Savage Nature
Page 46
“I did take that into consideration,” she admitted. “Ordinarily I might have stopped goin’ into the swamp, although, to be truthful, I’m not certain how long I could stay away.”
He understood. Her leopard needed the swamp.
“But I have the chance of a lifetime with my photography. If I blow it, I’m back huntin’ gators, and believe me, it’s difficult work. I need my own money. I don’ want my brothers to think they need to support me. I received an advance for this job, more than I’ve ever made in a year, and if I complete it, there’s triple that. I have no real choice.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her. Of course there was a choice, but she was building a career. Photography was not only her livelihood—but something her nature demanded she do. She’d taken money and made a commitment. She wasn’t the type to renege on a commitment—one of the things he particularly found most attractive. No, he wouldn’t have tried to forbid her to enter the swamp, but he sure as hell would have protected her.
The wind shifted slightly, carrying just the trace of a scent. Very carefully he caught her shoulders and eased her into a sitting position. He turned his body, placing himself squarely between Saria and certain danger. He could smell the mixture of fury and leopard rising.
8
THE man striding toward Drake and Saria was dressed in jeans and a light T-shirt, looking casually handsome as only someone with money could manage. Dark glasses shaded his eyes, but Drake could read the fury in his scent, the movement of his body and the fists clenched tightly against his thigh. He was armed—the gun was in a holdout strapped to his leg, but Drake smelled the gun oil from a recent cleaning.
Drake stood up, an easy fluid motion, and reached behind him to offer his hand to Saria. He pulled her up easily and retained possession of her hand, keeping her tucked slightly behind him. The waves of anger coming off the approaching stranger were personal, rather than anger at them for trespassing.
“Armande Mercier,” Saria whispered.
Armande’s face darkened. He clearly heard her. If Drake was reading him correctly, his leopard was close, fighting for control.
“What the hell are you doing, Saria?” Armande demanded, striding right up to them, cutting into Drake’s personal space, obviously expecting him to step back. The move was practiced, an intimidation that had worked well for him in the past.
Drake hel fury s ground, remaining nearly nose to nose with the man. “Saria is guiding me through the swamp. I’m Drake Donovan, Mr. Bannaconni’s representative.” He poured authority into his voice. This man had been with the others the night before, but he hadn’t been the one to fight Drake. He could see the shock when it registered that he was associated with Jake Bannaconni, the man who owned the properties they all leased.
“That doesn’t give you any right . . .”
“I take it you aren’t familiar with the lease your father signed?” Drake cut him off. “Step back, Mercier. I don’t like anyone getting in my face.” When the other man hesitated, Drake stepped into him. “Do it now.” He kept his voice low, soft even, but the steel was there—and the threat.
Armande stared him directly in the eyes, but Drake’s cat was already leaping to meet the threat. His gaze remained unblinking, the stare of the predator, his eyes nearly completely golden rather than his usual green. Armande gave ground reluctantly.
“I don’t know why you would react with such anger and rudeness even if you thought we’d inadvertently trespassed on your land, but now that you know I have every legal right to be here, perhaps we can start over.”
“I don’ know you have a legal right to anything,” Armande snapped.
Behind him, Saria shifted her weight, but she didn’t react. Drake appreciated that she stayed quiet, waiting, as he was, to see what Armande intended. One wrong move and the man was certain to erupt into violence. Drake wanted to ease the tension. He needed to find a way to get the lair to accept his claim on Saria without bloodshed.
Armande’s furious gaze leapt from Drake to Saria. “Damn right I’m angry. I don’t want that little slut usin’ my land as her own personal brothel. Do you fuck all your clients, Saria, or just the rich ones?”
Drake backhanded him. Hard. The blow rocked Armande and knocked his glasses sideways. So much for easing the tension. Fur rippled beneath his skin, and his jaw ached as his mouth filled with teeth. He fought the change, breathing deep to keep his furious leopard at bay. Cooler heads had to prevail, and right then the man wanted to beat Armande to a bloody pulp, but the leopard wanted to kill him.
Armande tore his glasses from his face and ripped at his shirt, as though to tear it from his body.
Drake stepped closer to him. “You do that, and I won’t be able to control my leopard. He’ll tear you apart. You’ve seen him and what he can do. You’re angry, but not because Saria’s a slut. You tried to force your leopard on hers and she didn’t like it. You’re the lowest kind of man, Mercier, thinking you’re entitled to whoever you want regardless of their feelings. Saria is off-limits to scum like you.”
Armande’s fury erupted into a threatening growl, driven by the ferocious need of his cat.
“Armande!” The feminine voice cracked like a whip.
Armande froze. It took great effort, but he hung his head, breathing deeply to steady himself before turning away from Drake and Saria to face the newcomer. Charisse Mercier was breathtaking. She knew she was a beautiful woman and she walked as if everyone was watching her, her hips swaying gently and long dark hair flowing down her back. She wore a long pencil-thin skirt, slk shirt and fitted jacket that suited her figure and showed off her small waist. Her boots were fashionable, but looked out of place even on the edge of the swamp.
