Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (28 page)

Jaguar's Rule

T. J. Michaels

After an irresistible
night of passion with Reya, Aaron James longs to hold her close forever. Little
does he know that the tall, sleek beauty has a carnal secret
—
and he's the one who needs protection.

Copyright 2014 T. J. Michaels

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

About
The Author

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Contents

Prologue

 "Mayday, mayday, mayday!
This is Gulfwing Foxtrot X-Ray Miami Miami. Position approximately one hundred
miles west of Belize City. Dropping altitude from thirty thousand to eight
thousand feet. Speed, four hundred twenty-nine miles per hour. Throttling back.
Heading unknown. Struck by lightning, fire on left engine. Some instruments
offline. Ditching aircraft. One person onboard. Gulfwing Foxtrot X-Ray Miami
Miami, over!"

"Mayday, Gulfwing Foxtrot
X-Ray Miami. This is air traffic control at BZE Goldson International in Belize
City. Your position is approximately forty-two miles west of Dangriga Airstrip.
Will alert them of your emergency."

"Roger that, BZE, but I don’t
think I’m going to make it. I…"

Static.

"Come in, Gulfwing Foxtrot Miami
Miami X-Ray. Mayday, Gulfwing Foxtrot Miami Miami X-Ray, please respond."

Silence.

Chapter
One

The big male swatted at the
female’s head but missed. She’d eluded his huge paw, jumped to the side of the
unconscious human lying face down on the ground, his blood mingling with the
wet grass. The female crouched again, ready to spring and prepared to fight for
the human. He didn’t doubt he could take her, but the set of her powerful
shoulders and the gleam of the moonlight off her bared canines made him think
twice. He’d seen this particular female before, often out in the jungle. None
of the other males ever approached her. Perhaps she was a formidable foe?

But he wasn’t just another male. He
was a prime of his species, a jaguar, a fully grown panthera onca who always
got what he wanted. He decided he wanted her.

She
thought he was after the body she guarded. Good, let her. He would back off for
now, taking the opportunity she’d unknowingly given him to watch her closely
and see just what kind of female he was dealing with. But he had no doubt that
in the end, she would find herself underneath him while he thrust with powerful
strokes into her body. Oh yes, she would yield. He would see to it. And perhaps
afterward, he would keep her.

* * *

Uhhnnn, owww. Aaron was sure
someone had split his head open and used a metal baseball bat to work sand into
the wound. And those voices! God, why wouldn’t they just shut up? The buzz
overlaying the words of whoever needed to shut up drilled through his brain.

Each breath sucked into his lungs
felt shallow, as if he couldn’t drag in enough air, and every breath out left
behind a tight burning sensation. Why couldn’t he take a deep breath and hold
it? Pain this intense could only mean one thing—he was dying.

The voices were louder now. Damn
it. Ready to glare at the people talking when his head pounded like a drum at a
rock concert, he was somewhat surprised at the gritty feel behind his lids as
he forced them open. He blinked then blinked again, but the blurry images wouldn’t
clear. They just moved back and forth in the dimly lit room. The sound of a
million cawing birds filled his ears, and the sweet scent of wet grass floated
on a cooling breeze across his skin. His bare skin. Did they have bare skin in
the hereafter?

He blinked a few more times,
wincing as the side of his head exploded with a new round of pain. And who was
the bearded old man leaning close to his face? He wanted to lift his hand to
smack the man and tell him to back up a bit. The garlic on his breath made Aaron’s
stomach lurch but the pounding in his head was so fierce, just the thought of
blowing chunks made him grit his teeth to hold back the bile while the vein in
his forehead threatened to burst. The old man was speaking. What? Sounded
something like mud, or blood, or…he just couldn’t make it out, his thoughts
were too scrambled. Oblivion had been pretty sweet compared to this. Perhaps he
could slip back into it?

But not before he caught a glimpse
of the angel standing just behind the garlicky old man. Now he remembered, sort
of. Lightning. His plane had gone down in the jungle after the engine under the
left wing caught fire. The image was blurry but he knew an angel when he saw
one. Was she here to take him to heaven? He was sure he’d done at least a few
good deeds to warrant making it through the pearly gates.

