A Whisper of Sin (5 page)

She was so startled by what he'd called her that she completely lost her focus. He was in her face an instant later. “What the hell was that?” he growled. “If you blank out in a fight, you're dead.”

“You called me a mink!” She refused to back off.

“Did I?” Moving at inhuman speed, he closed a hand around her throat before she knew what was happening. “Let's make sure you're not a dead mink.”

Eyes narrowed, she reached up and tried to break his nose using the flat of her hand. He caught it using his free hand. Her knee was already aiming for his crotch, and when he blocked that, she leaned forward and sunk her teeth hard into his forearm.

“Fuck!” The hand around her neck remained in place, but he released her other hand. She immediately went for his eyes and his crotch again. Her knee brushed against something very hard, before he twisted away and swore. She kept going, kicking, trying to scratch, even attempting to break the pinkie of the hand he had around her throat.

He finally let go. “Truce.”

Her heart was in her throat, exhilaration in her bloodstream. She knew he'd been playing with her—with his strength and training, he could've had her on the ground in one second flat. “How did I do?”

He glanced at his forearm. “I didn't teach you the biting.” It was a snarl.

Or maybe he hadn't been playing the whole time. “I decided to add it on my own,” she said, though in truth, it had been an instinctive response to his arrogant provocation. Her eyes went to the marks she'd made. Deep and red and perfectly formed. Guilt invaded. “I didn't mean to bite you that hard. But . . . I'm not sorry.”

“Oh?” He walked over, slow, so slow. This time, she backed up. It was one thing to play with a predator who was keeping his claws sheathed, quite another to know you were prey. He kept coming. She knew the door out of the basement was only about a foot away. Making a quick move, she went to dart left.

Too late.

He was there before her and somehow, she found herself pasted up against the closed door, very aware she was all alone with a big, dangerous leopard in human skin. Except instead of fear, it was a vivid excitement that beat in her blood as he placed his hands palms-down on either side of her head and bent until their breaths mingled. “Boo.”

She jumped, then wanted to slap herself for it. “Stop acting like the big bad cat.”

A blink, and when he raised his lashes, the eyes that looked back at her were in no way human. “Mmm, I smell a pretty little human in my territory.” A soft whisper against her lips, bright green-gold eyes daring her to respond.

Her breasts brushed his chest as he pressed closer, her breath coming in jagged pants. “You're behaving very badly.” It was a husky reproach.

“You bit me.” He angled his head a little to the left, and though she couldn't see those amazing eyes except for a glint through his lashes, she knew he was looking at her lips. “Say sorry.”

She didn't know what made her do it. Parting her lips, she said, “No.”

His mouth was on hers before the syllable ended. She found herself being kissed as she'd never been kissed in her life. He took over her mouth, slicked his tongue in, and tasted her like she was the finest candy and he was starving. Against her, his body was a hot, hard, impregnable wall. Her hands were somehow under his T-shirt and on his back, touching skin that burned with a wild fever that made her moan in the back of her throat.

A sound akin to a growl rolled up from his chest and into her mouth. Before she could process it, his hands were at her waist and he was lifting her up against the door. Wrapping her legs around him, she gave herself up to the possessive demand of his kiss. It fed fire through her body, a hot, pulsing storm. Then one of those big hands stroked down her back to squeeze her bottom.

She gasped, breaking the kiss.

He followed, taking her mouth again before she could do more than suck in a breath.
Oh, Lord
. He was stroking her butt, cupping and petting even as he devoured her mouth. It was wild, raw, primal. The heat in her stomach was matched only by the dampness between her thighs. Part of her was scandalized at her response, but that part was drowned out by the wild thunder of her pulse as pleasure sizzled through her veins, pure liquid flame.

Emmett broke the kiss just as her head was starting to spin. An instant later, she felt those delicious male lips along her jaw, down her throat. And that hand on her bottom . . . she swallowed, tried to think, lost the thread when Emmett shifted his hold so that his fingers brushed the heat between her legs. She cried out. “Stop.”

