Wild Cat (38 page)

She cut up the two tomatoes and the small bunch of cilantro, added three pinches of oregano, two cloves of garlic and then studied the five small
chili de arbol
and the five serrano chilies. She wasn't certain how she was supposed to chop them up. The recipe didn't give specific instructions, only that they needed to be in the salsa that went over the shrimp. Taking a deep breath, she began, determined that Elijah would come home to one of his favorite meals.

*   *   *

E
LIJAH
frowned at Trey. “What do you mean, you haven't seen or heard from her? You didn't check on her?” The moment he'd come home, he expected her to be there. Right
fucking
there. Waiting for him. Glad to see him. Greeting him. Siena was nowhere around and that pissed him off. He'd been thinking about her the entire plane ride home.

“She went into the kitchen with Tomas and that was the last I saw of her,” Trey defended. “No one's been in the house. My guess, she's still in there, waiting for you.”

“When I leave her alone here, I want her checked on every twenty minutes or so,” Elijah snapped. He'd cleaned up on the plane, wanting to come to her fresh, without the smell of gunpowder, feral cat or blood. Drake had sewn up
the two places he'd needed stitches. He was good to go.
And she wasn't there.
Greeting him. Kissing him with that sweet mouth of hers. He fucking
needed
her. Right. That. Minute.

The moment he'd entered the house he had a bad feeling. He had no idea why, only that it was too quiet. He just didn't like the way it felt. He didn't like the fact that Siena wasn't right there. Or that anyone hadn't had eyes on her since she'd come home from Jake and Emma's. He didn't have time to waste snapping at security, he'd call a meeting later and lay down the law.

Turning on his heel, he prowled down the hall and took the shortcut through the atrium to the kitchen. The door to the kitchen was closed and he jerked it open. Instantly he smelled the potent aroma of
Camarones a la Diabla.
“What the fuck?” he snapped. His leopard was riding him hard. He still had the battle pumping through his bloodstream, the aggression. The need to conquer. The need to dominate. More, his cock was raging.
Raging
at him. None of that would disappear until he was buried inside his woman.

Siena didn't turn away from the counter where she was running the blender. And coughing. Choking. She obviously hadn't heard him come in over the blender, nor did she hear his angry question.

She was clearly affected by the potency of the peppers. Sometimes, when his grandmother had made the salsa to go over the shrimp, they'd had to clear out the kitchen and even a part of the house because it felt as if their throats were closing.

“Fucking chilies. What are you doing?” he demanded, stalking across the room toward her—not an easy thing to do when he was as hard as a rock. She half turned, and his heart nearly stopped. Even his raging cock settled. Tears streamed down her face.
Dios. Dios.
“What were you thinking? You didn't handle those chilies, did you?”

She turned all the way toward him, choking on the fumes. Tears spilled down her face, but she looked determined, still
blending the salsa in the blender in spite of the fact that the fumes were closing off her airway.

He crossed to her, swept her up in his arms and turned off the blender. “
Dios
, Siena, what the hell are you doing?” Fury curled in his belly. Hard, tight knots that told him he hadn't taken care of her. He hadn't cautioned her not to use any of the starred recipes. The hotter-than-Hades recipes that a novice couldn't handle.

She buried her face against his shoulder, but she made no attempt to hang on. In fact she kept her open palms away from him. He could see they were bright red. He erupted into Spanish, cursing angrily. “
Fucking
hell.” It was worse than he thought. “
Dios, mi amorcito
, you burned your hands.”

Elijah stalked to the outside patio, carrying her away from the house and the fumes to set her down in the nearest chair. He took hold of her wrists, his hands gentle when the leopard was leaping close to the surface, raking and tearing at him for allowing her to be injured in any way. He turned her palms to face him. They weren't just bright red, they were actually swollen and inflamed. She'd still been trying to cook for him—with her hands like that.

