Wild Cat (3 page)

She slowed her car and pulled to a stop to stare out over the wild land. A part of her longed to leap out of her seat and just start running, lose herself there, in the middle of all that rough terrain. She sat there a long time, feeling tears on her face. She was lonely. Lonely at school. Lonely at home. Just plain lonely. She didn't have girlfriends to go out clubbing with. She didn't have boyfriends to take her to dinner or sit and watch movies with.

She had her grandfather, who these days seemed far away, cut off from her, more under the thumb of Paolo and Alonzo. She rarely saw her grandfather without one or the other of them close. In fact, her last three visits, she'd never really been alone with him. They were continually at his side. Alonzo was ice-cold. Paolo stared at her hungrily, like an animal scenting something weak and ready to pounce.

She didn't consider herself weak. Just lost. She had no real direction. She had just finished school and had no more excuses
to stay away. She'd spent most of her summers and vacations gaining hands-on experience in the vineyards, learning to care for the grapes. She stood to inherit everything. The vineyards and the winery. All of her grandfather's businesses. She had no other living relative. None.

She stared out into the wild, beckoning land. She needed to take some control in her life. She'd escaped to school, she realized. Ran away. She didn't want to be home anymore. It wasn't a sanctuary or a haven; it was an alien place filled with men who walked all over her. She needed to talk to her grandfather, without either Paolo or Alonzo around, and explain she was due a lot more freedom.

She had her own money. Her grandmother had left her a trust fund. Her parents had left her a second trust fund. She didn't need to stay under her grandfather's thumb if he disagreed with her. She needed to get some guts and actually confront him. It was time to get rid of the bodyguards. She was tired of living her life under the scrutiny of his army of men. She actually thought of them like that. Soldiers.

With a small sigh she took a deep breath and started up the drive again, toward the house. Her heart beat hard in anticipation of seeing Elijah. She hadn't really been close to him since that last dinner, when she was nineteen. Just as when she was fifteen, his gaze had rested on her more than once, making her heart pound just the way it was doing now. Given that her body seemed to be raging with runaway hormones, this wasn't the best time to be alone with him.

She decided to put the wine on his front porch and obey Paolo's rule of staying out of the house. It was the only safe thing to do to keep from making an absolute fool of herself. She wasn't even certain she could talk to him. Say a word. Maybe she'd gotten lucky and it had been his security people who had allowed her inside the high gates.

She pulled into the circular drive and stared up at the house. It wasn't a mansion like her family home, but it was beautiful. Perfect. Homey. Not in the least ostentatious. She
loved the wraparound verandah with the huge columns holding up a sloping roof that shaded the wide, inviting porch.

Elijah stood waiting at his front door, wearing a tight-fitting pair of jeans that rode low on his hips and fit very lovingly around his extremely nice butt. The breath left her lungs in a long rush. His jeans were carelessly buttoned, the top two left undone. He wore no shirt, displaying a heavily muscled chest. His black, black hair was unruly and damp as if he'd just stepped out of the shower. She swallowed hard, trying not to stare. Her already soaring temperature went up a couple more notches. She had forgotten how good he looked. He was definitely a man—no soft edges to him at all. Right now, intimately barefoot, his anger seemed to simmer right below the surface.

She couldn't understand his anger, unless she had interrupted him with another woman. She blushed. Of course there would be a woman there. She hadn't called. Her grandfather never had her call, saying he wanted it to be a surprise when she delivered his best reserve for whatever the occasion. She could see how intruding on a date with a willing woman would make Elijah mad.

Still, he looked so gorgeous. Handsome. Masculine.
Dangerous.
Immediately, that wild thing inside her stretched and unfurled. She felt hot. Very hot. She couldn't tear her gaze away from him. She told herself he probably had a woman in the house with him, but it didn't matter. Already, her blood rushed through her veins, so heated she knew she was flushed. Her breasts ached. Her sex spasmed. There was a burning between her legs that was worse than anything she'd ever experienced. She had the mad desire to fling herself at him, tear his clothes off and beg him to pound into her, filling her.

She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles grew white. His eyes drifted over her, an intense scrutiny that saw way too much. She had never seen a man more sensual in her life.

“Siena.” He said her name softly and took a step toward her.

Her heart hammered madly. God. He was beautiful. Masculine. All roped muscle, wide shoulders and thick chest. With every movement, his very defined muscles rippled. Her mouth watered. Her pulse throbbed deep in her core. His wide shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and her eyes dropped lower. Her breath caught in her lungs.

“Siena,” he said again, this time firmly. A command.