This angel had milk chocolate skin
and a set of piercing, almond-shaped, light gray eyes that made his pulse skip
a beat or two. And her hair, a shoulder-length mane any woman would kill for.
Thick and curly, it hit her shoulders at the perfect length and made his
fingers want to reach out and touch the silky black-as-sin tresses before he
floated away to the hereafter. The image of his angel wavered.

"Wait! Come back, beautiful!
Can’t we spend some time? Maybe talk awhile before I leave this plane?"
Could she hear his urgent whispers? Of course she could, all supernatural
beings had great hearing. So why didn’t she respond? Instead, she just looked
at him with a strange mix of pity and irritation. What the hell kind of angel
was she anyway? She was supposed to be smiling at him, preparing him for his
journey. Well, she obviously wasn’t interested in doing her job. Maybe if he
lodged a formal complaint with God, she’d get fired.

The garlic master was back. His
stomach lurched. Damn it, old man, he shouted in his head, and immediately
regretted the ferocity of his thoughts. Now his neck, shoulders and ribs joined
his head, pounding relentlessly against his skin from the inside out.

The older man stuck him on the top
of his hand with something and the beauty faded away fast, but not before he
got a good glimpse of the swell of the angel’s breasts and the curve of her
shoulders. Since when did cherubs wear tank tops? It sure looked good on her.
And how could be he in so much pain and still manage to achieve a hard-on?
Damn, she’s sexy, he smirked at himself as his eyelids fluttered closed. Hell,
even in his state of impending death, he was thinking with his cock instead of
his brain.

I’m no
better than the half-assed angel, he thought as sleep claimed him.

* * *

Reya followed Dr. Matons out of
her bedroom and closed the door with a quiet snap. After brewing herself a cup
of tea, she joined her old friend out on the screened veranda and plopped down
in her favorite plastic patio chair. The smell of the passing storm was heavy
in the air, along with the scent of charred wood and jet fuel. In spite of the
evening’s hair-raising events, she was calm and determined.

Vanilla and clove scented smoke
floated up from Dr. Matons’ pipe. She should have never asked her Aunt Sulu to
send the stuff. Now the old curmudgeon would never again settle for the local
tobaccos.

"Well, our little patient was
lucky tonight," Dr. Matons drawled around his pipe.

"Little patient?" Reya
queried with amusement. She was sure she’d never met a man so long his feet
practically hung off the edge of her bed, or a more muscularly perfect specimen
as the one lying in her bedroom. She and Dr. Matons had spent the past several
hours removing glass and plastic from various patches of skin. They’d stitched
the deeper cuts across his back, wrapped his chest tightly and cleaned off all
the blood. She’d seen every inch of his magnificent body and there was nothing,
and she meant nothing, little about him.

"It’s a good thing you were
out on patrol when his plane went down. I don’t know if he would have made it
otherwise," the doctor said, blowing out a ring of thick smoke. "He
is certainly handsome, as men go." His eyes crinkled at the sides as he
watched her. The old matchmaker. Always looking for someone to pair her up
with. Even an unconscious man in serious condition.

When she didn’t answer but stared
out into the night, he continued. "I gave him a strong painkiller, but
he’s not out of the woods. Do you mind if I sleep here so I can check on him
during the night?"

"No, I don’t mind at all. Why
don’t you take the office? The futon in there is pretty comfy. I’ll take the
couch." Her eyes hadn’t strayed from the tangle of ferns and vines leading
into the dark canopy of jungle no more than a hundred yards from her back
stairs.

"You’re not planning on going
back out in this deluge, are you?"

"The storm is almost past.
I’ll be fine. Besides, something weird happened out there tonight. If you’re
still awake when I get back, I’ll tell you about it."

The moon, pale and obscured by dark
thunderheads, was the only light shining onto her second-story veranda. Reya
unlaced her boots, toed them off and set them beside the screen door that led
down the back stairs. Dr. Matons continued to puff on his pipe while she peeled
off her tank top and blood-spattered pants, tossed them in a pile and loosely
tied a small bundle around her neck.

