Nick swore softly under his breath, a low sound that sent a fresh jolt through me. He didn't move away. He grabbed my waist and pulled me deeper into the tent, away from the latched canvas and everything watching from the dark.
And the leopard, somewhere out in the dark, was no longer the problem.
Chapter 8
With Me, You Follow
JULIETTE
Theflaphadn'tfullyclosed behind us before his hands were on me again.
Certain. Unapologetic. Nick backed me against the timber framing beside the canvas opening, the entry flap falling closed behind us with a quiet finality. His palms pinned my hips there, fingers pressing hard enough that I’d feel the ghost of them tomorrow.
Good. Let it show.
"You talk like a woman who’s used to being the smartest person in the room. I want to see if you're as smart when you can't breathe."
"Is that a threat, Nick?"
"It’s a forecast." His teeth grazed my pulse point. Not quite a bite. A promise of one. "You've been in control of every boardroom, every negotiation, every man who's ever underestimated you."
"Yes."
"Not with me." His hand slid up my ribs, palm flat against the thin cotton. "With me, you follow."
My breath stalled. The tension I’d been holding along my spine finally released. And he was telling me I could set the armor down.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“I follow.”
His eyes closed for half a second, and the sound he made was rough, almost pained. “Good.”
Then his mouth was on mine, and any pretense of restraint dissolved.
This wasn't the kiss from outside. That had been a question, an exploration, a crack in the door. This was a demand. His tongue didn't ask—it invaded, steady and methodical, like he was mapping out a route he intended to take again and again. I let him have it, my fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt because I needed one solid point to hold onto while the rest of me went liquid.
Nick broke the kiss just long enough to unholster his sidearm. He set it on the table by the entrance without looking, the movement automatic.
Then his hands found the hem of my tank top, pulling it over my head in one smooth motion. It hit the floor somewhere in the dark. The overhead fans caught the movement, pushing a slow, humid weight of air across my skin. And then his mouth was on my shoulder, trailing down to the hollow of my throat, lower still.
“No bra,” he said, as if he’d logged the fact earlier and shown heroic restraint until the leopard cleared the area. His thumb brushed over my nipple, already tightened to a peak. “Bold choice for a leopard hunt.”
"I wasn't expecting company."
"Liar." But approval roughened the word before his head dipped to take me into his mouth.
The heat of it—wet, insistent, his tongue circling with ruthless patience—sent a jolt straight through me. My head thunked back against the timber frame. He hummed against my skin, a low vibration that traveled nerve to nerve, and his free hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.
"Nick—"
"I've got you." His teeth scraped lightly over my nipple, and I gasped. "You're going to let me take care of this. Take care of you. Understand?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
His eyes lifted to mine, dark and serious in the dim lantern light.
"Words."