Deep inside his heart stuttered. What the hell did a man do with a woman who loved him like that? Who would try to cook for him in spite of burns to her hands? In spite of her throat closing from the fumes? What did a man do with a woman who lapped at his cock to clean him after mind-blowing sex? A woman who
enjoyed
blowing him? Who swallowed for him? Who did what she could to
show
him she loved him, not just say the words?

His eyes burned, from the chilies he was certain, although that had never happened to him before. Along with burning eyes his throat felt raw. He knew anyone looking at him would see the stark fear on his face. Because Siena Arnotto could tear him apart easily. Rip him to shreds. She could do what no member of his family, no enemy, no one who had tried to hurt him had done. She could annihilate him. Destroy him.

“Damn it, Siena,” he snapped. “Don't you fucking move. And don't touch your face. Keep your hands away from your body.”

He rushed back into the kitchen, turned off the blender, yanked open the refrigerator, dumped a sizable amount of milk and ice into a large bowl and hurried back to her. He slammed the bowl onto the table hard enough that the milk splashed over the edges. Gripping her wrists, he yanked her hands over the bowl.

“Put your hands in that,” he ordered. “You didn't run your hands under cold water, did you?”

She nodded, biting hard on her lip in an effort to control the tears streaming down her face.

He cursed more, tipping her face up toward him, inspecting her for any places she might have touched with her hands. “Is your face burning?”

She shook her head. “Just my hands. I was careful, once I realized they were burning, not to touch my skin anywhere else.”

Dios
, it could have been
so
much worse. The need for physical action was so great that he paced away, slammed his fist into the side of the house hard, three times.

She jumped, her hands coming out of the milk.

Instantly he was back at her side, forcing her palms into the ice-cold milk. “
Fucking
keep them there.”

“Stop saying the f-word at me,” she protested.

He ignored that. She had to stop crying. She
had
to. “Baby, what the hell were you thinking? Peppers contain capsicum. That's used in pepper spray. You can't get that shit on your skin, especially someone as sensitive as you. And sometimes when you blend those chilies the fumes can make you feel like you're choking. Seriously, Siena, what the hell?”

His hands actually itched to shake her. “I left for a few hours, baby. That's it. I come home to this. You could have really hurt yourself.” He hit the tabletop with his fist, making
the milk splash around her wrists. “
Fuck.
Don't you ever do something so stupid again.”

“Elijah.” She said his name. Low.

His gaze jumped to her face. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to see her tears, that just tore him up inside and the part of him that felt helpless because
he fucking wasn't there when she needed him
just pissed him off.

“Go away.”

He scowled at her. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said,
go away
.” She repeated it.

No remorse. Her chin wasn't even up defiantly. She just looked at him with soft green eyes. Eyes drowning in tears. Made his damn belly turn into hard knots.

“You did not just say that to me,” he said. His male pushed closer to the surface. Raking at him. Clawing at his belly. Furious. Almost as furious as Elijah was at himself. They hadn't protected her. She was in pain, and it was such a simple thing to have avoided.

“I said it. I meant it. Now, go away.”

“Siena,” he warned. “You burned the crap out of your hands. You had no business cutting up those chilies without knowing how to properly handle them. What were you thinking?”

She lifted her chin. He'd been waiting for that little gesture of defiance. He liked it. It was perverse of him, but he did. She had attitude, and she could stand up to his foul temper. Still, everything dominant rose up to challenge her. To force compliance. To make her realize she was his, and he wasn't putting up with her hurting herself.

“I was thinking I would surprise you by fixing something that was a favorite dish of yours. A criminal offense, no doubt. Then I burned my hands and I was thinking my man was going to come home and comfort me—maybe tell me what to do to stop the burning and how to prevent it from happening again. But instead, my
idiot
man is a total
bastardo
.”

Everything in him settled. The tight knots in his belly loosened just a little. He took a deep breath and studied her face. Most women looked like hell when they cried. Red, blotchy faces. Not Siena. No, she had to look even more beautiful. Her eyes looked greener than ever, brilliant, like gleaming polished emeralds. Tears sparkled on her lashes like tiny diamonds. Yeah. That was his Siena.

