Isabeau forced a small smile. "Hello. I didn't see you there. I should have been looking where I was going." She took a step as though she would go around him, but he glided in that fluid, silent way of leopards, cutting off her escape. He was a good-looking man, very muscular, with a raw-boned face and a firm, attractive mouth.
Isabeau felt a familiar itch running under her skin. Her cat stretched sensuously and all at once her body felt sensitive and achy, coiling tight in need. She had the sudden urge to rub herself all over his very masculine body.
Don't you dare! she threatened her cat. I thought you didn't like him.
It was hot in the garden, too hot. Her skin felt too tight. Her nipples peaked and rubbed against her bra. She felt sweat bead and then trickle down the valley between her breasts. She raised a hand to sweep back the heavy fall of hair spilling around her face. She was so sensitive that just the touch almost burned her skin, like the lick of a tongue. She swallowed and caught him staring at her throat with hunger in his eyes. The action of bringing up her hand to her hair was seductive. Had she done it on purpose? It brought attention to her breasts and beaded nipples.
Her cat moved, an alluring enticement, meant to tempt any male in her vicinity to help her mate prove to her she was choosing the right partner. Isabeau knew exactly what the hussy was doing too. She hissed, trying to show her displeasure to the male.
"You shouldn't have come out here unescorted."
"I'm not alone," Isabeau hastened to point out. "I'm here with Imelda's grandfather and his personal protector."
"An old man and his weak bodyguard? You think that's enough to stop me from taking what I want?"
She sent a quick, furtive glance toward the forest to see if Jeremiah had a clear shot. He didn't. Not unless he'd moved position. She moistened her lips. "I'm not ready."
"But you're close." Ottila moved his head toward her, the slow freeze-frame motion of a large hunting cat, and inhaled her, taking her charismatic scent into his lungs. "Very close." He reached out and ran his finger across her breast.
Her cat went insane, throwing herself forward, shrieking a protest, drowning out Isabeau's fear and replacing it with rage. She leapt back, swinging at him, claws bursting, skin burning as stiletto claws burst through her fingers and raked his arm. No male leopard touched a female until she was ready, even she knew that.
"Keep your hands to yourself." The claws were gone that quick, leaving her hands aching and feeling swollen.
Blood dripped down his arm. He looked at the claw marks and then smiled at her. "You marked me, Isabeau." Deliberately he hissed her name with a possessive curl of his lip.
"You're lucky I didn't kill you for touching me," she snapped. "You have no manners."
"I'm leopard. Same as you."
"And I'm protected. You touch me and even your boss will want you dead because my people will demand your head on a platter."
"She's only my boss as long as I want to work for her. And those men should know better than to let you wander around unprotected." He reached for her belly, undeterred by the claw marks on his arm, settling his palm over her womb. "My child will grow here."
She slapped his arm away a second time and retreated a couple of steps, trying to get out into the open, facing the trees where she was certain Jeremiah waited with his rifle.
13
"WHAT happened to your face?" Imelda asked as she caught up with Conner. He walked directly behind Philip as the man led the way to his private den. "You look as if you had a fight with a large cat." Her voice shook with excitement. She reached out as she kept pace to touch one of the long scars.
Conner caught her wrist and pulled her hand down. "I did. A leopard."
He felt her shiver. "Really? How frightening."
He shrugged. "It happened. I'm alive." He stepped in front of her, cutting her off before she could enter the room. "Wait here until I give the okay."
Her eyes glittered. "I'm not used to taking orders."
"Then your men aren't doing their job," he said and turned his back on her.
Philip held the door open and Conner went through, followed by Rio. Felipe and Leonardo stayed with Elijah and Marcos. Their movements were coordinated and efficient and no one spoke. Elijah and Marcos paid no attention, used to their team sweeping rooms. Imelda pressed her hand to her heaving breast.
"How long have you employed him?" she asked Marcos.
