BlindHeat (3 page)

As much as he wanted to feel those slender fingers run
through his fur, as much as he longed to roll onto his back and have her
scratch his belly, he had to discourage her from touching—discovering the nose
her fingers reached to touch was cool and wet and attached to a living,
breathing leopard.

He resisted her pull with a rise in his own energy, his body
fading as the vibration quickened and he was gone from her sight, fading away
with the rising sun. He didn’t have the energy to shift, so he had to hope
fading away would be enough. He hoped she would move on quickly, staying in the
shifting plane was like holding your breath under water. He might be able to
hold himself shapeless longer than the average Pantherian, but in his exhausted
state he felt as if his mind was losing its cohesiveness, the essence of who he
was separating and scattering like air from a balloon. How far could bits of
himself scatter before they were too far apart to reunite?

While he was formless, he had no hearing or sight. Those
features required ears and eyes. He waited, knowing time was running out for
both him and Hella. When he couldn’t hold it a nanosecond longer, he re-formed.
The force of his return scattered snow in plumes of powder. He sucked air into
hungry lungs and braced himself for a female’s scream. Silence.

The world around him snapped into focus. The woman was gone,
back the way she had come. The sound of another runner, male, approaching from
the opposite direction had him cursing. He dove for Hella, but she was gone,
along with her towel and the
borrowed
scrubs. The woman must have taken
her, and tracks to the hiding place bore that out. Marcus’ weary brain
scrambled for a plan.

The man was getting closer, his thoughts—easily
read—centered on beating a buddy a few yards behind him. Marcus didn’t have the
strength to stand. Frustration rumbling in his chest, he had to abandon Hella
and crawl on his belly into the underbrush.

Chapter One

Allie selected and copied faces of three coworkers from a
group photo. She pasted each image as a separate document, converted it to
grayscale, and hit print. She rubbed her eyes and pushed tangled hair back from
her face, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn while the first image took
shape on the page. She rechecked her notes and the website to ensure she wrote
the correct name on the back of the image and pushed away from the desk while
she waited for the next image to print.

Her one-room apartment was lit only by the soft glow of the
computer screen. The other side of the window beyond her bed remained
stubbornly black. Still too dark to be safe. She glanced once at the rumpled
bed, then away. She’d find no rest there in her current mood. She took the
first photo, read her boss’s name aloud from the back, and let Elaine’s name
repeat in her mind, a silent mantra. Without taking her eyes from the photo,
without losing focus on the name belonging to the face, she opened her desk
drawer, grabbed a scrunchie, pulled her long hair back in a ponytail, and
dropped back into her chair. She selected a layout pencil from her sketch box,
opened her sketchbook to a clean page and went to work.

By the time she’d drawn that same set of features three
times, the window had gone from black to a square of pale silver. Allie didn’t
feel any closer to her goal. When she closed her eyes, tried to bring up a
mental image, the center of the face remained a blur. She couldn’t recall
details beyond the pointy chin and hairstyle.

She pushed away from her desk, avoided looking at the bed
and went to the window. Restless dreams had driven her from bed hours ago and
she’d tried to pass the time until dawn working on her project. Snippets of
erotic dreams flashed in the back of her mind as she worked and probably had
much to do with her lack of progress.

Every inch of her screamed for the touch of a lover’s hands,
but there was no lover, only dreams, misty phantoms. Rain, the sound drew Allie
to push back the translucent curtain and peer into the gray mists. The ache
inside her drove her need to get out, to go out, to run hard enough to leave
her demons behind.

She grabbed the cutoffs and t-shirt waiting on the foot of
her bed and fished her running shoes from underneath it. A long run in the
storm would cool the fever a night of dreaming had fueled.

A twinge of pain pulsed in her head, just above her right
ear, and then stopped. It had started a few days ago, becoming more frequent,
more intense with each episode. A humming sensation followed, washing over her
body the way pins and needles prickled in a limb that had gone to sleep from
sitting too long. Now she remembered that prickling had been with her through
the night, keeping her half in and out of sleep just before dawn.

She laced her shoes, making no attempt to recall the content
of the fantasies that had her breasts feverish for the cool kiss of rain, and a
moist heat soaking her shorts. Dreams, hers at least, were best left to float
forgotten, back into the fog that spawned them.

Outside, a blast of wind swirled around her. Rain soaked her
clothes before she was out the front gate. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t
bothered with a jacket, loving the cold rivulets streaming over her bare limbs.
She didn’t have to head for the woodland trail at the edge of the park to find
solitude, but she chose it anyway, drawn there by the beauty of trees bending
and twisting in a dance with the storm. It was as if the woods were a huge
magnet pulling her closer, promising she would find escape.

