Isabeau tried to analyze how he had such a hypnotic, disturbing effect on her. Her entire body reacted to him. Her breasts ached, felt swollen and sensitive and needy. Her body pulsed with that need, that terrible craving she couldn’t seem to sate. He looked intensely masculine, a sensual temptation she couldn’t resist.

His hand casually snagged the neck of a water bottle and he tipped the contents down his throat, the action tightening her body. A frisson of awareness went down her spine. She loved the way he moved, the easy strength, the sureness he exuded. Everything about him appealed to her—even his arrogant dominance. She couldn’t blame her reaction to him on her cat. This was the woman—or maybe both—who craved him.

He looked sinful with his legs stretched out in front of him and that thick, tempting bulge she was so familiar with straining his faded, worn jeans. She wanted to crawl over him and rip away the offending material to get at the hidden prize. Her mouth watered remembering the taste and texture of him, the way his hand gripped her hair and the sound of his growling moans. He had been so patient with her as she worked at learning how to pleasure him, and he’d always made her feel as if everything she did was sexy and exciting. He’d whispered instructions and she had obeyed, shivering with need, with wanting to please him. Whatever she did for him was rewarded a hundredfold. He could do things, knew things about her, she could never share with another man.

Her gaze dropped to his hands, carelessly circling the bottle, remembering the feel of his rough palms on her breasts, between her thighs, fingers sliding deep to stroke and caress and drive her insane with need. She swallowed hard as he tipped the bottle to his lips again, drawing her attention to his mouth. Hot. Sexy. So seductive she could never have resisted. His mouth had been ruthless, driving her up so fast she remembered she couldn’t catch her breath. His hands on her hips, pinning her down, holding her open for his feast, had been strong and exciting, thrilling even. When his tongue penetrated, stabbing deep, flicking, his strong teeth teasing, she’d been shocked. She’d used her heels to try to push out from under him, but he’d held her fast, throwing her into a ferocious orgasm—one she’d never forget. It had been the first time she’d screamed under the ministrations of his mouth—and she’d never stopped.

She wanted to scream again. Loud and long and feel the pleasure rising like a tidal wave. She watched with fascination as he tipped the bottle again. Under cover of the act, those golden eyes found her in the shadow. There was dark lust blatant in his eyes. He did nothing at all to hide what he wanted from her as his gaze traveled possessively over her body.

She froze, much like the prey of a leopard might, her breath caught in her lungs, her stomach muscles bunched and tightened. Under his direct stare, she could feel the damp moisture gathering between her thighs. Arousal made her shiver with need.

Around him, the men shifted uncomfortably, and Rio shot Conner one emotion-laden look. Conner stood without a word, setting the water on the table and holding out his hand to her. “We’re leaving. Be back tomorrow sometime.”

His voice was rough with the same dark lust that had taken hold of her. She wasn’t alone in her torment. She could see the impressive bulge had grown even thicker than it had been. She put her trembling hand in his. He was warm—hot even—she could feel the heat pouring off his body to envelope her. She didn’t look at the others, didn’t even care that they probably scented her arousal. Her heart was pounding and her body pulsed with liquid desire. Her breasts felt heavy, aching, her nipples tight, hard buds. Her thighs quivered and lust danced in her veins, little electrical shocks running rampant through her muscles and over her skin.

Conner snagged a large backpack and then drew her out onto the verandah. She followed him down the ladder without a word. The rain had started again, a soft drizzle that barely penetrated the canopy. The few drops that managed to land on her seemed to sizzle and turn to steam with the heat emanating from their bodies. He didn’t say anything at all, didn’t look down at her even after they were well away from the cabin and in the safety and shelter of the trees.

He didn’t have to say anything. The air thickened around them so every step became difficult. Each breath she drew into her lungs was harsh and ragged. His palm burned into the small of her back, just above her buttocks, as they moved along a narrow, overgrown path. His steps were sure in the dark, his eyes giving off the peculiar nightglow of his leopard.

She’d never been more aware of her own femininity. Her body had gone soft and pliant, pulsing with aching need, with every step, her core clenching and wet. The sound of cicadas rose and fell, the ever-present shrill adding to her raw nerve endings. In the distance, through the inky darkness, she could hear a chorus of frogs and then the call of a bird. A twig snapped. Conner never hesitated. He walked with absolute assurance, all flowing, fluid grace and rippling ropes of muscle, so that each time he brushed against her sensitive skin, her breath caught and a multitude of butterflies took wing in the vicinity of her stomach.

Without warning he turned abruptly, dropped the pack and yanked her to him. His hands gripped hard and she felt the tension running like a river, sending a thrill of anticipation down her spine. Deliberately, she licked the length of his jawline and then trailed kisses along his shadowed jaw before sucking his earlobe into her mouth and then tugging with her teeth.

His breath exploded in a harsh gasp and he drove her backward until she clung to him to keep from falling. His teeth raked down her throat and nipped her shoulder before his mouth returned to claim hers, his tongue sweeping inside. He didn’t just kiss her, he claimed her, devouring her as if she was his last meal.