Leaves rustled high in the trees above her head, and she glanced up. Something moved, something large but very silent. She continued to stare into the thick foliage, straining to make out a shape, a shadow. Anything that might make the leaves flutter in the night air against the wind. Was it a large snake? A python perhaps—they grew to enormous sizes.
She felt a dark premonition of danger, of something dangerous hunting her. Stalking her. Watching her intently with a fixed, focused stare. Defensively she put a hand to her throat as if warding off the strangling bite of a leopard. Maggie took a cautious step backward, toward the safety of the house, her gaze never leaving the tree above her head.
The wind plucked at the trees, stirred and shifted the leaves. Her heart slammed hard against her chest as she found herself falling into the hypnotic gaze of a large animal. She had always been fascinated with large cats, but every encounter had been in a controlled environment. This leopard, a rare black panther, was free, wild, and on the hunt. The stare was terrifying, unnerving. Power and intelligence shone in those unblinking golden eyes. Maggie couldn’t look away, caught in the gripping intensity of the focused stare. She knew from her vast experience with exotic cats that the leopard was one of the most cunning and intelligent predators in the forest.
A single sound escaped her, a soft moan of alarm. Her tongue darted out, traced her suddenly dry lips. Maggie knew better than to run—she didn’t want to trigger an attack. She took another step backward, felt for the door. All the while her gaze was locked with the panther’s. The cat never looked away from her, a hunter beyond measure, a fast, efficient killer that was concentrated on prey. She was the prey. She recognized danger when she saw it.
He could hear her heartbeat, the fast acceleration that signaled intense fear. Her face was pale, her eyes wide as she stared deep into his. When her small tongue touched her lush bottom lip, he nearly fell out of the tree. He could almost read her thoughts. She believed he was hunting her, stalking her. She believed he was hungry. And he was. He wanted, needed to devour her. Just not in the way she thought.
She backed inside the house, slammed the door shut solidly. He heard the bar slide into place. Brandt remained very still, his heart hammering out his joy. She was his now. It was only a matter of time. The intensity of his need for her shocked him. The instinctual drive for a mate went far beyond anything he had ever experienced.
The night was falling. His time. It belonged to him, to his kind. He listened to the whispers as his world stirred to life. He heard the softest calls, knew every creature, every insect. Knew who belonged and who did not. There was a natural rhythm to life and he was in the midst of a change. Disturbing, disquieting, but he was determined to exert his discipline and handle it as he did all things, with iron control.
He shifted, roped muscles rippling beneath the thick fur as he padded in silence along the heavy branch, intent on following her progress as she moved from room to room. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, drinking in the sight of her, torturing his body, his senses, with her. She moved him as nothing ever had. She stole his breath and aroused his body to such a fever pitch of excitement he found himself enthralled.
Nothing stood between them but his honor. His code. Nothing. No time or distance. He had resolved that issue with his cunning intelligence. He lifted his head and forced his body to take in air, to read the night, to know he was in control in the midst of the upheaval. His body was different. Heavy with need, throbbing, aching. Every sense was alive. Every cell needed. Hungered. His head roared and ached, an uncomfortable state for one of power and discipline.
Maggie leaned against the door for a long time. She had been crazy to come here to this far-off place with danger at every turn. Her heart was racing and her blood rushed madly through her body. Yet a small smile touched her mouth in spite of the adrenaline pumping through her. She couldn’t remember feeling so alive before. She wasn’t even certain she had been afraid, she was so excited. It was as if she had been walking through life asleep to all the possibilities. Now, here, in the primitive jungle, every sense was enhanced and on fire.
She stepped away from the door, looked up at the ceiling with its fans and wide beams. This house suited her with its wide-open spaces and interesting carvings. She began to walk through it, confident that there were no animals in her home. It was exhilarating to feel as if she had closed out all danger and left it on the other side of the door. She picked up her packs and began an inspection of the downstairs. The rooms were large and each had the same high ceiling and sparse furniture, all made with a hard, dark wood. Curiously, in two of the bedrooms she discovered claw marks, as if some very large cat had marked the wall up near the ceiling. Maggie stared at the marks, puzzled by how they had been put there.
In the large kitchen she found a note on the small refrigerator penned in a masculine scrawl explaining how the lights worked and where to find everything she might need for the first night in her family home. There was a bowl of fresh fruit left for her and she gratefully ate a juicy mango, her parched throat savoring the sweetness. She touched the large, looping letters of the note in a silent thanks with a caressing fingertip, strangely drawn to the handwriting. She turned the note over and over, brought it to her nose, inhaling the scent. She could actually smell him. Brandt Talbot, the man who had written the note, had lived in the house.
He was everywhere. His scent. He seemed to envelop her with his presence. Once she was aware of him, she realized his touch was everywhere. He lived in the house. The polished wood and gleaming tiles had to have been his doing. The artwork, which appealed to her, had to be his.
The stairs were wide and curved in a sweeping circle up to the next level. Incredible photos of every wild creature imaginable hung on the walls going up the stairs. The photographs were rare treasures. The photographer had captured the very essence of wildlife, unusual action shots and beautiful pictures of plants, close-ups that depicted the dewy petals. She leaned closer, already knowing who had taken the photographs. In the corner of each picture was a four-line poem. Reading the words made her feel as if she had accidentally connected intimately with the poet. Each poem had been written in a looping masculine scrawl. The sentiments were thoughtful, beautiful, romantic even. It couldn’t have been written by anyone else. Brandt Talbot had the soul of a poet. He was an unusual man and she was already intrigued.