She ran here so often she could probably do it blindfolded
without stumbling, run it in her sleep. Considering how little sleep she’d had,
this run might prove that claim.

As she crossed the first mile mark and rounded a bend, the
throb in her head flared and she stumbled. Bending over, she paused, hands on
knees, eyes closed, slowing her breath. The pulsing didn’t vanish but lingered,
a steady tapping. Maybe she should see a doctor. She straightened and
considered turning back.

A prickling awareness wiped the thought from her mind. A man
waited ahead, one leg casually crossed in front of the other, a shoulder
leaning against a tree. His black denim jacket hung open, framing a red shirt
her hands itched to touch, a bright flash of color in the rain-grayed world.

He stood just a few feet away, sheltered by a gnarled oak,
right where the bridge crossed the creek and led to a picnic area. He appeared
to be waiting just for her. But it had to be a mistake. There was no one, had
never been anyone, who was just for her. This silver-eyed, dark-haired stranger
held himself like an exotic prince, waiting for a princess maybe—definitely not
for Allie the ad writer.

He smiled and it was like a sunrise breaking through her
gloom. His gaze traveled her body, reigniting the fire she’d been trying to
drown. The journey stopped right at her bellybutton where it peeked between the
edge of her shorts and the top of the tee that didn’t quite cover her there.

Her eyes fixed on his shirt again. She could feel its heat
beckoning like hot coals in a fire, inviting her to warm her hands. She could
taste that color, a burn like Red Hots melting on her tongue. She swallowed.
The sensation in her head rose to a humming, nudging her to go to him, to lose
herself in that bold stare. She put her fingertips to the spot again, wondering
if she might be having some sort of breakdown. His eyes sparked with pleasure
at the reaction, but his tone was serious when he spoke.

“You have two choices, sweetheart, you can turn around and
run back the way you came and I won’t try to stop you. Or you can come to me,
reach for the mystery, have what you are aching for.”

If he had struck a match to her, he couldn’t have lit her
any faster.

“But if you come to me, I’m not going to stop at a kiss. I’m
not going to stop at all until it pleases me.”

This was not a morning to face down temptation. If only he
felt like a stranger, then she might have a chance, but he felt so familiar,
like coming home. Common sense told her to run. Security lay in the other
direction, returning to flatline dull days lining up one after the other. What
price would she pay to feel alive, live dangerously for a few minutes? There
was no one here to take him from her. No one to stop her from exploring the
forbidden, not this time. One taste and she’d drop back into her role as a
polite, conservative wallflower. It was a dangerous choice. All the more
reason.

The greatest threats from a man were injury or death. She’d
known how to read those kinds of threats in a man before she was old enough to
read a book. She could see no intent to harm. No evil. He looked at her as if
he’d discovered something precious. A warmth seemed to reach from his eyes into
her soul, drawing her closer. She made her choice.

The red cloth shimmered with an aura of passion, dared her
to press her body to it. The thought sent her blood zinging through her veins.
There was something there, something irresistible. His eyes spoke promises she
could feel. Her feet wouldn’t let her turn away, but took the risk. Took one
step. Then the next. Her lips burned with a need to glide over his jawline,
explore planes and angles with kisses and nips. Her heart hammered so loud he
had to hear it even over the rain.

True to his word, he didn’t move an inch until she was right
there in front of him, reaching to press her hands to the shirt, feel its heat,
prove he was real. Her palms sighed with pleasure, like the fabric was a meal
to be savored. His strong fingers closed around her wrist then, not painfully
but with the finality of a manacle, reminding her that he’d said he wouldn’t
let her go until he had what he wanted.

“Good girl,” he whispered, soothing away the little trill of
fear that rose with his touch, stroking her face with the backs of his fingers.
Her body sang like chimes in the wind, notes shivering down her spine.

“I won’t stop at a kiss,” he said. “But you can start with
one. Make it sweet.”

She rose obediently to her toes, finding his lips, feeling
them firm, parting under hers. He ordered and demanded with such a low,
seductive tone. If he’d told her to go rob the jewelry store, in just the same
way, it would have seemed a good idea.

He shifted, turning quickly so she was between him and the
tree, cutting off any chance to change her mind and run. He held her face
between his hands, and her own hands felt small and fragile against the breadth
of his. He kissed his desire into her. Her mind grappled to reassert caution,
but her thoughts slipped away, formless as water spilling through fingers. He
didn’t stop kissing until she stopped thinking, until the rigidity in her
muscles softened, until she kissed him back.