“My baby can say
bastard
but not
fuck
. Who knew?”

“Don't you dare laugh at me,” she snapped. “I mean it, Elijah, I'll dump this bowl of milk over your head, although it is helping to take the burn away.”

“Don't dump the milk over my head,
mi vida
. You can have
words
with me, though. I won't mind that. Although I don't have a clue what that might be since you can't say
fuck
or any other foul words beside
bastardo
.”

“Apparently,” she said in a very haughty tone, “your memory is going. I believe when I was very angry with you, I used extremely foul language and said the f-word several times, along with a few other choice words I was quoting from your
extraordinary
vocabulary.”

“The f-word?” he repeated. “Extremely foul language?”

She glared at him. Gave a little sniff. The coughing and choking had stopped now that he had her out in the cool night air and away from the blender. The tears were drying up as well, because he'd gotten her angry.

“Go away, Elijah.”

“It's not going to happen. I'll give you the world, baby, but not that. Besides, I have to cover your hands in aloe vera.”

“I don't want your help. You're a total jerk. I don't know what I ever saw in you.”

“That's not nice, Siena. And you're always sweet.”

“I was nice, now I'm not because you're rubbing off on me.”

He leaned down to kiss her. She turned her head away. Something in him tightened. Coiled. Something not nice. Not sweet. Something scary and dangerous and feral. “Baby, fucking kiss me.” All over again, his cock hardened. He had
the urge to put his fist in her hair and yank her head down right over it.

“I don't like you. I'm not going to kiss you when I don't like you. You were mean when I needed you to be sweet and understanding.”

“You hurt yourself,” he accused. His fingers delved deep into her hair, but he resisted the need to put her mouth on him. “You had no business cutting up those chilies, Siena. None.”

“You knew I was going to cook tonight.”

“Sure, but not that dish. Something easy. Something that didn't burn the shit out of your hands.”

“How was I supposed to know which would burn and which wouldn't?”

“Chilies.”
He snapped the word knowing this wasn't her fault. It was his. “I'm going to cut some fresh aloe vera stalks, but before I do, you are going to kiss me.”

“I am
not
.” She glared at him.

He smiled. A predator's smile. She blinked rapidly and tried to turn her face away. One hand kept her jaw in place. “Don't take your hands out of that milk,” he warned, his lips against hers. She tried to turn her head again but he didn't allow it. Her lips remained stubbornly closed.

He smiled against her mouth, enjoying her defiance, enjoying the effect it had on his body. He was harder than ever. Throbbing. Her defiance wasn't real. Siena didn't have it in her to hold a grudge. He'd learned that about her immediately. He'd hurt her feelings, but it wouldn't take much for her to forgive him. He coaxed her gently, kissing her with tenderness, his teeth tugging at her lower lip. When she still refused, he bit down harder, nipping her until she gasped. His tongue slid in.

She tasted sweet. She tasted hot. Sexy. His. And she kissed him back. No hesitation. Drowning in him. Giving him everything. Giving him—
her
. His woman didn't hold grudges and she could kiss like fucking sin. He felt her kiss go straight to his heart. Straight to his soul. Straight to his aching cock.

He lifted his head slowly, trailed kisses over her cheeks and up to her eyes, brushing the wet lashes. “Can't take it when you're hurt, baby. Breaks something inside of me, but this is my fault. I should have taken the time to go over those recipes with you. If you
ever
get hurt when I'm not close by, promise me you'll call one of the boys to help you.”

She shook her head without actually thinking about it. Clearly she didn't want to call one of the men to help her. She didn't know it, but that was huge for him. He didn't like the idea of any of the men holding her hand or wiping her tears. Still. She should have had treatment immediately.

“Why didn't you call them?”

She shrugged. “It didn't occur to me. I was waiting for you. If I'm being honest, I'm not that comfortable with any other man but you.”