She inhaled again as she climbed the stairs, drawing the scent of him deep into her lungs. He seemed to belong. Here in the house. Deep inside of her where she breathed. The mysterious Brandt Talbot with his incredible photography skills and his love of wood and wildlife and beautiful words. He seemed familiar, a man who shared her favorite things.
Weariness was making her droop. Maggie became aware of how uncomfortable her skin was, wet and sticky, as she made her way up to the second story. She found a bedroom at the end of the hallway that was to her liking. The bed was made up invitingly, the fans were already circulating air, and there was a spacious private bath off the room.
She put her packs on the dresser, silently claiming the room as her own. Above the bed, up in the corner, she saw the claw marks etched deeply into the wood and she shivered. Her gaze remained there as she tossed the khaki shirt aside and peeled off the wet T-shirt. It was a relief to have the soaked material away from her tender skin.
Maggie stood in the center of the room wearing only her low-riding jeans, and she sighed with relief. Wet clothes clinging to her skin called up a strange sensation, almost as if something lying dormant beneath her skin stirred for a moment, tried to break through her pores, then subsided, leaving her itchy and tender and very irritable. She stretched her sore muscles, lifted her hands to take down her hair, shaking it loose so she could wash the heavy mass in the shower.
Her boots came off next, then her socks. It was heaven to be barefoot, her soles cool on the floorboards. Much more comfortable, she took the time to look around the large room. The second-story bedroom was spacious with wide beams and little furniture. The bed was huge with four intricately carved posters rising halfway to the ceiling. Several fans whirled above her head, providing a welcome breeze in the room. Her gaze touched once more on the strange claw marks, slid away, then returned as if drawn by some unseen force.
She crossed the room to stare up at them, finally climbed up on the bed and stretched to touch them with her fingertips. She traced each mark. The wood was shredded; the claws had dug in deep. Was it from a long-ago pet kept in the house? Something wild that had marked its territory?
The moment the unbidden thought came to her, she shivered, the marks taking on life, burning her fingertips so that she pulled her hand quickly away from the wall. Surprised, she glanced at her seared fingers but found them without a blemish. Maggie put her fingers in her mouth, soothing the sensitive nerve endings with her tongue.
She wandered across the room to the windows. The panes in the room seemed overlarge, big enough to climb through should she need to do so. Each room had similar size windows with the inevitable balcony around them. A grid of bars shielded each window, making her very aware she was in a wild setting.
Maggie stood at the window, staring out into the night. Into the rain and the forest. She could see the leaves waving and dancing in the trees as the wind increased in strength. Bone tired, she began to slowly peel away her jeans, wet from the tropical rain and sticking to her. She wanted a shower and then to lie down and sleep as long as possible. She didn’t want to think about how wild her surroundings were, how she seemed so different here in this exotic setting. She didn’t want to be aware of her body, every nerve ending heightened by the sultry air and danger surrounding her. She stood naked, staring out the window into the darkness, unable to look away.
The glass reflected back her image as a mirror might. The strange heaviness was on her again, a burning that pooled low and wicked in her body, throbbing and demanding relief. It was even stronger than the last time, as if a wave of sexual hunger gripped her, settled in her, demanded satisfaction. Maggie leaned closer to peer into the glass, inspecting her body. Her skin was unmarred, smooth and inviting.
Separated only by a thin pane of glass, Brandt’s breath stilled in his body. She was so enticing with her innocent eyes and sultry mouth. Her body was made to be touched, to be enjoyed. Made for him. His heart thundered out a savage beat and his body shuddered with anticipation.
He could almost feel the texture of her skin, soft and inviting. He knew the way their bodies would come together in frantic heat, in a firestorm of passion and hunger. When she moved, her body was a seductive invitation, her full breasts drawing his heated gaze. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her skin so that she glistened like the petals of a flower after a rain. He locked his muscles to keep from leaping through the window and lapping at every inch of exposed skin. He wanted to suckle her lush breasts, feel her fiery heat surround him. He wanted to be buried deep inside of her. He had so many plans, each more erotic than the last, and looking at her, he vowed to have her in every way possible. Drawn by the sight of her body unveiled to him, he pressed closer, his eyes gleaming gold in the dark.
Strangely, Maggie felt eyes on her, watching her. The impression was so strong she stepped even closer to the window. She doubted if any human would be out standing on the balcony in the deluge, especially with a panther near. Yet the feeling persisted that her lover had arrived and he waited for her. Wanted her. Was desperate for her. The feeling was strong, overwhelming, as if she could feel his savage hunger beating at her in her mind. His eyes were caressing every inch of her body.
Her hands moved up her narrow rib cage on the path she wanted him to take. She cupped the weight of her breasts in her hands, an offering, a blatant temptation. She needed to feel him touching her, his thumbs teasing her nipples into hard peaks. Maggie’s skin was hot and flushed, her body aching for release. When she moved, it was a sensual flow of muscles and curves, her hands following the lines of her body, drawing attention to the fiery triangle of curls at the junction of her legs.
Her thighs felt smooth, her hips rounded. She ached for her lover to find her, to come to her, to touch her skin and find every secret place on her body. Her long hair fell around her like a silken cloak, strands sliding over her breasts and back as she moved, caressing her breasts and buttocks. The sensation caused her body to clench tightly in reaction, her blood to thicken and her breath to grow labored.
Maggie placed her hands on the glass pane. She wanted. She hungered. For whom she didn’t know, but the feeling was strong in her. And it wasn’t sweet or pleasant. The erotic images dancing in her head were rough and consuming, not of a gentle, considerate lover, but one taking her in a wild frenzy of lust, of elemental, savage desire.