Marcos frowned. "Conner? Several years. He's a good man. I knew his family." Her leopards were nowhere close to smell the lie. Her security team had made their show and now, feeling comfortable in Philip's house, they'd scattered throughout the rooms to let the crowd know she was an important person and they were keeping an eye on everything. She had one guard, and he wasn't leopard.
Elijah glanced at Marcos, a little worried that both the rogue leopards were missing. Their primary concern should have been Imelda's safety. They didn't know Marcos or Elijah or their intentions.
"How long have you had your security?" Elijah asked.
Her lashes veiled her eyes. "About two years. They're . . . exceptional."
His eyebrows shot up. Marcos smirked. "Really?" Elijah said. "I don't see them here where they should be, watching out for you. They wouldn't stay in my employ for ten minutes."
"Nor mine," Marcos agreed.
Anger slithered over her face. She didn't like being embarrassed and she could see the point both had made was valid. She glared at her guard and snapped her fingers. He immediately began to speak into the radio, telling the two rogues Imelda requested their presence immediately.
"They've gotten sloppy," Elijah continued. "They should be on you every moment. Conner, or any one of these men, would never stand for being away from you, even if you wanted it. They would have made certain you signed a binding contract with them to that effect. If you refused, they wouldn't take you on as a client."
"Marcos, didn't you tell Philip that one of the guards was your nephew?" Imelda asked.
Marcos and Elijah exchanged a knowing look. She'd made a mistake and didn't realize it. The conversation had taken place before Imelda had arrived, which meant they'd been taped and she'd already viewed those tapes before her arrival--which they'd suspected would happen.
"That is correct. Two of them are. And one is related to Elijah."
Imelda shrugged one slim shoulder. "You see, your help is family and no one else can be fully trusted to do the job."
"Conner is not family, but is fully trusted," Elijah objected. "But of course, we obviously think differently. I know my men wouldn't betray me and I don't worry if they overhear business discussions. They would carry the details to their grave."
She couldn't miss the smirk exchanged between the two men. The head of her security team had made her look foolish in front of the two men she wanted most to impress. She would not forgive that easily. For a moment, black rage glittered in her eyes, and then she resumed her mask of congeniality.
Conner emerged, his expression unreadable. "That room is not suitable for a discussion, Marcos." There was finality in his words. A command, not a suggestion.
Imelda was clearly intrigued by the way he ordered his employer. Conner had studied every detail of her personality from information Rio had gathered and she wanted a strong male, but also wanted the control. Her men didn't last long. And her security detail probably went through hell with her. A man like Conner Vega would appeal to her in every way. He was clearly loyal to a fault, in complete control and dedicated to serving his employer. And he'd bested her leopards.
"That's ridiculous," Imelda argued, more because she wanted to challenge Conner, make him notice her, than for any other reason. "We conduct all our business in that room."
Conner's impassive gaze flicked to her and then returned to Marcos. "The room is hot."
There was a small silence. Marcos slowly turned his head to stare at Imelda, his friendly demeanor dissolving. Elijah put his glass down and faced her and there was no tra
ce of friendliness. Suddenly he looked every inch his reputation. Imelda was very aware of the other bodyguards, moving into positions where they could stop anyone from coming in from any direction.
"I don't know what that means," Imelda said, trying to stay calm. No one had ever challenged her authority before--not and lived. Right at that moment she felt closer to death than she ever had before. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. The threat was in the burning gold of Conner's eyes. He looked impersonal, yet so dangerous. Her body flooded with adrenaline, but also with sudden hunger.
"It means," Marcos explained impatiently, "that the room is wired."
"I thought we were having a friendly conversation," Elijah said. "Marcos assured me of that."
Comprehension dawned. Imelda had been the one to suggest to Philip that he take advantage of his sexual hobby and make his servants available to his wealthier and diplomatic "friends." Videotaping indiscretions, especially any fetishes or sadistic traits, made for instant obedience. Money and favors poured in. Fury burned through her. She spun around on Philip.