He understood. Her leopard needed the swamp.
“But I have the chance of a lifetime with my photography. If I blow it, I’m back huntin’ gators, and believe me, it’s difficult work. I need my own money. I don’ want my brothers to think they need to support me. I received an advance for this job, more than I’ve ever made in a year, and if I complete it, there’s triple that. I have no real choice.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her. Of course there was a choice, but she was building a career. Photography was not only her livelihood—but something her nature demanded she do. She’d taken money and made a commitment. She wasn’t the type to renege on a commitment—one of the things he particularly found most attractive. No, he wouldn’t have tried to forbid her to enter the swamp, but he sure as hell would have protected her.
The wind shifted slightly, carrying just the trace of a scent. Very carefully he caught her shoulders and eased her into a sitting position. He turned his body, placing himself squarely between Saria and certain danger. He could smell the mixture of fury and leopard rising.
8
THE man striding toward Drake and Saria was dressed in jeans and a light T-shirt, looking casually handsome as only someone with money could manage. Dark glasses shaded his eyes, but Drake could read the fury in his scent, the movement of his body and the fists clenched tightly against his thigh. He was armed—the gun was in a holdout strapped to his leg, but Drake smelled the gun oil from a recent cleaning.
Drake stood up, an easy fluid motion, and reached behind him to offer his hand to Saria. He pulled her up easily and retained possession of her hand, keeping her tucked slightly behind him. The waves of anger coming off the approaching stranger were personal, rather than anger at them for trespassing.
“Armande Mercier,” Saria whispered.
Armande’s face darkened. He clearly heard her. If Drake was reading him correctly, his leopard was close, fighting for control.
“What the hell are you doing, Saria?” Armande demanded, striding right up to them, cutting into Drake’s personal space, obviously expecting him to step back. The move was practiced, an intimidation that had worked well for him in the past.
Drake hel fury s ground, remaining nearly nose to nose with the man. “Saria is guiding me through the swamp. I’m Drake Donovan, Mr. Bannaconni’s representative.” He poured authority into his voice. This man had been with the others the night before, but he hadn’t been the one to fight Drake. He could see the shock when it registered that he was associated with Jake Bannaconni, the man who owned the properties they all leased.
“That doesn’t give you any right . . .”
“I take it you aren’t familiar with the lease your father signed?” Drake cut him off. “Step back, Mercier. I don’t like anyone getting in my face.” When the other man hesitated, Drake stepped into him. “Do it now.” He kept his voice low, soft even, but the steel was there—and the threat.
Armande stared him directly in the eyes, but Drake’s cat was already leaping to meet the threat. His gaze remained unblinking, the stare of the predator, his eyes nearly completely golden rather than his usual green. Armande gave ground reluctantly.
“I don’t know why you would react with such anger and rudeness even if you thought we’d inadvertently trespassed on your land, but now that you know I have every legal right to be here, perhaps we can start over.”
“I don’ know you have a legal right to anything,” Armande snapped.
Behind him, Saria shifted her weight, but she didn’t react. Drake appreciated that she stayed quiet, waiting, as he was, to see what Armande intended. One wrong move and the man was certain to erupt into violence. Drake wanted to ease the tension. He needed to find a way to get the lair to accept his claim on Saria without bloodshed.
Armande’s furious gaze leapt from Drake to Saria. “Damn right I’m angry. I don’t want that little slut usin’ my land as her own personal brothel. Do you fuck all your clients, Saria, or just the rich ones?”
Drake backhanded him. Hard. The blow rocked Armande and knocked his glasses sideways. So much for easing the tension. Fur rippled beneath his skin, and his jaw ached as his mouth filled with teeth. He fought the change, breathing deep to keep his furious leopard at bay. Cooler heads had to prevail, and right then the man wanted to beat Armande to a bloody pulp, but the leopard wanted to kill him.
Armande tore his glasses from his face and ripped at his shirt, as though to tear it from his body.
Drake stepped closer to him. “You do that, and I won’t be able to control my leopard. He’ll tear you apart. You’ve seen him and what he can do. You’re angry, but not because Saria’s a slut. You tried to force your leopard on hers and she didn’t like it. You’re the lowest kind of man, Mercier, thinking you’re entitled to whoever you want regardless of their feelings. Saria is off-limits to scum like you.”
Armande’s fury erupted into a threatening growl, driven by the ferocious need of his cat.
“Armande!” The feminine voice cracked like a whip.
Armande froze. It took great effort, but he hung his head, breathing deeply to steady himself before turning away from Drake and Saria to face the newcomer. Charisse Mercier was breathtaking. She knew she was a beautiful woman and she walked as if everyone was watching her, her hips swaying gently and long dark hair flowing down her back. She wore a long pencil-thin skirt, slk shirt and fitted jacket that suited her figure and showed off her small waist. Her boots were fashionable, but looked out of place even on the edge of the swamp.
