exotic spice she was fast becoming addicted to. She felt herself floating, levitating, moving through the air as if in the clouds. The cool breeze from the lake rushing through the trees added to the intensity of sensation.

Remy’s roped muscles bunched and rippled. She felt each defined muscle imprinted on her heated skin. She needed her clothes gone, the material literally hurt she was so sensitive. She was burning from the inside out, afraid she wouldn’t live through it. She was barely aware of being inside her room, with no idea and no real caring of how she got there. Remy shoved her hard against the wall and ripped at her clothing, every bit as desperate to get the material off of her as she was, his mouth on hers, demanding her compliance.

She’d always wanted to see Remy out of control, to have him be on that edge of reason, to feel as if she could drive him that far, but she’d never once thought it would be like this—a fire raging out of control in both of them. It was as if one of them lit a match and both had accelerant poured over them, going up in raging flames the moment their lips met.

Her heart pounded with fear. She could even taste it in her mouth. She had no idea what to do, how to act, even how to have sex. Obviously, Remy knew exactly what he was doing. How in the world was she going to keep up? Her body might be driving her, but when it came down to it, what was she going to do? Even those questions didn’t seem to stop her, or pour water on the fire. She couldn’t stop kissing him, or touching him, or even grinding her body up against his like some hussy desperate for sex.

Remy suddenly lifted his head. His eyes glowed a strange, deep emerald green, wholly focused on her, like a predator. A great jungle cat focused on prey. The unblinking stare sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t let up on his unbreakable hold on her.

“You know there’s no going back for either of us.”

Bijou tried to think clearly. There was a strange roaring in her head. Her body moved constantly, rubbing against him like a cat. Her breasts ached for his mouth. She felt empty between her legs and needed him desperately to fill her. His words meant something, but he was making a statement, not asking a question. There was a wealth of possession in the glittering of his strange eyes that sent both panic and a thrill ricocheting through her body.

“I mean it, Bijou, it’s too late to ever go back.”

Remy read fear and confusion in her eyes. He could barely stand the clothes on his back and knew her skin was burning just as bad. There would be no going back. At the best of times his leopard was difficult, but hers had risen and accepted his. He wanted her with every cell in his body, every breath he drew. The intensity of need threw him. It was unexpected and a little crazy when he’d always been so in control.

His leopard would mark her for certain. Hell. He wanted to put his mark on her, his warning to all other males to stay away from her. It was a dark, primitive need he couldn’t possibly ignore. He couldn’t wholly blame his leopard for not keeping his hands to himself. If he was being strictly honest, the moment he’d kissed her—and he’d lied to himself—told himself he was kissing her to get in a tabloid and flush out her stalker—but he’d wanted to kiss her from the moment he laid eyes on her again. No, he’d needed to kiss her. Once he had, for him, there was no going back.