you and let you run free, I would. Do you know that? Yea, you do know, don't you? We have a feeling for each other, you and I. A special feeling. A closeness that many people never have."
For a moment Oliver had the giddy feeling that he was interrupting a pair of lovere. He shook it off and crept up quietly behind the girl. Under his breath he prayed that no twig would snap beneath his foot and turn the bizarre tableau into a bloody nightmare. The leopard, he could see, had hie head down as the girl dug her fingers into the short, thick fur behind his ears. Sensuously she massaged the corded neck muscles.
When he was as close as he dared go, Oliver leaped at the girl. He caught her around the waist and fell backward, pulling her down on top of him. He hit the ground hard, and for several seconds just lay there on his back, maintaining his hold on the girl. He felt the wild beating of her heart. He also felt the slim supple waist and the soft undercurve of the girl's breasts. Embarrassingly, he began to get an erection.
The girl pulled in a lungful of air, and Oliver was afraid she was going to scream.
"Please be calm," he said, making his own voice as casual as possible. "I'm the curator here. My name is Oliver Yates. I'm not going to hurt you."
For a moment the only sound was their breathing. The leopard growled and hit the bars a clanging blow with one paw.
"Do you have to hold me so tightly?" the girl asked.
"Sorry."
Oliver eased his grip on the girl. Then, when he felt she was not going to bolt, he released her. They both stood up, brushing bits of grass and dirt from their clothing. For a man who had just saved a girl's life, Oliver felt strangely embarrassed.
"Just what did you think you were doing here?" he asked.
"I was sketching the leopard."
"Sketching, you say?"
"That's right." The girl looked around on the grass until she spied a spiral-bound book. She picked it up and held it for Oliver to see while she flipped the pages. He could not see clearly what was on the pages in the moonlight, but it seemed to be drawings of the leopard, as the girl had said. There were head studies, upper body, and full length. Oliver started to examine the drawings critically, then realized the absurdity of the situation.
"Sketching, hell," he said angrily. "You had your hand inside the cage."
"That was after I was all through drawing. I was petting him."
"Petting him? I can't believe I'm hearing this. Did you say you were petting my leopard?"
"Of course. Couldn't you see that? He was upset when I got here. Something happened earlier that disturbed him. And he was very lonely. I don't believe anyone here has shown him any love."
Oliver stared at her. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course I'm serious."
"Don't you realize that this is a highly dangerous animal? We know for a fact that he's mauled one woman severely. God only knows what other mayhem he's responsible for."
"Pooh. All he needs is some affection."
"Oh, you could sense that, could you?"
"As a matter of fact. I could." she said, ignoring the sarcasm. "And if you're supposed to be the ... what did you call yourself?"
"Curator."
"If you're the curator here, I should think you could sense things about animals too."
"I can, sometimes," Oliver said in a gentler tone. "But I still wouldn't go poking my arm into the cage of an animal who could rip it off with a swipe of his paw."
"I was in no danger," she said.
In the moonlight Oliver saw that the girl had a nice smile. An exceptionally nice smile.
"You know who I am now," he said, "how about making us even?"
"I'm Irena Gallier."
"Welcome to the New Orleans Zoo, Miss Gallier. It is miss?"
"It is."
"I'll be glad to show you around personally next time, but it might be better if you come during the hours when we're open to the public."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I lost track of the time."
Her knees seemed to weaken suddenly. She staggered, and Oliver reached out to catch her.
"Are you all
For a moment Oliver had the giddy feeling that he was interrupting a pair of lovere. He shook it off and crept up quietly behind the girl. Under his breath he prayed that no twig would snap beneath his foot and turn the bizarre tableau into a bloody nightmare. The leopard, he could see, had hie head down as the girl dug her fingers into the short, thick fur behind his ears. Sensuously she massaged the corded neck muscles.
When he was as close as he dared go, Oliver leaped at the girl. He caught her around the waist and fell backward, pulling her down on top of him. He hit the ground hard, and for several seconds just lay there on his back, maintaining his hold on the girl. He felt the wild beating of her heart. He also felt the slim supple waist and the soft undercurve of the girl's breasts. Embarrassingly, he began to get an erection.
The girl pulled in a lungful of air, and Oliver was afraid she was going to scream.
"Please be calm," he said, making his own voice as casual as possible. "I'm the curator here. My name is Oliver Yates. I'm not going to hurt you."
For a moment the only sound was their breathing. The leopard growled and hit the bars a clanging blow with one paw.
"Do you have to hold me so tightly?" the girl asked.
"Sorry."
Oliver eased his grip on the girl. Then, when he felt she was not going to bolt, he released her. They both stood up, brushing bits of grass and dirt from their clothing. For a man who had just saved a girl's life, Oliver felt strangely embarrassed.
"Just what did you think you were doing here?" he asked.
"I was sketching the leopard."
"Sketching, you say?"
"That's right." The girl looked around on the grass until she spied a spiral-bound book. She picked it up and held it for Oliver to see while she flipped the pages. He could not see clearly what was on the pages in the moonlight, but it seemed to be drawings of the leopard, as the girl had said. There were head studies, upper body, and full length. Oliver started to examine the drawings critically, then realized the absurdity of the situation.
"Sketching, hell," he said angrily. "You had your hand inside the cage."
"That was after I was all through drawing. I was petting him."
"Petting him? I can't believe I'm hearing this. Did you say you were petting my leopard?"
"Of course. Couldn't you see that? He was upset when I got here. Something happened earlier that disturbed him. And he was very lonely. I don't believe anyone here has shown him any love."
Oliver stared at her. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course I'm serious."
"Don't you realize that this is a highly dangerous animal? We know for a fact that he's mauled one woman severely. God only knows what other mayhem he's responsible for."
"Pooh. All he needs is some affection."
"Oh, you could sense that, could you?"
"As a matter of fact. I could." she said, ignoring the sarcasm. "And if you're supposed to be the ... what did you call yourself?"
"Curator."
"If you're the curator here, I should think you could sense things about animals too."
"I can, sometimes," Oliver said in a gentler tone. "But I still wouldn't go poking my arm into the cage of an animal who could rip it off with a swipe of his paw."
"I was in no danger," she said.
In the moonlight Oliver saw that the girl had a nice smile. An exceptionally nice smile.
"You know who I am now," he said, "how about making us even?"
"I'm Irena Gallier."
"Welcome to the New Orleans Zoo, Miss Gallier. It is miss?"
"It is."
"I'll be glad to show you around personally next time, but it might be better if you come during the hours when we're open to the public."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I guess I lost track of the time."
Her knees seemed to weaken suddenly. She staggered, and Oliver reached out to catch her.
"Are you all
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