Wild Rain by Christine Feehan

refrain from ever doing so again.”
    The hard line of Rio’s mouth softened. “Nice greeting. I’m certain he’ll remember that. This one is Franz. He has a sweet disposition most of the time, until Fritz gets a little rough with him, then he has a bit of a temper. They disappear for days on end, but most of the time they stay with me. I leave it up to them whether they want to stay or go.” He pressed her hand into the cat’s fur.
    Rachael couldn’t help the small thrill that went through her at the thought of touching such a wild, elusive creature as a clouded leopard. “Hi, Franz. Don’t you know you’re supposed to be afraid of humans?” She frowned. “Haven’t you considered that by making them pets, you’ve made them more vulnerable to poachers who want their fur?”
    “They aren’t exactly tame, Rachael. The only reason they accept you is because my scent is all over you. We sleep together. That’s why I’m reinforcing their relationship with you, so no more mistakes. They hide from humans.”
    “We aren’t sleeping together,” she objected sharply. “And I don’t have a relationship with them and I can’t imagine ever having one. Has it occurred to you that you’re not exactly normal? This isn’t the way most people prefer to live.”
    Rio looked around his home. “I like it.”
    She sighed. “I didn’t mean to imply it wasn’t nice.” She moved again, shifting into another position in the hopes of easing the throbbing pain in her leg.
    He swept her hair back from the nape of her neck. It was damp with sweat. Rachael was becoming edgy and restless, shifting her position continually in an effort to ease her discomfort. “Rachael, just relax. I’ll fix a cool drink for you.”
    She bit her tongue as he stood up with his casual grace. He didn’t mean everything to sound like an order—she was hypersensitive. Rachael tried to push at the heavy fall of hair to get it off her forehead. It was curling in every direction as it always did in high humidity. As she lay there, she swore the walls began to creep inward, boxing her in, pushing the air from the room. Everything annoyed her, from the sound of the relentless rain to the playful leopards. If she had a slipper handy she might have thrown it in a fit of petulance.
    Her gaze strayed to Rio as it always did. It exasperated her that she couldn’t control herself enough to stop staring at him, and that she knew exactly what he was going to do before he did it. She knew the way he moved, the graceful flow of his body as he reached into the icebox. She knew him. If she closed her eyes he would be there in her mind, talking softly to her, reaching out absently to push the hair from her face, curling his fingers around the nape of her neck.
    Why did she associate every single movement, every gesture, with that of a cat? Especially his eyes. They were dilated the way a cat’s eyes would be at night and yet in the daylight, the pupils were nearly invisible.
    “Okay, there’s no way you turned into a leopard.” Rachael stared up at the ceiling and tried to work the problem out in her mind. She had to stop fantasizing about him leaping through the treetops with his little cat friends. It was idiotic and just proved she really was pushing the edges of sanity.
    “What are you going on about now?” Rio stirred the contents of the glass with a long-handled spoon. “Half the time you don’t make much sense.”
    “I’m not responsible for what I say when I’m running a fever.” Rachael winced a little at her tone. She sounded snippy. She was tired. And tired of being tired. Tired of feeling out of sorts and grumpy and sick of trying to figure out what was real and what had taken place in her fevered imagination.
    “You could try not saying anything,” he suggested.
    Rachael winced again. She always talked too much when she was nervous. “I suppose you’re right. I could be a stone-faced mute staring at the walls the way you do. We’d