Wild Fire by Christine Feehan Page B

we’re indifferent. I expect a little hate, Isabeau, but that’s not all you feel for me and I expect honesty between us.”
    Fire flashed through her, a storm of such heat she shook with it. “You expect honesty between us? You ?” She poured contempt into her voice. “You wouldn’t know honesty if it bit you in the butt. Don’t you dare lecture me. You lied to me. Used me. Made me believe you loved me and we were going to have a life together. And then you killed my father. Everything about you is a lie, an illusion. You aren’t even real.”
    Rage burst like a firestorm in her stomach, churning wildly, exploding in fiery conflagration she couldn’t—or didn’t—want to douse. There was a part of her that knew her sexual hunger was a good percentage of what was fueling the flames of anger—that the intensity of her righteous, feral anger was her cat’s heat and her absolute physical need of the dominant male standing in front of her, but it felt so good to throw the gun to the ground and swing her clenched fist at the smug male smirk, wanting to wipe it off his face.
    Amusement crept into the amber of his eyes as he evaded her swipe, his teeth flashing at her. “Are you trying to hit me?”
    “I’m going to kick your ass,” she spat back, circling around him, a slow hiss escaping her throat. His laughter only drove the flames of her fire higher.
    “Hafelina.” His voice smoldered with sex and her treacherous body reacted with a spasm of need.
    “What does that mean?” she demanded and threw a kick at his thigh.
    He slapped her foot away from him. “Little cat. And you’re behaving like one right now. I don’t want to hurt you, Isabeau, so stop this nonsense.”
    “You think you’re the only one with training?” Now it was a matter of pride that she score a hit on him. Just one.
    She attacked hard, a series of lightning fast kicks. He blocked every one with an almost casual slap of his hand. The taps stung, but didn’t really hurt. She didn’t take her eyes from him, a sexual fury manifesting itself in violent rage.
    “Do you know what a cat does when she’s in heat and her male is circling her?”
    His voice lowered an octave. Purred at her. Stroked her sensitive skin and found raw, burning nerves. Liquid heat scorched her. Her breasts ached. Her skin felt too tight, need and an angry hunger she couldn’t control mixing together.
    “I’m not in heat,” she hissed, and drove in again, this time with her hands, throwing a left, a right and then an uppercut.
    He blocked every move with an open palm, that same casual slap that was as maddening as the raw, edgy hunger that drove her need to attack him.
    “Sure you are.” His voice dropped even lower and his eyes drifted possessively over her body. “You’re hot as hell. Your scent is driving me insane.”
    She flushed, turning nearly crimson, and rushed him again. He sidestepped and caught her, spinning her around until her back was against him, her arms pinned to her sides, trapping her tight against his body. His scent was potent, wild, sexy. Every ragged breath burned through her lungs. Adrenaline was hot and liquid rushing through her veins.
    She hissed again. He lowered his head, holding her in an unbreakable grip, his strength enormous. He lapped at the side of her neck, in a slow, languorous display of ownership, sending shivers through her entire body. Tongues of flames licked over her skin. His teeth scraped along her neck, down her throat and then his lips pressed against her ear.
    “The female leopard always rebuffs her mate, giving him a show of claws, hissing and spitting like the little cat you are. All the while she’s seductive, driving her mate into a frenzy of hunger even as she pushes him away. Her body calls to his. Like yours does to mine. Do you know why, Hafelina? ”
    She went very still, sensing danger. Absolute danger. His teeth slid down her neck, nuzzled at her shoulder. “Because you belong to me.”
    His