She swallowed hard and let out her breath slowly. “Elijah.” She could barely get his name out. Her voice didn't sound the same at all. It sounded husky. Sexy. Not at all her.

They stared at each other. Her breath refused to leave her lungs. He'd sucked all the air from the atmosphere until her lungs burned and felt raw. He looked predatory. Dangerous. Scary. He looked delicious. She licked her lips, holding on for dear life to the steering wheel, otherwise something terrible was going to happen. Her blood thundered in her ears, drowning out common sense.

“My grandfather sent you a belated birthday present, Elijah. A case of his reserve.” She nearly stammered the words. Her voice wasn't her own. Husky. Sensual. Needy. Hungry.

His gaze drifted over her face and dropped to her chest. She couldn't control her breathing. “So this is how he does it. He uses you. You're a part of this? He uses you for his dirty work?” He nearly snarled the words at her. “And you let him?”

She had no idea what he was talking about. She barely heard the words through the roaring of her blood in her ears. She could barely think. Her mind was melting along with her body. So hot. Her breasts were on fire. She needed to drive away. Her finger instinctively went to the starter.

“Don't.” His voice was low. She froze, her gaze skittering to his. “Get out of that fucking car right now.”

She didn't dare obey him. His voice was every bit as husky as hers. Predatory. Hungry. She tried to shake her head, to tell him it wasn't a good idea, but he was down the walkway and leaning into her car to unhook her seat belt. He simply lifted
her into his arms, pulling her right out of the car and striding back to his house.
Into the house.

She felt his hands burning like brands where he touched her. She clung to him, staring into his eyes, shocked at his behavior. All the while that burn got hotter until she was afraid she'd burst into flames. He slammed the door behind them and put her down, leaving her breathless. Her breasts heaving. Her stomach rolling. Damp heat spreading like wildfire between her legs.

“Take off your shoes.” It was a clear order, delivered in a harsh, rough voice that seemed to stroke her skin and leave behind flames.

She licked her lips, looking up at him. She was in way over her head, but he was so compelling she couldn't move.

Impatient, a snarl on his face, he bent to the pale green strappy sandals and undid them, lifting her leg to force her to step out of them. She backed away from him on bare feet, unsure what to do.

“I'm not supposed to be in here. In your house,” she blurted stupidly.

E
LIJAH
stalked toward her. Siena backed up at the fury gathering in his eyes. It was so intense, the room smoldered with his temper. She had no idea why he was angry, but when her back hit the wall, she gave a small cry and turned to flee the house. Elijah smacked the wall hard, his hands on either side of her body, caging her in.

“I'll just bet you're not supposed to come in the house,” he hissed, his body utterly still. His eyes were so focused on her, she felt pinned beneath his stare. Mesmerized. His prey. Unable to move.

One hand came up to her hair, his fingers going to the elastic holding her ponytail in place. He dragged it out and sifted his fingers through it. “Soft as it looks. Is your skin as fuckin' soft as it looks?”

She couldn't look away from his eyes. His pupils were nearly gone. His breath was an invitation. And then his fist was in her hair, dragging her head back. Her heart stuttered.
Pounded. A dark whisper of a thrill crept down her spine. Her breasts swelled. Ached. Her sex clenched. Burned. She couldn't look away from his eyes, mesmerized by the hunger there and a dark lust so intense, her own hunger escalated.

Elijah's mouth slammed down on hers, and she was lost. There was no telling him she didn't know what she was doing. She didn't have time to think. She couldn't think. There was thunder in her ears, her blood roaring, her mind melting completely.

There was only his mouth brutally taking hers. Hard. Demanding. Almost savage. She caught at him, arms sliding around his neck, fingers searching for the thick, wavy hair at the back of his neck, standing on her toes, giving herself completely to him, lost in the beauty of his mouth. Of his dark, wet, terrible kiss. Her mouth was as out of control as his, following wherever he led, seeking the fire, needing it. She wanted him to devour her. She wanted to devour him. She was ravenous for him. She couldn't get close enough to him.

His skin was hot and she had to feel it, the hard surface, the heat—he was nearly as hot as she was. Her fingers curled in his hair as their mouths consumed each other. His hands went to her camisole, ripping at it, jerking the material down, so her generous breasts spilled out over the top, the material holding the soft mounds up to him like an offering.

She cried out when his mouth left hers to travel down her throat to her left nipple. His hand went to her right breast, kneading, massaging, tugging and rolling while she sobbed with need against his chest. He wasn't in the least gentle. He was rough, demanding, possessive. He wrenched her body's responses out of her, driving that hunger until she was so needy she was nearly sobbing for him.