He tasted like spring rain.

His hands were warm through her soggy shirt, his fingers
curved under her chilled breasts, his thumbs stroking over the tops. Thumbs and
fingers came together, squeezing until she squirmed. His lips and tongue moved
over her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone, a warm, sensual touch that made
her whimper. He split the worn cotton with a sharp twist. The ripping sound
jolted her. Her shirt split down the center, parting to offer her breasts. A
wave of fear welled in her belly. A wash of desire trickled between her thighs.
She glanced down the puddled path. He pressed her tighter against the tree.

“You had your chance,” he whispered. “It’s the last I’m
willing to give you for a while.”

Marcus ran his thumbs over rain-studded skin at the edge of
her bra. He needed to reel himself in. He’d been trying for the last few hours
to keep the inner beast leashed. He’d only meant to come close enough to touch
her dreams, thinking then her guard might be down. Few humans had the skill to
shield their thoughts from him as completely as Allie. But it hadn’t been hard
to track her down a few days after she’d taken Hella. She had routines he could
set his watch by. It hadn’t been long before she was back in the park for
another run and he’d followed her home. But Hella wasn’t in Allie’s apartment,
nor had he managed to get any information regarding Hella in repeated visits to
Allie’s office. Numerous suggestions and influences hadn’t penetrated Allie’s
mental blockade.

The erotic suggestions he’d sent winging into her dreams had
penetrated, stirred her needs, but it had opened no more than her body to him.
A body soft, yielding. Her excitement evident to his Pantherian senses. The
quick beat of her heart, the welcoming scent of female ready for a male.

A firm tug at the zipper on her running bra accomplished nothing,
so he did away with that impediment in the same way he’d dispensed with the
shirt. Her escalating arousal had her back arching, intensified the scent of
desire. Her eyes went wide and pupils narrowed. He had her full attention now.

Ripe breasts springing free to fill his palms had his
attention.

Prim, shell-pink nipples begged to be licked. She held her
breath when he dipped his head to do just that. Flesh tightening under his
tongue had his teeth automatically closing around the hard little nub. The soft
sound she made in her throat was so mew-like he was tempted to toss her over
his shoulder, head back to his truck and keep her. Unfortunately, he was fairly
certain that practice had been outlawed in this country a couple of centuries
ago.

Sex at dawn in a public park probably wasn’t legal either.

There were only so many laws he was willing to follow.

He licked her other nipple and her throaty response set his
cock twitching.

Breathe, he reminded her when he lifted his head to inhale
mist-laden air. She rubbed her cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, a
gesture so feline that his fingers were in her hair dragging her back before he
realized what he was doing. She wasn’t intimidated, her fingers fumbling with
his buttons, clutching at his shirt, but she didn’t have the strength to tear
it from him. One button popped free and fell.

He yearned for the feel of those long, sexy fingers raking
over his chest, the sting of her nails digging in, as if a lost part of him
could be restored by her touch. If he gave in to that yearning, control of the
situation would be irretrievable.

Fuck if he wasn’t close to forgetting any part of him was
human.

Her hands were above her head and he pushed them back and
held them against cold, moss-slicked bark. He gave in to the catlike urge to
rub against her, a full-body glide that trapped her between his teasing hips
and the hard wall of the oak tree. But he was the one trapped, the one
controlled by attraction stronger than he’d anticipated.

She moaned, pressing her hips forward to meet him, rubbing
her breasts over his shirt as if it were a drug she could drink in through her
pores. He released one of her hands. “Drop your shorts.” The command came out
harsher than he’d meant it.

But the order yielded another breathy moan. Her eyelids
drifted up and he recognized the quick flash of desire. She liked being told
what to do. To test her he took it to the next level, twisting her hair in his
hand, drawing her head back to expose her neck, the way a hunter exposed prey.
His teeth grazed her jaw, then nipped her bottom lip while he murmured, “Do it
now.”

Trembling fingers fumbled with the snap, worked the zipper
down. Soaked denim slid down her legs to her ankles.

He rewarded her with a slow kiss, parting her lips with his
tongue, thrusting in and out until her arms were around his neck and she was
leaning back against the tree for support. When he broke the connection she
looked up into his eyes for a moment, then quickly dropped her gaze.

“Step out and spread your legs wide for me.” He nipped her
ear, hard. She obeyed. Roughly, his fingers pushed between her thighs, plunged
inside her, and her muscles squeezed him, greedy for more. Juices soaked his
fingers, drizzled over the back of his hand. Fuck, she smelled like heaven.