"Tell us what to do."
She glared at him. "Whoever you have starin' at me through your cameras ought to be able to tell you what to do. You've evidently been watchin' me."
"You work too hard. You need help during the day. You don't take breaks. You rarely eat your lunch. You get up at three and start baking. You stay here until seven cleaning. That is going to stop. Timur is making arrangements to have cleaners come in starting tonight."
She gasped. "You are not just goin' to take over my life. I mean it, Alonzo. This is my bakery. I've worked hard for it. You're not takin' over. Not my life, and certainly not my bakery."
"Is it so wrong to want to keep you from killing yourself with work? I've never seen a woman work so fucking hard." There was admiration in his voice. Respect.
That brought her up short. It was genuine. She was a shifter whether or not her leopard had emerged. From a very young age, her female had made her presence known to help her. One of the very first things she'd done was to aid her in hearing truth or lies. He definitely respected her. He meant every word he said.
She pushed a hand through her hair in agitation. He didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with taking over her life. Dictating to her. She knew it was the shifter in him. The leopard. She couldn't live with his dominance, and that was one thing she wasn't going to kid herself about--Alonzo Massi, or Fyodor, was an extremely dominant male.
"It isn't wrong to want to see that I don' work so hard, Alonzo," she said patiently, her voice low and soothing. She couldn't help that either. It was ingrained in her. That soft tone. Defusing every situation. Self-preservation. "If you're concerned, you should talk to me about how to solve the situation, not just take over."
"You would argue with me."
She might just kick him in the shin again. "I'd give you my point of view."
"It is the same thing. Arguing when there is no need. I don't do that, woman. I make the best decision and I carry it out. In this case, calling in a cleaning crew and hiring you help alleviates the problem. You go home earlier and have less work. How is that not a good solution?"
"Oh. My. God." She actually fisted both hands in her hair and pulled. "You're makin' me crazy. Fine. Let's just go before I do somethin' drastic. And keep your hands to yourself. I mean it. I have no intention of having a physical relationship with you."
Again his mouth hinted at a smile and for just one brief second, the hard lines in his face softened. "Because you know you can't resist me. That once I take you, there will be no other man to satisfy you."
She deliberately rolled her eyes, but she didn't answer him. He was leopard and he could hear lies.
6
"IN this house you will always call me Fyodor when we are alone," Alonzo decreed. He had to give that much of himself to her. His real name. The fact that he was Russian and proud of it. He would give her as much of himself as he possibly could.
Evangeline didn't respond. Dropping her car keys on the counter she immediately took off her shoes and put them on a small shelf built into the wall near the door. He walked right into the center of the room. It was wide and spacious with a high ceiling. He needed room, lots of it. The Arnotto mansion had room, but without Siena, Antonio Arnotto's granddaughter, there, it was cold and hollow--like him. Siena was safe now, with Elijah, and he'd keep her that way, but Alonzo would always watch over her.
He liked Evangeline's home. It was . . . her. Sweet. Homey. All the little touches that said Evangeline. It was neat, with gleaming, polished wood floors in rich, warm tones. Her sofa was small, like her. Suited to her. But it was inviting and very comfortable-looking in tan and brown tones. There were two smaller chairs positioned in front of a fireplace. A sheepskin rug gave him far too many ideas.
He kept moving, wandering through her private space, guessing he was the first to ever be there--man or woman. She was private, his woman. She seemed friendly and approachable, but even here in her private sanctuary, there were no pictures of family, nothing to give her past away.
The living room gave way to a nice-sized dining room. A cherrywood table that seated six with a chandelier hanging over it. The chandelier appeared to be branches dripping with leaves, small lights on them. Classy. Beautiful. Like Evangeline.
She was going to run from him. He was certain of that. She was intelligent and she knew what he was. What his leopard was. She saw the killer in both of them. She didn't accept that it was too late for her, but he knew it was. He'd spent every damned day of his life in brutal, relentless hell. His childhood had been hell. His young adult life.