"Be careful, my dear. Wake me
when you return," Dr. Matons called quietly. Extinguishing his pipe, he
rose and slipped through the sliding glass door and into her living room.

Reya watched his retreating back
until the subtle snap of the office door told her she was alone. Shirt, pants
and shoes in a neat pile on the floor, she dropped to her knees. Muscles
rippled and bunched as raw power surged through her limbs—heady, thunderous
power as her body shortened then stretched. Her tall frame shuddered as thick
fur burst through her pores, replacing smooth skin. The cooling breeze ruffled
the sleek fur on the tufts of the ears of a black jaguar as she stalked down
the stairs and loped into the surrounding jungle.

Chapter
Two

Aaron was immediately aware that
he lay on his back at a perfect forty-five-degree angle in a firm but
comfortable bed, but the rest of his thoughts were fuzzy, unclear. But not so
unclear that he didn’t realize someone was in the room with him.

A breeze wafted over his cheek,
drying the light sheen of sweat covering his face. Opening his eyes just a
crack revealed a wide, and equally tall, opened window. The shades were pulled
up to reveal a cloudy pre-dawn sky. He could smell rain in the air, but whether
it was coming or going, he couldn’t tell. Relief coursed over him as he took in
his surroundings. Okay, so he wasn’t in heaven, unless the hereafter had IV
drips and makeshift hospital accommodations. His too-dry tongue flicked out to
lick even drier lips.

"Wh-Where am I?" his
voice croaked like a half-dead frog.

"Cockscomb Basin Wildlife
Sanctuary near Maya Center. About two and a half hours from Belize City. I
found you just after you crashed in my jungle, and pulled you to safety,"
said a female voice, just above a whisper. That voice sent a very nice tingle
down the inside of his thighs. He pushed the thought away. After all, it was
ridiculous at a time like this.

"My plane…" He paused to
pull a breath into his achy chest. His lungs burned on a long moan. God that
hurt, both the breath and the moan. Wiggling his fingers, he was glad he could
feel all of them, including the secure wrapping of bandages along his wrists.
Slowly raising his hand, he gently pressed on the area of his chest that pulled
and twinged with each breath. Great. Broken ribs.

"Did my plane go up?"

"In smoke you mean?" the
female asked, somewhat brusquely. She didn’t sound upset, but like she’d rather
be doing something else. Finally she said, "I’m afraid so. The fire crew
was able to get the flames out before too much damage was done to the
surrounding fauna."

Was that a bit of snot in her tone?
What was her problem? She was obviously more worried about the damned trees and
grass while he was the one lying in a strange bed in a strange place, obviously
injured. So, she’d rather be doing something else? Well, hell, he could think
of a few things he’d rather be doing as well.

His eyes closed, refusing to keep
up with the blur of her movements, to the bed, away from the bed, to a door and
back. But at least he felt better than he had the last time he’d awakened and
thought he was dead. That had been a whole new kind of pain right there.

"You’re Aaron James, right?"

His eyes opened all the way now and
would have popped wide in surprise if the headache from hell hadn’t come
rushing to the front of his forehead just then. His face felt tight and
swollen. He slowly turned his head toward the sound while his mind began a slow
whirl. Was he more intrigued with the fact that a female in the middle of
nowhere knew who he was or with the sultry quality of the voice of the woman
he’d thought was an angel? And she stood not three feet from him.

"Soooo," she drawled, "you’re
Aaron James, right?" Her expression somewhat amused at his befuddled
state.

"Mm-hmm," he groaned. "How
did you know?"

"I managed to salvage some of
your belongings. Black duffel’s in the closet. Is there someone I can call for
you?"

"No." It came out a bit
more forcefully than he’d intended, but he preferred to take care of contacting
his family himself. He was the youngest sibling, and his brothers had expressed
enough worry over him flying alone from their Miami offices to Belize. The last
thing he needed was the deuce of them coming down on his head while he was
healing. He was a successful architect, almost thirty-five years old, and held
his own in their family business. Yet they still treated him as if he couldn’t
tie his shoes without their aid. He was well aware they’d promised their father
on his deathbed that they would "take care" of their baby brother.
Their need to protect him was understood but no less nauseating.