A fluttering stroke that arced electricity right through her. “Please tell me you don't mean that.” His stubble brushed her throat as he leaned in to nibble at her ear. “Come on, mink. Just a little more.”

God, the man was a devil. And he smelled so good. A faint hint of sweat, the luscious warmth of male body heat, and the unique scent that was Emmett. She found she was kissing his jaw, fascinated by the contrast between the stubble and his skin. “Random sex isn't my style.”

“Who said anything about random?” Another teasing brush, another rush of exquisite pleasure. “I plan to have sex with you on a regular basis.”

The arrogance of the comment should have snapped her out of it. Instead, her mind bombarded her with images of naked limbs intertwined, a heavy male thigh pushing between her own. He'd be no gentle, easy lover. He'd demand and he'd take. He might even bite. “That's assuming an awful lot,” she somehow found the willpower to say.

A press of his fingers this time, not a brush. She sucked in a breath, her eyes closing as she waited for it to pass. But he didn't stop. Instead, he lifted her until she was positioned just right . . . and began to rub himself against her in slow, grinding circles. She almost screamed. And then his fingers were on her again and she did scream.

E
mmett caught Ria's scream with his mouth as he continued to tease her with his body—torturing himself in the process. But the scent of her damp heat, it was pure ambrosia. He wanted to sit her down—no,
lay
her down—on a sprawling playground of a bed, spread her thighs wide and taste. His cock pulsed, the leopard's hunger threatening to overwhelm the man's control.

Fighting the urge to tear off her sweats, he concentrated on driving her over the edge of pleasure. He hadn't needed her to tell him—he'd known instinctively that Ria wasn't a woman who took sex casually. He'd have to coax her into his bed. Taking her against the scarred door of a basement gym was hardly going to reassure her that her pleasure mattered to him. Mattered enough that when her body tightened, he grit his teeth and stroked her through the orgasm.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders through his T-shirt—he wished like hell he'd taken the damn thing off. He wanted those marks on his skin, wanted to know she'd put them there.
Next time
, he promised the cat.
Next time.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, nuzzling at her neck as she shuddered against him, her body going limp. “Pretty and soft and beautiful.”
And mine.
The leopard bared its teeth at the thought, even as the man bit back a rawly possessive smile.

Finally shifting his hold from the gorgeous curve of her butt, he ran his hands up her sides as he kissed and petted her through the aftershocks of pleasure. Her eyes were still a little unfocused when she said, “Put me down.” It was an order.

The leopard snarled, but he did as asked. She pressed her hands flat against the door and looked up at him. “You're . . .” Color streaked across her cheekbones.

He gave her a smile that he knew held a distinctly savage edge. “I'm thinking I want lots and lots of time when I slide into you.”

“Are all cats as arrogant as you?”

He shrugged and leaned in close. “I'm the only cat you need to be thinking about.”

R
ia couldn't
not
think about Emmett. That night, as she sat across from her parents at the dinner table, she kept finding herself drifting off in the middle of conversations. Emmett's scent seemed to have become locked in her brain. She was fantasizing about burying her face in his neck, his strong body hard and taut against hers when Alex's voice penetrated.

Jumping, Ria met her mother's eyes, hoping the guilt didn't show. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Tom's popping by for coffee tonight. Why don't you change into a dress?”

Ria's fingers turned to iron around her chopsticks. Enough, she thought. And strangely, it had nothing to do with Emmett. Perhaps he'd pushed her to this point faster, but she'd always been walking toward it. “Mom,” she said, putting down the abused chopsticks, “I have no interest whatsoever in Tom.”

Utter silence.

Simon was the one to break it. “What's gotten into you, Ria? You and Tom grew up together—he knows you. He'll make a good husband.” The tone of his voice said the matter was settled.

Ria looked into her father's face. “I love you, Dad, but not even for you will I marry a man who thinks I should be patted on the head once in a while and put in the corner like a good little girl the rest of the time.”