His leopard had grown vicious with the childhood abuse heaped on him, the violence and the cruelty of his life. The leopard had raged to protect him and in raging, had grown more and more dangerous until, as controlled, as disciplined and as powerfully dangerous as Fyodor was, his leopard was nearly his equal match. The beast raged for blood. A fury of need. Of demand. Every second, sleeping or waking. Until he walked into that bakery. Until Evangeline.
He ran his hand along the granite counter in her kitchen. Clearly she'd bought this house for the kitchen. It was easily the largest room in the house. The most modern. It smelled like her. Cinnamon and spice. Like Evangeline. His woman. He never thought he'd ever have that. Have someone of his own. For himself.
"Sit down, Alonzo, tell me about yourself. About your leopard." She came up behind him and extended her arm toward the inviting living space that opened through the archway of the dining room and kitchen so that the house seemed to be much larger than it really was.
He took two steps toward the room with its comfortable chairs and then turned so that he was towering over her. His hand curled around her throat, tipping her head up because if he was going to give her this, he damned well was going to look into her eyes. "Be very sure you want the truth about me, malyutka, because it will scare you to death and I'm still not going to let you go. And when we're together like this, I am Fyodor. Give me that." Because he was giving himself to her whether she liked it or not.
She took a breath. He felt it in his lungs. The way they'd shared breath when he'd kissed her. He tasted her in his mouth. His cock jerked, already hard and hurting. Already making demands.
"Then tell me the worst so I know what I'm facing."
"You hear this, there is no turning back. The things I tell you can get you killed. Not by me, Evangeline, so don't think I'm threatening you. You just have to be certain you really want to know the real me."
"What's the point of this if you aren't sharing who you really are?"
He could hear that she genuinely wanted to know him, but not for the reasons he wanted to know her. She was looking for affirmation that he was a bad bet--and he was. Still, in her home, when he was alone with her, he would give her truth.
"I'm a shifter. Shifters need sex. A lot of sex. My body is as hard as a rock most of the time, a painful ache that refuses to leave me seemingly ever. Night and day, that need never changes other than to get worse sometimes. It doesn't matter how many times I jerk off, it doesn't help. My leopard makes fucking a woman a nightmare."
He saw the trepidation in her eyes, but also the arousal. His thumb moved over her skin because he couldn't help himself. There was no way not to touch her. It was a compulsion. A need far stronger than he was. He was scaring her, yes, but she was also feeling the beginnings of hunger for him just at the thought of his need.
"I was always careful. I never took a woman to my home. Not. Ever. That was his territory. My leopard's territory. I went to her apartment, kept her turned away from me so she wasn't looking into my eyes and I wasn't looking into hers." He rubbed his thumb over her lips. That full bottom lip that he loved and wanted to take a bite out of.
She swallowed hard. He felt the movement of her throat in the palm of his hand and that was intimate and sexy. Her breath was against the pad of his thumb. Her tongue tasted, just for a moment, and the soft brush of moist velvet sent heat shimmering through his veins.
/> "I like rough sex. I need it. I like a lot of things I couldn't have, things I fantasized about, but knew were impossible because of my leopard." He bent his head until his forehead touched hers. Rested there. "Until you. Until you, Evangeline. There was no having anything for myself until you."
His gaze never left hers. He held her captive, refusing to look away, letting his leopard focus completely on her. Their miracle. Their savior. The woman who would give them everything they needed and hungered for. Evangeline.
His leopard stretched. Stroked. Purred. Rubbed amorously along the surface. Not clawing. No raking. No snarling for the kill. After years of fighting for supremacy, he seemed content to allow Alonzo to seduce their mate.
"There was no taking my time with a woman. I did the minimum of what it took to get her ready, did my thing, got off and got the hell out fast before my leopard could hurt her. Every moment I was with a woman, her life was in danger. Every second. The worst was when I climaxed. At that moment, any man, me included, no matter how strong, is on the very edge of his control. My cat would always push closer, wanting revenge."
She frowned. An adorable little frown that told him in that moment she wasn't thinking about running like she should have been--the way she would later. She was thinking about what it was like to be him. He resisted kissing her because he knew he might not stop once he started and she deserved better than the life he was going to give her. She needed care. Patience. Gentleness if he could manage it.