"How dare you!" There could be no mistake that she didn't know he was taping their conversations. Imelda had her own sexual excesses. Whipping a man or woman and watching their skin stripe while they screamed in pain was such a turn-on, and she could rarely refuse herself the pleasure, especially if she was sharing it with someone who appreciated the sight, such as Philip. He was a connoisseur of torture.
He backed away from her. "Imelda. You know I wouldn't."
She looked from him to Conner's implacable mask. Who to believe? Would Philip really be that stupid as to risk everything they had together? She fed him clients. She shared his sexual proclivities. He was terrified of her with good reason. "Show me," she challenged Conner.
He didn't obey her command. Instead he looked at Marcos, who nodded. That put her on edge. This was her territory and between Philip and Martin Suma, her head of security, she looked weak. Damn them for this. She needed someone like Conner running her security.
Conner indicated for Philip to lead the way back into the room. Philip glanced at his watch. "I have guests. If you want to tear apart the room looking for nonexistent equipment, you're welcome to do so, but without me."
"Philip," Imelda hissed between her clenched teeth. "Get in that room." She wanted to kill him on the spot. Where the hell was Martin? Or Ottila? Damn them as well. She glared at her lone bodyguard. "Get them here now," she snapped.
Philip reluctantly went into the room, aware that Imelda would be furious when she found out what he'd done. He didn't understand how the security guard had known. There was no evidence, there couldn't be. So how? He despised Marco's personal protector. Smug bastard. Imelda was already drooling over him like the bitch she was. He stepped back to watch the man play out his little drama. There was no way he could really know. But uneasiness had set in. Even if the man wasn't able to prove it, the seed of doubt had been sown in Imelda. And that meant he'd have to leave fast. He'd built up millions. He was prepared, but this place had been perfect for a man like him.
Conner ran his hand, palm out along the wall, his expression still unchanged. If Imelda didn't know that the conversations in the room were taped, and he was certain she didn't know, he hadn't smelled a lie, then that meant her rogues hadn't told her. Why not? Why hadn't her leopards warned her? They had to have heard the click as the recorders came on at the sound of voices. There was a faint hum as the conversation was recorded. What were the leopards up to? And why weren't they protecting her now? They had to have known the recorder would be discovered.
Isabeau. His stomach knotted. Were they after Isabeau? She hadn't pressed the little panic button built into her watch yet. He snapped a quick commanding look at Elijah, uncaring in that moment if the others caught it.
Elijah waited a heartbeat. Two. He turned and looked toward the door rather casually and then down to his watch. "My cousin has been gone a long while."
"Your cousin?" Imelda echoed as if she'd forgotten Isabeau.
Conner realized she probably had. She didn't notice anything or anyone unless it pertained directly to her. Her world was very narrow and self-involved.
"I want her found now," Elijah snapped at Felipe.
Felipe turned abruptly on his heel and left.
Imelda sighed. "This is insane. The girl is in no danger and there is no one recording our conversations. She's with my grandfather. He'll see that no harm comes to her."
Conner smashed his fist through the paneling, not bothering to find the hidden switch to reveal the audio equipment. It was much more satisfying and dramatic to rip through the flawless wall.
Imelda gasped and spun around to glare accusingly at Philip. "You treacherous worm," she snapped. "Just who were you planning on giving the tapes to? The police?"
"I imagine you have the police firmly in your pocket," Marcos said and sank into a chair, pulling a cigar from his pocket. "Do you mind, Imelda?"
She drew in a deep breath and forced herself back under control. "No, of course not, Marcos. Be my guest." She said it deliberately. There was no escape for Philip. He was a dead man already and he had to know it. He might be foolish enough to try to get his security force to go to war with hers, but he had amateurs for guards. Her men were combat trained. And she had the leopards. No one else had the leopards . . . unless . . . She really looked at Conner, speculation in her shrewd eyes.