White lines bracketed Simon's mouth. “That boy's only ever treated you with respect.”

“He treats me like a dimwit,” Ria said, skin blazing with temper. “Last week, he told me I wouldn't have to worry about finances when we were married, that he knows math confuses females.”

Alex made a choked little sound that succeeded in ripping Ria's attention from her father's disapproving face. Alex's expression was a mix of outrage and disbelief. “He did not say that. You're making it up.”

“Popo?”
Ria turned to her right.

Miaoling ate a fried shrimp and nodded. “He said it. Then he smiled as if expecting praise.”

Alex's hands clenched on the tablecloth. “And who does he think does the books for the shop, huh?”

“Alex.” Simon closed his hand over his wife's. “We're getting off topic.”

Taking a deep breath, Alex nodded. “You're right. Sweetheart, Tom is a very good match for you. You never had a problem with him before you met that disreputable leopard.”

Ria supposed Emmett was disreputable—that stubble, those hands that had squeezed and petted, those eyes that told her he wanted to do all kinds of wicked things to her. But . . . “He's an honorable man.” That core of honor was so much a part of him, she wondered if he was even aware of it. It was why it had been so easy for her to lose control in the gym today—she'd trusted Emmett to take care of her. And that, she thought, was a dangerous thing . . . the kind that could lead to a broken heart if she wasn't careful. “He's protecting our family.”

“Exactly,” Jet said, jumping into the conversation. “Maybe he's making time with you while he does this duty, but he won't marry you, Ria. Those cats stick together.”

Ria's stomach twisted, because she knew her brother was right. “This isn't about Emmett. It's about me. I will, under no circumstances, marry Tom.”

“Why not?” Alex asked, eyes flashing. “He's intelligent, handsome, has a good job, and brings you flowers.”

Frustrated, Ria threw down her napkin and rose to her feet. “If he's that great,
you
marry him. I will
not
marry a man who hasn't even attempted to French-kiss me the entire year we've been ‘dating.' ”

Her parents yelled her name, but Jet's incredulous voice drowned them out. “Seriously? Not even a little tongue? You're right—dude is lame.”

“JET!” It was Alex. She flew into a rapid stream of Mandarin.

Miaoling looked up at Ria and winked. “Sit. Eat.”

And oddly enough, Ria did. The family fought through the entire meal, but now her parents were mad at Jet because he figured Tom had to be gay.

Alex glared at her son. “Maybe he's just being respectful of your sister.”

“No effing way.” A skeptical snort. “Men aren't that noble when it comes to women they want.” Jet turned to his wife, his voice dropping. “When I saw Amber, all I wanted to do was—”

“You finish that sentence,” Alex threatened, “and you'll be breathing fire I'll put so much chili in your food.”

Amber grinned and blew Jet a kiss. “You know, it sounds to me like Tom's planning to marry Ria and get himself a nice, respectable wife, while having a bit on the side.”

Simon's mouth fell open at this scandalous contribution from his flawlessly elegant daughter-in-law.

Miaoling ate another shrimp. “She's right. Like father, like son.”

Silence. Deeper. More shocked.

FIVE

S
imon cleared his throat. “Mother,” he said, his tone that of a man who knows he's done for, “is that true?”

“You think I'm lying?”

“I think you'd do anything for your favorite granddaughter.”

Leaning back, Miaoling actually cackled. “This time, I don't have to. Wait.” She got up and headed toward her room.

Ria shrugged when all eyes turned to her. “Don't look at me.”

“Eat some tofu,” Alex said when they just sat there. “It'll go bad if we don't finish it tonight.”

Everyone ate. But the instant Miaoling walked back into the room, all implements were abandoned, food forgotten. Wearing the same smile she always displayed when she came out of Mr. Wong's, Miaoling sat down and opened an envelope. Ria's eyes went wide when she saw the photograph in her grandmother's hand—Tom's father with his tongue down the throat of the woman everyone knew as his secretary. “Oh, my, God.”