“Not yet. Why, is our Miss McClure getting antsy already?”
“Dr. McClure.”
Teague didn’t react. “I told you before that this wouldn’t be simple. I’ll let her know when it’s time.”
“But you can get her in?”
Teague’s sixth sense kicked in. He was careful to keep his demeanor the same as he’d cultivated over the last year, that of the wastrel black sheep, member of one of Boudry Parish’s wealthiest families who didn’t give a good damn about what anyone thought of him. He’d been a natural for the part.
“Yeah, I’ll get her in.”
Marsh smiled. “Thanks. I really appreciate your help on this.”
Marshall’s smile seemed easy and sincere, but the skin on the back of Teague’s neck still itched. “What, is there a promotion in this for you if she finds the cure for cancer out there in the bayou or something?”
Marsh laughed. “You know Sullivan money only buys political offices, not tenure. But I will say this is a real boon to our university, and it won’t hurt me any to be the one to facilitate Dr. McClure’s research while she’s here.”
“I’d never even heard of the field before you mentioned it.”
“She’s made quite a name for herself, both on her own and with the extensive research she did with her father when he was alive. He’s a legend. Sort of the Indiana Jones of the botany field.”
Teague heard the words, but he was more interested in watching Marsh’s face. His half brother enjoyed his work. That Marshall had been strong enough to follow his own path was something Teague admired the hell out of. It was the one true bond he felt he had with him.
As children, their father had made Teague’s life a living hell. But Marsh hadn’t had it easy either, despite appearances to the contrary.
Not that he’d ever appreciated Teague’s attempts to help him out. Teague had always been amused by the fact that ironically it was he, perhaps better than anyone else, who understood what Marsh had gone through.
After all, they were both bastards.
But Marsh hadn’t thanked him for stepping in when they were kids, for using his fists when Marsh preferred to use his brains, and that independent streak had continued into adulthood. Perhaps for good reason. Marsh had ultimately gotten what he wanted.
Maybe Teague was reading more into this unusual request for help than actually existed. They were both adults. Perhaps Marshall was just trying to behave as if they were a normal family.
It was all Teague could do not to choke on the thought.
“I’ll contact her just as soon as the time is right,” he said shortly.
“Thanks, Teague. I really do appreciate it.” Tension filled the short silence that followed, until Marsh rose, absently brushing at his pants.
“Sure you can’t stay for a beer?” Teague had no idea where that came from, except that he suddenly didn’t want to sever this new bond. Stupid. He’d made it a policy not to offer anything of himself to anyone. Ever. He did what he did because he wanted to. No one owed him. He owed no one.
Except Grand-mere. And soon even that debt would be paid. If it ever truly could be.
“No, I have to get back.”
Teague swallowed the sigh of relief and ignored the small sense of hurt in the easy rejection. Like he said, stupid.
Stupid to want. Even more foolish to need.
The silence spun out a bit awkwardly, and Teague sensed Marshall wasn’t quite sure how to end the conversation either. Teague noticed his fingers curling into his hand. Against the impulse to shake hands?
Teague’s own fingers tightened into fists beneath the desk. “Yeah, another time maybe.”
Now it was Marshall’s turn to look relieved. “Sure.”
And then he was gone.
Teague stared at the doorway, hating the empty feeling inside his chest.
Swearing harshly, he yanked up the phone. He was here to do a job. Nothing else. Including getting mixed up with his half brother and a wild-haired scientist.
One job. After that he’d never have to step foot in Bruneaux or Louisiana again.
Erin rubbed the grit from her eyes as she opened the door to her apartment. Another all-nighter at the campus lab, and archives had turned up nothing she hadn’t already documented. Not that she’d expected it to. But she wouldn’t be a responsible scientist if she didn’t examine all of the data the college had collected.
And, boy, were they avid collectors. She had been fascinated by the firsthand recounting of various Rada and Petro ceremonies dating as far back as the late 1800s. The reactions of some of the participants in these wild, untamed rituals had varied. But she had no new insights as to what caused the responses. At least nothing pharmacological.
She knew from experience in Haiti and Africa with her father years ago that it would be next to impossible to get the local initiates, or hounsis, as the followers of the voudoun religion were called, to agree that there was a scientific reason for participants’ ability to perform such seemingly impossible feats during their rituals.
Mac had been convinced, as were others before him, that there was a medical reason for this. And after their extensive research, Erin had become fascinated by the possibilities as well.