His hands and mouth were relentless, refusing to allow her to catch her breath or her mind. The hunger in her was so sharp and terrible and savage she wanted to strip him of his clothes and climb over him like a cat in heat.

She licked at his chest, tasting his skin. Tasting the fine
sheen that coated him. He tasted all male. Feral and as wild as she felt. It wasn't enough, and she was desperate to get at him. Her hands fell to the buttons of his jeans, fumbling, her breath ragged and needy. His hands dropped to the waistband of her jeans. He shoved the offending material off her hips, taking her panties along as well. The relief against her burning skin was tremendous.

“Step out of them.”

The sound of his voice stunned her. She almost couldn't hear him with the strange roaring in her ears, with the pounding of her blood rushing through her veins or the hammering of her own heart.

He practically ripped the jeans off of her and was down on his knees, pushing her thighs apart, and then his mouth was there. His tongue plunged deep. Then his finger followed. She came apart. Legs shaking, thighs dancing, her breasts on fire while an earthquake took possession of her body. He didn't stop. His mouth was as relentless as his hands.

“More,” he growled in a kind of fury. “Again.”

Her body was already consumed with fire, burning hot, burning out of control. She didn't have time to think. To catch her breath. There was only feeling. Pure feeling. She caught at his hair, one hand on his shoulder, trying to stay upright when she was coming apart. Flying too high. She had no choice. He gave her no choice, driving her up fast and wild a second time so that a tsunami hit this time, taking her completely.

Then his mouth was gone, and he yanked his jeans to his ankles, dragging her down to the floor beside him, his hands on her head, guiding her mouth to him. He was big. Bigger than she thought a man could be. He looked intimidating, as if he wouldn't fit anywhere. Not her mouth. Certainly not inside of her. She knew she should slow down. Tell him she'd never done this. She had no idea what to do, but the fire was inside of her and his hands were insistent.

“Your mouth, baby, right now. I need it.”

His voice was harsh. Thrilling. In as desperate need as she felt. She licked up the shaft, closed her eyes and sucked the large head into her mouth. She felt him jerk. Swell impossibly larger. His hands were firmer. Tugging on her hair. The bite of pain in her scalp only added to the crazy hunger building until she wanted to weep with need.

Deep inside, tension coiled tighter and spread, building again, and she needed release. She needed satisfaction. She needed that terrible hunger assuaged, and only Elijah seemed to know what to do. She didn't. So she used her mouth and tongue, following his harsh, whispered commands. Or tried to. He was nearly as brutal with her mouth as he had been when kissing her.

Then he was pulling away from her, pushing her to the floor, yanking her legs apart to kneel between her thighs. His eyes were on her face. His dark features were a mask, sensual lines carved deep. Eyes alive with lust. With hunger. With possession.

“Hurry,” she whispered.

He took her fast, driving through her tight folds ruthlessly, slamming deep, his hips a jackhammer, pushing through her protesting muscles and her thin barrier to lodge deep inside her. Pain ripped through her. Bright. Hot. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her eyes were on his. He bent his mouth and took her breast, his teeth rolling her nipple and then sucking the soft weight into his mouth.

“
Fuck.
You're so tight. Like a scorching-hot fist.” He bit the words out around her breast.

She couldn't answer, couldn't say a word, because almost immediately the heat began to build. Hotter than before. A firestorm this time, and with every stroke jolting her body, slamming deeper and deeper, the pleasure spread, overtaking the pain, pushing her high. So high. Terrifyingly high. Still, she went willingly, her nails scoring down his back to find his hips. Trying to pull him deeper. Lifting her hips to meet the pounding of his.

Then he reached between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit, and she exploded a third time. She opened her mouth to scream again, but no sound emerged. Siena was too stunned by the fierce flames and the consuming hunger that had engulfed her. By the pleasure that was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

He thrust three more times while her body gripped and strangled his, forcing him with her over the edge, milking every last drop of his seed from him. Taking him deep inside of her. They lay locked together on the floor in his foyer, breathing ragged, sweat on both bodies. Her jeans were completely off, her camisole torn. His jeans were around his ankles. Her top remained pulled down, exposing her breasts, and when he lifted his head, his mouth nuzzled her there. At the touch, another wave of fire rushed through her and bathed his cock in hot liquid.