The woman moved closer and sat on
the edge of the bed. The scent of apples and cinnamon floated to his sore
nostrils as her long fingers held a small glass of clear liquid to his parched
lips. Mmm, water had never tasted so good. Though it hurt to swallow, he forced
himself to take a few sips, thankful when his throat was lubricated enough to
comfortably drink a bit more. The glass was set with a thunk on what he assumed
was a nightstand, but he couldn’t turn his neck enough to look without his head
doing the thrum-thrum to the beat of his heart.

"You know who I am, but who
are you?"

"Reya. Reya Daines. Do you
think you can sit up?"

He suddenly remembered the business
he was supposed to be taking care of in Belize City before his plane went down.
Sit up? A semi-unfuzzy mind yelled yes, sit up and get moving, but his body
said forget it. He slowly shook his head and settled down further into the soft
sheets.

"How long have I been here,
Reya?"

"A few days. Dr. Matons and I
have been tending to you. He’s been keeping you sedated so you’re going to feel
groggy and a bit nauseous for awhile."

You don’t say, he thought
sarcastically. No wonder his brain was a weird mix of stuffed cotton and muted
pain.

"With that said, it’s time for
your next dose. I’ll be back shortly and we’ll see about getting some food into
you," she said quickly, leaning forward to fiddle with something over his
head before settling down on the side of the bed again. The back of his eyes
started to throb, forcing him to close them again on a ragged moan.

"Don’t worry, Aaron. I’m
medically trained," she said quietly, mistaking his discomfort for
concern. He was in too much pain to be concerned about much of anything.

"Injuries?" he asked,
trying to string as few words together as possible. Her answer was a relief.

"Your ribs are bruised."
Oh thank god, bruised, not broken. Other than a concussion and a bruised
kidney, the laundry list of injuries she rattled off was mostly cuts and
bruises. "You were banged up pretty bad, minor internal injuries.
Thankfully, the doc has equipment here to detect that kind of thing. A few of
your issues required stitching, so don’t scratch your neck or right above your
right eye. The ribs and the knock on your skull are going to bother you for a
few days yet."

She raised a needle, walked around
to the other side of the bed near the window and inserted the sharp tip into
the IV taped to his right forearm.

"What are you giving me?"
his words quickly started to slur.

"You’re on a glucose drip with
antibiotics and a little something to control the inflammation and swelling.
It’s to prevent infection, but more importantly, dehydration, at least until
you can eat and drink on your own. Right now I’m giving you some codeine to
help control the pain."

"Bud whad-da-bou-da doctor?"
Oh yeah, he was fading fast.

"Dr. Matons has hardly left
your side so I’m administering this dose so he could get some breakfast
downstairs."

What?
The doctor was having breakfast downstairs? What the hell kind of backwater
place had he crashed where a doctor’s breakfast was more important than his
patient? Six seconds later, he didn’t give a rip as a cool feeling traveled
from his wrist up to his forearm. He raised his arm enough to see the IV
secured to a fat vein with white paper surgical tape. Reya withdrew the needle
and moved away. He heard a quiet clink as she disposed of it. His breathing
deepened as he drifted away, but not before his keen nose and ears caught the
soft thud of her shoes as she made her way across the wood floor. And boy did
she smell good.

* * *

Dressed in her ranger’s uniform
of dark green camouflage pants with matching bandana, short-sleeved black shirt
and hiking boots, she hurried downstairs, her mutinous mind on the man in her
bed. She’d taken her time looking him over as she and Dr. Matons changed bandages
and checked stitches. The man’s wide, solid chest was sprinkled with dark downy
hair as black as the hair on her own head. And even in sleep, his biceps were
large and defined, the ridged lines of his stomach easily visible and his
thighs large and muscular. His body was that of a bodybuilder crossed with a
long-distance runner, built for strength and endurance.

