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voice of his surgeon warning him to take it slow. He’d taken it so damn slow he really was losing his mind, and his poor, unknowing, beautiful guide was in danger of being savaged.
    He was a man who aumatically noticed everything and there was no way not to watch Saria walk. He felt so damned old and she looked fresh and innocent and so far out of his league it wasn’t funny—but still—she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and the wildness receded even more. He breathed normally now, years of discipline taking over. The small breeze caressed the wispy ends of her sun-kissed hair and his heart stuttered.
    Saria turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, a slight frown on her face, her eyes assessing him. She slowed her pace. “Are you all right?”
    He gave her a direct stare, the kind that usually scared the hell out of people. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He was gruffer than he intended but she looked so damn young and innocent and he wasn’t having a great deal of success controlling the images of her naked body writhing under his—and that made him feel like a lecherous old man.
    “You’re limpin’.”
    There it was again, that little accent that seeped into his skin and made his cock jerk hard. And he wasn’t limping. No way. He kept his stare steady, regarding her without expression. “I don’t limp.” He walked with ease now, fluid and strong, and damn it all, he’d gone from a lecherous old man to a decrepit one in her eyes. Faced with the sexiest woman alive, he had obviously forgotten suave and power.
    Her eyebrow raised slightly. A dimple melted into that full, tempting mouth. She gave him a small half smile. “I’m glad we got that straight because the bed-and-breakfast is a distance away. We can cut through town and a sort of Christmas tree forest and maneuver the edge of a cypress grove. That will save a few steps.”
    He gave her a faint grin, not admitting a thing. “The quicker we get started, the better.”
    The setting sun dropped a fiery shower of light just before it sank fully into the river, bathing her in red and orange flames. The silken fall of her hair beckoned him, impossible to resist. He reached out and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, his heart pounding. He felt a rush of heat pour through his bloodstream. Blood roared in his ears, thundered in his head.
    She was potent, no doubt about it. She went completely still when he touched her, but she didn’t bat his hand away as she had every right to do. Her eyes went liquid and she blinked, locking her gaze with his. She looked untamed, unattainable, and everything male in him responded to that challenge. He felt the ripple of response run through his heavily roped muscles, felt the strength and power of his body. She made him wholly aware of his power.
    He had the ability to leap huge distances with absolute agility. He could land gracefully in either form—cat or man. He could slink like fluid water over the ground, so silent not even the leaves dared move. Like his cat, the sheer power of his muscles enabled him to move fast to control prey. Those same muscles allowed him the stealth of freeze-frame motion, holding completely still until he disappeared into his surroundings.
    He was power, and in that moment, he knew she was completely aware of it. The gold flecks in her eyes grew until they ringed the darker chocolate. She didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. His body went into overdrive, hard and full and suddenly aggressive. The woman triggered the same reaction in the man as the elusive female of his kind had done to his leopard. He would have to revise his opinion of her. Saria Boudreaux was more than the young woman he first thought h be—much more—and he intended to uncover every secret she had.
    Saria shivered as she stared into Drake Donovan’s unusual piercing eyes. His steady, direct stare was disturbing. She had the feeling he could see right through her into her deepest thoughts. She blushed at the