Her mouth was so dry she feared she couldn’t find it in her to swallow, and somewhere the trembling had started. Conner made his way back to her in that silent way of his and lifted her off the ground, setting her on her feet. Pain jarred through her body and her wrist throbbed where she’d sprained it. She stood quietly while he brushed the insects from her shuddering body. She didn’t live like this, with great adventures. She lived a life of solitude, hidden from the world in her precious rain forest, working with her plants. Most of the time she was alone or with a guide, and she certainly didn’t get involved with drug cartels or dangerous men—until Conner.

“I’ll get you out of this,” he said.

His voice was gentle, a slow drawl—like a drug to her, something once experienced, always craved, like his touch. Like the focused, piercing stare from his eyes. So intent. So completely locked on to her. It was exhilarating and unnerving all at the same time. The brush of his fingers against her skin sent tremors through her body, ripples of awareness through her until her very core turned a heated liquid. Surrounded by death and danger, she was more susceptible to him than ever.

“I know you will.” She kept her voice low, afraid of giving herself away. “Those were leopards, weren’t they?”

“Friends. I warned them they had two more coming at them. Rio’s got Adan safe.”

“The leopards aren’t real leopards,” she guessed. She should have known it was Conner’s friends answering his call. Isabeau let her breath out. Friends. They had friends in the midst of this madness. “Are they like you?”

“Like us,” he corrected and reached to pull leaves from her hair. “They’re like us, Isabeau.”

She didn’t move, absorbing the feel of his fingers in her hair. He had a way of making her feel special and cared for—protected and loved—yet she knew it was an illusion. She’d hired him for those traits—to seduce another woman with that magnetism. Now she wasn’t so certain she could watch him do it.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here.” The confession slipped out in spite of her resolve not to engage with him over the past.

His roughened palm cupped the side of her face, the pad of his thumb sliding seductively back and forth, nearly mesmerizing her as completely as his voice did. “No, you shouldn’t have, not if you wanted to be safe. But it’s too late for regrets. We’re already here and we’re in this mess all the way. We can’t leave those children to Imelda Cortez and we can’t pretend we’re indifferent. I expect a little hate, Isabeau, but that’s not all you feel for me and I expect honesty between us.”

Fire flashed through her, a storm of such heat she shook with it. “You expect honesty between us? You?” She poured contempt into her voice. “You wouldn’t know honesty if it bit you in the butt. Don’t you dare lecture me. You lied to me. Used me. Made me believe you loved me and we were going to have a life together. And then you killed my father. Everything about you is a lie, an illusion. You aren’t even real.”

Rage burst like a firestorm in her stomach, churning wildly, exploding in fiery conflagration she couldn’t—or didn’t—want to douse. There was a part of her that knew her sexual hunger was a good percentage of what was fueling the flames of anger—that the intensity of her righteous, feral anger was her cat’s heat and her absolute physical need of the dominant male standing in front of her, but it felt so good to throw the gun to the ground and swing her clenched fist at the smug male smirk, wanting to wipe it off his face.

Amusement crept into the amber of his eyes as he evaded her swipe, his teeth flashing at her. “Are you trying to hit me?”

“I’m going to kick your ass,” she spat back, circling around him, a slow hiss escaping her throat. His laughter only drove the flames of her fire higher.

“Hafelina.” His voice smoldered with sex and her treacherous body reacted with a spasm of need.

“What does that mean?” she demanded and threw a kick at his thigh.

He slapped her foot away from him. “Little cat. And you’re behaving like one right now. I don’t want to hurt you, Isabeau, so stop this nonsense.”

“You think you’re the only one with training?” Now it was a matter of pride that she score a hit on him. Just one.

She attacked hard, a series of lightning fast kicks. He blocked every one with an almost casual slap of his hand. The taps stung, but didn’t really hurt. She didn’t take her eyes from him, a sexual fury manifesting itself in violent rage.

“Do you know what a cat does when she’s in heat and her male is circling her?”

His voice lowered an octave. Purred at her. Stroked her sensitive skin and found raw, burning nerves. Liquid heat scorched her. Her breasts ached. Her skin felt too tight, need and an angry hunger she couldn’t control mixing together.

“I’m not in heat,” she hissed, and drove in again, this time with her hands, throwing a left, a right and then an uppercut.

He blocked every move with an open palm, that same casual slap that was as maddening as the raw, edgy hunger that drove her need to attack him.

“Sure you are.” His voice dropped even lower and his eyes drifted possessively over her body. “You’re hot as hell. Your scent is driving me insane.”

She flushed, turning nearly crimson, and rushed him again. He sidestepped and caught her, spinning her around until her back was against him, her arms pinned to her sides, trapping her tight against his body. His scent was potent, wild, sexy. Every ragged breath burned through her lungs. Adrenaline was hot and liquid rushing through her veins.