Wild Fire
Page 45
She’d slept the night way, curled against the large leopard, the rain a steady, soothing rhythm, the fur thick and warm. His heartbeat had been in her ear as she’d pillowed her head on soft fur. There’d been no sign of this madness then. She’d even managed to get the picture of Conner crouching naked in the stream out of her mind. Now, she couldn’t take a breath without scenting his fresh, wild musk—an enticing lure she couldn’t seem to ignore.
Without even looking for him, she was acutely aware of him. She knew his exact position at any given moment. Conner Vega was fast becoming the bane of her life. She tried desperately just to breathe normally, but her lungs burned right along with her skin, air coming in ragged, harsh gasps.
The men shot her small, quick glances throughout breakfast, but no one really looked at her—and that told her that in spite of her best efforts—they knew her ripening condition. It was a humiliating and extremely uncomfortable position to be in. Her hunger deepened when Conner came back from his morning shower, dressed casually in jeans that hugged his strong legs and cupped his butt. The last thing she needed to do was to be looking, but, honestly, how could she stop herself? She pressed her fingertips to her temples hard in an effort to get control. Her teeth ached from the strain of continually clenching them.
The men had a low conversation after breakfast while she drank coffee that tasted so bitter she could barely get it down. Adan had left. She’d put down the sudden uneasiness she’d felt at her only real ally leaving, but no matter how much she wanted to deny it, since awakening this morning, a slow heat had begun building in her body. Thick, like magma in a volcano, the heat moved through her veins and spread like an insidious addiction throughout her body.
It didn’t help that after breakfast the team decided to work with Jeremiah and her on fighting skills. Of course it was Conner touching her, totally impersonal, his hands placing her body in the correct position until just the brush of his fingertips made her want to scream with need. She was not going to miss this opportunity to learn from them, but their bodies were soon glistening with sweat and almost immediately the men shed their shirts.
She put everything she had into the workout, appreciating the difficult physical techniques of punching and kicking. She worked her body hard in an effort to sublimate. If she couldn’t have hot, sweaty sex and lots of it, she hoped to work herself to the point of exhaustion. Each time Conner corrected her stance, or her leg when she pivoted and kicked, it was all she could do not to jerk away from his scalding touch.
She deliberately put distance between them, trying to work on the spinning, jumping kicks and accurate punches. She heard Conner and Rio talking about sparring and stood with Jeremiah, trying not to notice the amorous glances he shot her way. Her cat wanted to rub along the tree branches, basically rub anything at all. All she wanted to do was rub herself all over Conner, but if they wanted sparring then that’s what they’d get.
Felipe was first to stand opposite her, his fists doubled, his hands up and his eyes focused on her. She could see he was trying not to breathe—not to inhale her scent. She’d never noticed that his lashes were so long, curling a bit at the tips. He had a nice nose and a firm jaw. He was extremely handsome, not quite as muscular as Conner or Rio, but lithe and supple . . .
“What the hell are you doing, Isabeau?” Conner demanded. “He just nailed you six times in a row and you didn’t even try to block.”
“He did?” She blinked rapidly and looked around at the circle of faces, a little confused. Had Felipe actually moved? “He didn’t hit me.”
“He pulled his punch because if he touched you, I’d knock his teeth down his throat,” Conner bit back, clearly exasperated. “You still have to block.”
He looked very sexy when he was angry. She’d never noticed that before. She reached out to rub the frown from his face. He jerked back, his breath exploding out of his lungs. She dropped her hand, pouting a little. “I’m trying, Conner.”
“Well, try harder,” he said gruffly.
His voice was thick and sexy, and another rush of heat slipped like fire through her veins. She liked that. Felipe was replaced by Elijah. Elijah seemed as if he was paying more attention to Conner than to her. Experimentally, she threw a series of light punches and kicks, determined to drive Elijah back. He didn’t retreat as he should have, but flicked his hand toward her with incredible speed. She could actually see the flow of his muscle, the firmness of his jaw, the sensual shape of his lips.
Flesh smacked flesh and she blinked. Conner’s open palm had captured Elijah’s fist just a scant inch from her face. “Isabeau,” he snapped between his teeth. “You aren’t trying.”
“I was. Really,” she protested. How was she supposed to concentrate when Elijah’s entire body seemed made of flowing muscle? It was poetic. And sexy. Hot. Downright hot.
Conner made a sound that bordered on a snarl. Elijah backed away from Isabeau, dropping his hands and shaking his head. Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “I’m done here, Conner.”
Isabeau looked hopefully at Leonardo. Surely she could land a kick or two on him. The man looked as if he was terrified—going to his doom. That should tell Conner she was scaring the men.