Without warning his face changed completely. He'd been looking at her with soft eyes and suddenly, his eyes changed. Went hard. Alert. He rolled fast, taking her with him, even as he slid out of her, his hand coming to rest beside a table. He reached up, ripped a gun from beneath the table and half lifted up on his other hand, his body between her and whatever he'd seen or sensed. She started to lift her head and he slammed her back to the floor.

He fired his weapon three times in rapid succession. She heard his shots as two other shots came at them simultaneously. One bullet hit the wall behind them, just over her head, the other the floor in back of her. She heard something very heavy hit the floor with a thud.

Elijah rolled completely off of her, gliding smoothly to his feet, jerking his jeans up, the gun steady as a rock when he did it. She lay in shock, hardly comprehending what had happened until he moved. Stepping away from her, he kicked a gun away from the outstretched hand of a man in a dark coat. The intruder lay in a pool of blood, not five feet from her.

She gasped and scrambled backward on all fours. Elijah
searched for a pulse. Evidently he found none because he turned toward her. The look on his face terrified her. He crossed to her in three long strides, reached down and yanked her up by her arm, fitting the muzzle of his gun to her temple.

“Give me a reason not to blow your fuckin' head off. Setting me up. Fucking whore. Did you think I was so stupid I wouldn't figure out what you were doing? Distracting me to let that bastard get to me?” He shoved her away from him and transferred his hold to her hair, his fist buried deep, all the while swearing in Spanish. Over and over. Harsh, dirty, ugly words.

“Elijah.” She whispered his name. A protest. She had no idea what he was talking about. Worse, her brain wouldn't work. She was in shock. A dead man was only a couple of feet from her. She'd just had sex for the first time in her life—violent sex—mind-blowing sex, and now he was accusing her of aiding the intruder in some way.

“What?” he snarled, dragging her back through the foyer by her hair.

She cried out and tried to grab at his hand. His fist was buried deep, right next to her scalp, and the pain brought tears to her eyes. His grip was brutal and there was no escaping it as he dragged her by her hair to the front door.

“You thought your amateur performance was going to distract me while your fucking hit man killed me? Is that how you got those other poor bastards? You're the worst cocksucker I've ever experienced, so they should have known better, but I guess being old men they didn't care as long as they had a mouth around their dicks. Get the fuck out of my house before I change my mind and kill you.” He snagged her jeans as he pushed her past the dead man on the floor.

She knew she was in shock. His voice barely registered. She knew the things he said to her would be branded on her brain for all time, but right then, her horrified gaze was on the dead man—the dead man she knew—the dead man who worked for her grandfather.

“If you're going to be in the business of whoring yourself out for your grandfather, Siena, you seriously need to get someone to give you a few lessons in fucking. How could a woman possibly get to be your age and not even learn to suck cock?” The contempt in his voice lashed at her already raw emotions. “You're laughable. I had far better back in high school. Hell. Grammar school. I would never have bothered fucking you if I hadn't wanted to see how far you'd take it. Get the hell out of my sight and hope to hell I never see you again.”

He propelled her out the door, threw her jeans at her, then slammed and locked the door. She knew he locked it because she heard the bolt. Siena stood on shaking legs, blood and seed trickling down her thighs, her body in shock. Her brain in shock. Leaning against the door, she tried to put her jeans on, an automatic gesture, but she was trembling so hard she couldn't lift her leg up without falling down. She took several deep breaths, her movements slow, but she managed to make her way to her car and climb in, the jeans still crumpled in her hand.

The terrible things he'd said reverberated through her head.
The worst he'd ever had.
She'd been so caught up in their sexual encounter she had built entire fantasies about him. She'd
loved
him. Was making love to him. Worshiping him. She was so stupid. So naïve.
The worst he'd ever had.

Elijah had been her dream man, literally. She dreamt of him almost every night. She fantasized about him. She searched for pictures of him in magazines and articles about him in the newspaper. She knew when he left the country for South America. She knew when he returned.
Better in high school. Hell. Grammar school.
He'd called her a whore.

Whoring herself out? Distracting him for her grandfather? She knew that man, the one who lay dead in a pool of blood in Elijah's foyer. She knew Marco Capello. She'd known him her entire life. Elijah thought she'd gone to others, went down on them, old men. Old friends, because the
only men she'd ever taken her grandfather's reserve to were men she had known all of her life. Elijah thought she would get on her knees and suck their cocks to allow a hit man to kill them.
Elijah
thought that of her.

She clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Tears ran down her face until she couldn't see. She wiped at them, knowing she had to do something. Wanting to run. Knowing she had nowhere to go because what happened, the things Elijah said to her, would go with her. This evening would be forever with her.