Conner met her stare with burning golden eyes, leopard's eyes. He watched her gasp and then try to cover her pleased knowledge. He knew her brain was racing, trying to decide about the others. They had similar builds. They all carried that magnetic aura of danger. And she probably thought there was some kind of hierarchy in the leopard species and he was somehow superior to Martin.
Try loyalty. He felt contempt for a woman who wouldn't recognize that if a leopard was willing to betray his own people, he would be willing to betray his employer twice as fast. She should know that.
"Philip, do sit down," she snapped, tearing her gaze away from Conner. "You're not going anywhere until we sort this out."
"I had no idea that recorder was there," Philip whined. "Do you think I have a death wish? I sit in here and talk with you. Anything that condemns you, condemns me. You have more on me than any other living person on earth. What would be the point, Imelda? Someone set me up."
He was lying--he knew about the tape, but the setup was a possibility. If he hadn't thought of it on his own, and he was right, what would be the point, then someone else had persuaded him to tape the conversations. The police? Was someone not already in Imelda's pocket secretly investigating her? Conner turned the possibility over in his mind. Not likely. She had too many officials on her payroll and she would have gotten wind of it. No, it was someone else.
"Someone set me up," Imelda mimicked. "Do you expect me to believe that, Philip?" Now that she knew Marcos and Elijah believed she was innocent, she could enjoy watching Philip squirm. He loved controlling others. He loved watching them beg him, try to please him, crawl to him and kiss his feet while he held pain and death over them. She'd watched him kill numerous times. Once he'd acted so lovingly to a woman after marking her viciously with the whip that she'd believed his act, all the way to the moment that he'd cut her throat while he ejaculated in her. The woman's eyes had stayed on her the entire time and it had been . . . delicious . . . watching her die.
Imelda smiled at Philip. Cold. Pleased. She would show the world what happened to anyone who betrayed her. He broke out in a sweat, fear permeating the room.
"Perhaps we should close the door for privacy," she suggested to her lone bodyguard.
"Kill them," Philip screamed to his guard. "Kill them all." He dove behind his chair.
His guard brought up his automatic weapon, his face a mask of fear and determination. Conner killed him, swiping a claw across his throat and ripping the gun from his hand even as Rio and Leonardo took Marcos and Elijah to the floor, covering them. Both had drawn
their guns, but they aimed at Philip and Imelda's lone guard.
She rose gracefully, stepped over the dead man and closed the door. "Very impressive. How did you do that?" She indicated the torn throat.
Conner didn't answer. He kept the others covered while Rio and Leonardo helped Marcos and Elijah to their feet. Rio yanked Philip up and all but threw him into a chair. Philip landed hard and pressed a trembling hand over his quivering mouth.
"Thank you," Imelda said, flashing Conner a coy smile. "You just saved my life."
He didn't point out that he'd saved his own as well as his entire team. He barely inclined his head and for the first time allowed his gaze to drift lazily, a little insolently, over her body. He saw her breasts heave and her red-tipped nail traced a line from her throat to the swell of her breast. She shifted in the chair, allowing her gown to slide up her thigh. There were no underwear lines anywhere on the gown. She smiled at him, her tongue touching her lower lip.
"I suggest we leave immediately," Rio said.
"Whatever for?" Imelda asked, still looking at Conner.
"There's a dead body on the floor, Imelda," Marcos pointed out. "I don't want my man questioned by the police, nor do I want to have anything to do with this. We can meet another time--perhaps in a more appropriate setting." He started to rise.
"No, no," Imelda frowned. "We can easily take care of the body. It's no problem, is it, Philip?" She sent him a poisonous smile. "Philip is a master at disposing of bodies, aren't you, sweetie?"
The man was so pale he looked like a ghost. "Imelda . . ."
"Don't," she hissed, the smile vanishing. "You betrayed me."
"I didn't."
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and looked pointedly at her bodyguard. He immediately went to Philip and smashed the butt of his gun on the man's head.