And the long, thick rod nestled
between powerful thighs looked built for endurance too. Even in slumber, the
thing was formidable. She’d shuddered, but from longing or fear, she wasn’t
sure. He had to be a bad boy. Good guys just didn’t come this handsome. A
shadow of growth along his jaw line enhanced his high cheekbones. His skin
reminded her of French vanilla ice cream, the color of decadence and far from
plain. She’d never wondered what a man tasted like. Until now.

Then those deep gray eyes of his
drifted lazily open and she’d almost forgotten what she was doing.

She told herself it was the color
of those eyes that snared her thoughts, not the beautiful ruggedness of his
face or the strong lines of his body, which she’d seen gloriously naked while
she and the doctor tended his wounds. Even with loads of bruises and swelling,
he was gorgeous. Yep, it was the eyes—that was her story and damn it, she was
sticking to it.

Other than her twin sister, Reya
had never met another person with eyes exactly like hers. The shape was
different but the color was dead on. Not just a similar shade of silver, but so
exact someone could have taken his eyeballs, stuck them in her head, and she
wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

Suddenly remembering the day she
found Aaron. A jaguar had challenged her, or at least that’s what she thought
had occurred. Her brows snapped together over the unsettling circumstances of
Mr. Aaron James landing practically in her backyard. But she didn’t have time
to think about that right now. From the hum of voices and clattering of dishes
making its way up the staircase, she had a full house waiting for their
breakfast.

The dining room was packed, her
place being the only bed-and-breakfast that catered to the park rangers and the
guests who visited the preserve. Other than her guests, most visitors stayed in
the rustic cabins or dormitories, but they all seemed to make their way to her
establishment for breakfast or to schedule a guided diving trip.

The sun had risen quickly into a
clear blue sky, shining through the tall plate-glass windows of the dining
hall. She signaled to one of the waitstaff to lower the shades on the eastern
side of the large room, then made her way through the throng. Spotting Dr.
Matons conversing with her housekeeper Bethsaida, she poured herself a cup of
rich coffee and joined them at a table close to the kitchen doors.

The second her butt hit the chair,
a bowl of peeled, sliced apples and a small dessert cup full of ground cinnamon
was set in front of her. Thanking the young woman who served her, Reya scooped
up a good helping of cinnamon with an apple slice and sighed with pleasure as
the tart, spicy treat hit her tongue.

"So how’s our patient?"
Dr. Matons asked around a bite of fresh melon.

"Seems fine. I gave him a dose
of pain meds. I told him I’d be back up to check on him, bring him something to
eat, but he’ll probably sleep for at least a few hours."

"So he did wake?"

"Yes, woke up in a bit of
pain, but he was coherent enough to ask where he was and what happened to his
plane."

The worry lines at the corners of
Bethsaida’s mouth deepened before she asked, "Did you tell him what
happened? I mean, does he understand how you rescued him? And what you rescued
him from?"

Reya’s face remained calm and clear
while her mind raced to find a diplomatic and friendly way to say "hell no".
Then again, she’d never been good at tact anyway.

"Hell no," she responded
quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the patrons or her fellow
rangers. Bethsaida’s eyebrows flew upward as a half-grin graced her lovely
features. An older woman with a striking head of salt-and-pepper hair that hung
clear down to her waist, Bethsaida had given plenty of men a run for their
money in her day. At sixty years old, she was stunning. All that hair graced a
lovely, sun-browned face, and hard work kept her body strong and shapely.

Dr. Matons swallowed another piece
of sweet melon and said, "It’s probably best he doesn’t know. Let him
remember on his own. Besides, it would be better if he didn’t recall the events
of that night at all. Soon he’ll be well enough to travel and hopefully your
secrets will remain just that, yours."

"Sure, doc," she murmured
in response, but her mind only caught one of every three or four words,
thinking back to her confrontation with the unfamiliar, very large cat. A big,
beautiful male she’d never seen before, with large, distinct, black rosettes
all over his perfect coat. The light of the fire from Aaron’s plane had cast an
eerie glow about his body, and when he challenged her for the man, Reya had
been shocked. Jaguars didn’t eat people. What the hell was that about? Maybe
she’d try to find the male on her next patrol. Lord, she hoped he wasn’t feral.
The last thing she needed was a fight with a large, crazy cat.