"I don' understand, Alon--" At his narrowed gaze she shrugged. "Fyodor." His name rolled off her tongue with her Louisiana accent. A Russian name pronounced with a Southern accent. He loved how hot that sounded. "Why would he want revenge on the woman, and what did he intend to do?"
"He would have killed her. He needed to kill her."
She gasped and the sympathy in her eyes overwhelmed him. No one had sympathy for him. No one worried about him or thought about what his life was like. He couldn't remember anyone asking. Compassion and sympathy were two emotions to beat out of children, to never give them. He found her reaction disconcerting.
Abruptly he lifted his head and made to move away from her. Her hands slid up his chest to curl into his shirt. She held him there, not by her strength or even her will, but by something he'd never had before. He didn't know what to do with it and like his leopard, when he was threatened, he stood very still, something lethal unfolding in him. Simultaneously, emotion spread like a wildfire. Need. Hunger. Something bigger. Much bigger. Looking down into her face, his heart contracted and he knew she was in there. Wrapped there, never to get out, and he didn't even know how or when it had happened.
"Sit down, Fyodor. I'll fix us something to eat. You can talk while you eat."
That was a first as well. He barely recalled his mother making them food. She had, now that he thought about it, but it had been a rare occasion, not normal. His mother had hidden herself from her husband as much as possible. Alonzo had learned to cook at a very early age. To rummage for food. His brothers had done the same.
Evangeline slowly eased her fists from his shirt and rubbed her palms down his chest, smoothing the material. "Go sit." She indicated a kitchen chair.
The small breakfast nook was cozy, unlike the more formal dining room. Even the nook opened up to the kitchen and other rooms. The thing about it was . . . He hesitated. The area was a wide, round, low tower built with windows curving around to serve as walls. It was beautiful, open, and during the day would invite in the sun, but not made for a man like him--a man belonging to the dark. He didn't sit with his back to the world. He didn't sit in front of windows--exposed.
He took a barstool instead at the counter and watched as she pulled down a couple of pans and skillets. She smiled at him, her first genuine smile in what seemed a long while. It was the one she reserved for him alone.
"Stir-fry with chicken? It's the fastest."
"You don't have to cook for me, Evangeline."
"I know that. I hadn't planned to, but you're here and we both have to eat."
That wasn't the reason and he knew it. Instead of running away at the truth he gave her, she was reaching out to him. He could feel the threads binding them together tighter and tighter. Could she feel it as well? He studied her face as she chopped vegetables. And she was fast with the knife. He'd have to remember that.
"Keep talkin'. You were sayin' your leopard wanted to kill any woman you were with." Her exotic green eyes were suddenly on him, just for a moment, looking at him from under her thick, black lashes. She looked as if she might have sympathy for his leopard as well.
"He wanted to kill. He needed it then." He sighed and ran one hand through his hair. He had scars on his body. Scars on his face. Several on his hands and arms. He looked what he was, a savage, violent man matching the nature of his animal. "I knew it was only a matter of time before my leopard escaped while I was fucking some woman and then he'd kill. I had to stop giving in to my own needs to consider those of my cat."
"No sex?" She didn't sound in the least sympathetic; more amused.
There was a small smile playing with the curve of her bottom lip and he couldn't help himself. He stood up abruptly, leaned over the counter, one large fist closing over her hand holding the knife because he didn't trust that she wouldn't stab him. His mouth found hers, lips brushing gently. So gently. He heard her gasp. Her lips parted. That soft rush of air against his mouth. His teeth found her lower lip and he tugged. Then bit down.
She gave a small shocked cry and his tongue slid along her lip, easing the ache he'd caused. He should have backed off, but he couldn't. Almost of its own volition, his other hand slid beneath the heavy fall of hair to curl around her nape, bringing her closer. His mouth came down on hers, taking control. Losing himself in all that cinnamon and spice. She looked sweet. Maybe she was, but she had a definite kick to her. She wasn't going to let him take her over, not without a fight. He tasted that in her mouth. That kick. That spice. It fed his hunger like a drug.
