Mitya Amurov and Ania Dover are neighbors. Her life is isolated and focused on her father. He's been fighting a constant battle with his leopard all his life. When a flat tire brings Ania into Mitya's world sparks and an overwhelming desire find its way through the danger that lurks in their lives. Will a Leopard's Wrath become a problem or will it bring two people together?
Christine Feehan continues her Leopard series with the story of the head of the Amurov family, Mitya, and Ania Dover, who just happens to be his neighbor. A chance meeting brings these two together to face the danger coming at them from both sides. They must find out who is their enemy and who they can trust amongst the people around them. If you don't like a lot of explicit sex scenes I'd say this story isn't for you. I'm always ready to read a Feehan book and can't wait for the next in any of her series.
He’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants, but she’s not the type of woman to take things lying down.…
Born into a world of crime, Mitya Amurov has had a hard life, and his leopard has developed into a feral beast to protect him. It’s constantly trying to claw its way to the surface, until a chance encounter with a stranger instantly calms the predator inside him. While Mitya wants Ania desperately, it’s only a matter of time before his past catches up with him, and he’d rather die than put her in danger. But Ania is dealing with dangers of her own.…
Considering her family’s history, Ania Dover should know better than to get mixed up with a criminal like Mitya, but she just can’t stay away. Something wild in her responds to his presence. A need so strong it scares her. But she’s not sure she can accept what he’s offering. Ania has always been an independent woman, and Mitya expects to be obeyed in all things. Even with her body calling out for his, Ania won’t let anything stop her from settling a deadly score years in the making—not even the man who wants to claim her as his mate.
Excerpt
(from Chapter 1)
Mitya’s leopard leapt for the surface, clawing and raking, trying to take him over. As Mitya fought back to stay in control, he thought the cat had responded to his morose thoughts. But then the leopard swung around so abruptly, Mitya’s body did as well. He saw headlights beaming from the side of the road.
“Stop. Miron, stop.”
His driver instantly hit the brakes. Ahead of them, the car in front did the same. The one behind them did as well.
“Turn around and go back to that car, the one on the side of the road.”
They were on a fairly deserted road, one that led to the country home where he resided. It was in the hills above San Antonio, a beautiful estate where he could run his leopard without too much fear of accidentally running into a human being.
“Mitya,” Sevastyan cautioned. “What are you doing?” He turned his head to stare out into the darkness at the car. Headlights prevented any of them from actually seeing and identifying the vehicle. His hand slid to his gun, and he sent a quick hand signal to the others in the car to do the same and then spoke into his radio to ensure the other two cars filled with security were ready for anything.
Mitya didn’t answer, but the moment the car was parallel with the parked one, he opened his door before Sevastyan, his cousin and bodyguard, could stop him. A woman stood beside the rear of the car, one hand on a tire. The rain poured down on her, but she stood unbending in it, watching him come to her.
The closer he got to the woman, the crazier his leopard acted. Mitya was no longer a young man. Midthirties had caught up with him and he had lived a thousand lifetimes in each of those years, all of them with his leopard, and he didn’t recognize this behavior. The cat was still clawing at him, still trying for supremacy, but not in his usual aggressive, out for blood and mayhem for the taste of human flesh manner. No, this time he felt almost playful.
Playful? His leopard? There was no time; even in childhood, his leopard had never felt playful. They had a relationship, a tight one, and his leopard guarded him as carefully as Mitya watched over his leopard, but that hadn’t ever included play.
He was vaguely aware of his bodyguards rushing to surround him, of the furious set to Sevastyan’s shoulders that indicated Mitya was in for another one of his cousin’s lectures, but he didn’t care. He was too busy drinking in the sight of the woman standing there in the rain.
She was on the small side, not at all one of the many tall, svelte models he often fantasized about. He wouldn’t be doing that ever again. She wore a suit, a flared skirt that showed off her shapely legs and a short jacket that seemed to shape her waist, ribs and the curve of her breasts to perfection. All white. Not off-color or ivory, but actual white. The buttons were startling in that they were dark and shaped into cars. They made one want to look closer—which he found he didn’t mind doing in the least.
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