Isabeau took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. There was no way to relax when he was so close. His heat poured off of him, his scent, wild and magnetic, and now she knew why. She wasn’t as shocked as she’d been the first time she felt something running under her own skin, or when she’d slapped him and raked the skin from his face. Over time, she’d tried to convince herself she hadn’t really done it, but the rare times she actually slept, she woke up screaming, seeing the blood running down his face.

She was confused by her own feelings. She was intelligent enough to recognize that her father had not been innocent and had placed himself in harm’s way. She’d researched his business connections and had discovered for herself just how dirty he’d been. That didn’t stop her from loving him or regretting his death. She didn’t really blame Conner for that. But he’d used her to get to her father, making her an unwitting accomplice in his downfall. He’d seduced her over and over. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. They’d done things that had seemed so completely right at the time, but after—when she knew he didn’t really love her—she’d been ashamed.

She was still ashamed. She could barely look at him without feeling his hands on her, his mouth, his body, hard and muscular moving over and in hers. She heard her own low moan of distress and ducked her head to avoid his eyes. Of course she’d researched the myths of leopard people and shape-shifters, but it seemed so outrageous it was easier to convince herself she’d been so traumatized, she’d remembered wrong.

He hadn’t loved her. He didn’t love her. Not then. Not now. It mattered little that lust burned hot in his eyes, that possession was stamped deep whenever he looked at her. He was bred for danger, it was in his bones, in his eyes and she’d been mesmerized by him. She hated that she’d made it so easy for him. She’d never looked at another man, never been interested in having a relationship with one. She couldn’t believe it when he’d smiled at her from across a room and sauntered over to talk to her. She should have known.

“Don’t,” he commanded softly.

He’d always been able to read what she was thinking. He seemed so much older, so much more experienced. She’d felt safe with him. “By take care of it, you mean . . .” she prompted.

“You sent for us to get the children back, Isabeau. Don’t pretend to be shocked when violence is involved. If someone is hunting you or Adan, they came to do some damage. We need to know if Cortez has been warned that the Embera tribe is going to try to get the children back instead of cooperating with her.”

His voice was very low and held little expression, but it felt like the lash of a whip to her, making her feel not quite bright. She was a woman unafraid of going into the deepest interior of the rain forest to catalogue and research the medicinal purposes of plants. She’d made a name for herself and was driven to succeed in finding new uses for the plants. She had been independent and happy—until she’d met Conner Vega. He’d turned her world upside down.

Was it fair to blame him for the things her father had done? Or for shedding light on his illegal activities? Maybe not. But she would never understand how he could have used her, clearly an innocent, to bring down her own father. It was wrong. There had to be lines one didn’t cross. What kind of man did that? And what kind of woman still craved his touch when his character repelled her?

“I want you to slide down to the floor and sit against the wall. Stay low. We’ll sit here and talk while they see who followed the two of you.” He kept his hand on her arm to steady her as she obeyed him, bending her knees and sliding her back down the wall until her bottom touched the floor. “I know you’re scared, Isabeau, but nothing will happen to you.”

“Do you have a better plan for getting into Cortez’s compound?” Isabeau needed something to distract her. She wasn’t going to panic, she’d been in bad situations before and truthfully—how far did she trust him? If he could build the illusion of being in love strong enough to fool her, then he could do the same with the danger. With Conner, she didn’t know what was truth or fiction.

He’d thrown her for a moment, that dangerous edge to him, more animal than man, deliberately showing her his ability to shift, to heighten her fears, put her in a vulnerable position, but she had resources. She was intelligent. She’d been in the rain forest hundreds of times, but she hadn’t counted on being separated from Adan.

Conner was so close to her that she felt the instant he stiffened. He went to his feet, muscles flowing easily so he appeared silent, deadly, a cat stalking prey. The breath left her lungs in a rush as she saw him cock his head to one side and sniff the air. “Isabeau, we’re getting out of here.” He reached down his hand to her. “Something’s not right.”

“What is it?” She tried to listen, but as far as she could tell, the rain forest sounded the same, although the scream of the monkeys and the cry of the birds seemed overly loud.

“I smell smoke.”

She let him pull her up. “Where’s Adan?”

“With Rio. He’ll be fine. Adan knows how to take care of himself in the forest. It’s you I’m worried about. Let’s get out of this trap.”

“I didn’t do this, Conner,” she said.

“You wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill yourself and Adan along with me,” he said, not looking at her. He pulled open the cabin door a few inches and peered out, his hand tightening around hers. “Someone followed you, probably not knowing you were meeting us. And that means it’s an assassination squad. Did they know you witnessed the attack on the tribe?”