He couldn't stop. There were no brakes and she didn't help, her mouth moving under his, her tongue dancing and stroking, feeding the fire that began to flicker hot and bright through his body. Wanting a woman had never been like this. Feeling. So strong. So much. He could kiss her forever when he never gave that intimacy to other women. He hadn't known kissing could be an obsession with a woman.
She gave a soft little moan that inflamed him more. He not only heard it, but he felt it right through his cock, just as he did his hammering heartbeat. Everything seemed to center there in his groin, hot blood filling him so full he thought he might burst. The drumming of his heart pulsing right through his heavy shaft. The feel of her soft mouth, a kind of paradise he was lost in.
She started to pull back, looking for air. Looking for space. Looking for sanity. His hand moved, fisted in her hair, holding her still while he took what he needed from her. Everything. He wouldn't settle for less. She had to give herself to him, right there in her kitchen, her mouth moving under his. And she did. No hesitation. Her lips melted under his. Her mouth grew hotter. The kiss grew wild and maybe edged on brutal. She didn't pull away. She didn't hesitate. She was his. He knew that with more certainty than ever. She belonged to him.
He forced himself to lift his head just enough to rest his forehead against hers. "Woman, you could drive a man to his knees."
Her eyes searched his. At first she looked dazed, as if she were coming out of a dream. Then she looked shocked and her free hand went to her mouth. He loved that her lips looked thoroughly kissed. Red. Swollen. Inviting. Wariness crept into the green of her gaze and he saw her leopard staring at him. Focused. Her leopard was no shy, retiring female. She sized him up, looking to protect her human counterpart should she need to do so. That shocked him. Shocked him. Female leopards were always quiet until they emerged. They didn't show themselves, and they definitely didn't threaten anyone. Her leopard was looking at him as if she might rip him to shreds.
"I s
cared you," he acknowledged, reluctantly releasing her and stepping back. That step cost him. His cock hurt like a son of a bitch, but he gripped the counter instead of sliding the zipper down and wrapping his fist around the heavy throbbing shaft.
"You can be . . . intense." Her tongue came out and she touched the little bite mark with the tip. Her hands were shaking and for a moment she rested them on the counter, the knife still in her fist as if she'd forgotten it.
He reached out and gently took it from her. "I like kissing you." It was the understatement of the year. "You taste so good, malyutka, I could kiss you for a very long time and never get tired of it."
He forced himself back onto the stool, hoping with him seated and the counter between them she would feel safer. Her leopard was too close. The gold flecks in her green eyes began to glow. His big male reacted, but not in the way he expected. He thought the female's obvious aggression would trigger the dominant in the male, but like Alonzo, the cat wanted only to soothe her. To reassure her that she was safe with him.
He studied Evangeline as she began once more to prepare the food for dinner. She didn't look at him, instead paying strict attention to chopping the chicken into very small pieces.
She hadn't reacted when her female rose. Not in the least. She hadn't looked frightened or alarmed. There was only one conclusion he could come up with--her female had risen often enough that she was used to her. Comfortable with her. Even partners with her.
A shifter had to come to terms with his or her leopard. The leopard might be separate, but they were also the same. Emotions and characteristics were so intertwined it was impossible to tell sometimes who was driving whom.
"I never blame my leopard for its dangerous nature. I'm every bit as savage. I need violence. I crave it."
Her gaze jumped to his face, and there it was. The fear he knew was under all that calm. All that sympathy. It was her fear of him that had brought her leopard close.
She deserved truth and he was determined to give it to her no matter the cost. She should be afraid--he was a man to fear. But he'd never hurt her. He meant it when he said she was the only one truly safe from him. "I was conditioned for violence from almost the moment of my birth. The fists. The kicks. The learning to inflict as much damage as possible without a single visible mark or ensuring every bit of damage showed. My body was turned into a weapon and once I mastered that, I learned to use objects as weapons. Guns, knives. Hell, malyutka, something so ordinary as a pen."