Her body felt wonderful, very alive, every nerve ending sensitive and responsive. Every movement stretched her top taut over her peaking nipples, brushing them with the most delicious strokes, sending streaks of arousal dancing through her belly. When she moved with the sensuous flow of muscle, she was acutely aware of the mechanics of her body as she’d never been—of her own femininity and how perfectly wonderful jeans were, rubbing in all the right places when she picked up her leg to throw a kick.
Without even looking for him, she was acutely aware of him. She knew his exact position at any given moment. Conner Vega was fast becoming the bane of her life. She tried desperately just to breathe normally, but her lungs burned right along with her skin, air coming in ragged, harsh gasps.
The men shot her small, quick glances throughout breakfast, but no one really looked at her—and that told her that in spite of her best efforts—they knew her ripening condition. It was a humiliating and extremely uncomfortable position to be in. Her hunger deepened when Conner came back from his morning shower, dressed casually in jeans that hugged his strong legs and cupped his butt. The last thing she needed to do was to be looking, but, honestly, how could she stop herself? She pressed her fingertips to her temples hard in an effort to get control. Her teeth ached from the strain of continually clenching them.
The men had a low conversation after breakfast while she drank coffee that tasted so bitter she could barely get it down. Adan had left. She’d put down the sudden uneasiness she’d felt at her only real ally leaving, but no matter how much she wanted to deny it, since awakening this morning, a slow heat had begun building in her body. Thick, like magma in a volcano, the heat moved through her veins and spread like an insidious addiction throughout her body.
It didn’t help that after breakfast the team decided to work with Jeremiah and her on fighting skills. Of course it was Conner touching her, totally impersonal, his hands placing her body in the correct position until just the brush of his fingertips made her want to scream with need. She was not going to miss this opportunity to learn from them, but their bodies were soon glistening with sweat and almost immediately the men shed their shirts.
She put everything she had into the workout, appreciating the difficult physical techniques of punching and kicking. She worked her body hard in an effort to sublimate. If she couldn’t have hot, sweaty sex and lots of it, she hoped to work herself to the point of exhaustion. Each time Conner corrected her stance, or her leg when she pivoted and kicked, it was all she could do not to jerk away from his scalding touch.
She deliberately put distance between them, trying to work on the spinning, jumping kicks and accurate punches. She heard Conner and Rio talking about sparring and stood with Jeremiah, trying not to notice the amorous glances he shot her way. Her cat wanted to rub along the tree branches, basically rub anything at all. All she wanted to do was rub herself all over Conner, but if they wanted sparring then that’s what they’d get.
Felipe was first to stand opposite her, his fists doubled, his hands up and his eyes focused on her. She could see he was trying not to breathe—not to inhale her scent. She’d never noticed that his lashes were so long, curling a bit at the tips. He had a nice nose and a firm jaw. He was extremely handsome, not quite as muscular as Conner or Rio, but lithe and supple . . .
“What the hell are you doing, Isabeau?” Conner demanded. “He just nailed you six times in a row and you didn’t even try to block.”
“He did?” She blinked rapidly and looked around at the circle of faces, a little confused. Had Felipe actually moved? “He didn’t hit me.”
“He pulled his punch because if he touched you, I’d knock his teeth down his throat,” Conner bit back, clearly exasperated. “You still have to block.”
He looked very sexy when he was angry. She’d never noticed that before. She reached out to rub the frown from his face. He jerked back, his breath exploding out of his lungs. She dropped her hand, pouting a little. “I’m trying, Conner.”
“Well, try harder,” he said gruffly.
His voice was thick and sexy, and another rush of heat slipped like fire through her veins. She liked that. Felipe was replaced by Elijah. Elijah seemed as if he was paying more attention to Conner than to her. Experimentally, she threw a series of light punches and kicks, determined to drive Elijah back. He didn’t retreat as he should have, but flicked his hand toward her with incredible speed. She could actually see the flow of his muscle, the firmness of his jaw, the sensual shape of his lips.
Flesh smacked flesh and she blinked. Conner’s open palm had captured Elijah’s fist just a scant inch from her face. “Isabeau,” he snapped between his teeth. “You aren’t trying.”
“I was. Really,” she protested. How was she supposed to concentrate when Elijah’s entire body seemed made of flowing muscle? It was poetic. And sexy. Hot. Downright hot.
Conner made a sound that bordered on a snarl. Elijah backed away from Isabeau, dropping his hands and shaking his head. Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “I’m done here, Conner.”
Isabeau looked hopefully at Leonardo. Surely she could land a kick or two on him. The man looked as if he was terrified—going to his doom. That should tell Conner she was scaring the men.
Her body felt wonderful, very alive, every nerve ending sensitive and responsive. Every movement stretched her top taut over her peaking nipples, brushing them with the most delicious strokes, sending streaks of arousal dancing through her belly. When she moved with the sensuous flow of muscle, she was acutely aware of the mechanics of her body as she’d never been—of her own femininity and how perfectly wonderful jeans were, rubbing in all the right places when she picked up her leg to throw a kick.