But she wasn’t there to convince the hounsis, or change their perspective on their religion. She would come to her own scientific conclusions. They were free to agree or disagree with her findings. All she needed from them was trust, to share with her the specific plants and derivatives used in these ceremonies.
“And my ticket in is a bad-tempered Cajun with a gun,” she muttered as she dumped her file-stuffed backpack on the chair inside the door. She groaned in relief.
“I didn’t bring the gun tonight, ange,” came a dark voice from the depths of her apartment.
Erin froze for a split second. That voice had plagued her thoughts for almost a week. Thoughts that hadn’t always been about their business relationship. She tried to tell herself that the thrill stealing over her was due to her anticipation of what her visitor might have come to tell her about seeing the mambo. But at four in the morning, she doubted it.
“Hiding out from another jealous husband, Comeaux?”
He chuckled, a sexy, dangerous sound that vibrated in the hot air. Her pulse instantly went into overdrive. No doubt the man had perfect night vision; nocturnal predators often did. Or she’d have been tempted to slither into the chair—with or without her backpack still on it.
Wait a minute. Hot air. It was hot in here. Again.
Without benefit of the light, she stalked to the air conditioner.
“Off. You turned off my air.” She swung toward the direction the voice had come from earlier. Her bed.
She could barely make out the shadowed sprawl that was him. Against her will, she’d pictured him on that very bed many times. He was far more dominating a presence there than she’d ever imagined. He filled her bed to overflowing … just as he had her tub.
Just as he would you, her little voice whispered.
“I’m used to the heat, mon ange.” There was a pause. “I like it.”
Feeling herself sinking fast, Erin shook herself free of the spell his seductive voice was weaving around her. “Well, I’m not. I have spent the best part of the last several hours fantasizing about my nice cool room and my nice cool shower.”
“The shower is available, chèr.”
Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she could see the white flash of his teeth in the slant of moonlight. His tone made it clear he didn’t consider the bed off limits to her either.
The feel of his hands on her skin was still a vivid memory. So clear she swore she could feel them right now. Warm, slightly rough, gently firm, demanding, taking.
Swallowing tightly, she squeezed her eyes shut, but it was no defense against the mental image of his mouth coming closer to hers.
During the last week of long hours, she’d spent too much time thinking about Teague. He roused in her t
oo many conflicting thoughts, too many unsettling emotions. But one thing was clear. Any time spent with him on … unbusinesslike pursuits, would be a mistake. She’d fought too long and too hard to waste one precious moment or one hard earned cent on anything but her study.
And that meant the only invitation she was accepting from him was to meet the mambo.
“Well, if you think it’s safe for you to be on the streets, then I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me to take a shower alone for a change.”
“I wasn’t planning on joining you.”
Erin felt her cheeks heat, knowing she’d asked for that one. Why did his teasing make such a direct hit on her female ego? She’d never really thought she had one.
Maybe that was why. What he made her body feel had nothing to do with science or basic function. He made her feel utterly female. He made her ache.
No man had ever made her ache.
She straightened her shoulders.
“This time,” he added.
Oh, boy.
“But if you want to cool off, then do it now.”
“I beg your pardon?” she demanded, taken aback by his sudden command. “I realize you have no respect for my privacy, but if you think you can just—”
“Erin.”
That one word brought her little speech to a shuddering halt.
Her name on his lips. So simple. And yet her body had leapt in response to that single, softly spoken word. “What?”
She heard the bed springs groan under his weight as he moved. He came off the bed and moved toward her, the action fluid and graceful, like that of a sleek black panther she’d once seen, moving through the night, intent on one thing. Cornering its prey.
Without meaning to, she backed up a step. Her thighs pressed against the cold radiator, her back against the air conditioner.
“Why are you here? What do you want?” she asked as he loomed in front of her.
He paused. His dark features were cast in the stark light of the moon, making him seem hard and chiseled. More like cold marble than warm man.
“Don’t ask me what I want.”
Erin straightened, drawn to the thread of uncertainty she heard in his voice.
“I just might tell you.” Rough, almost hoarse. This time the intent was clear. Heat. Sexual heat.
“Teague, I—” She stopped short when she heard the same longing note in her own voice.
Suddenly he stepped back, the shadows swallowing him up once again. When he spoke this time he was near the door to the hall.
“Get a shower and put on something cool. I’m here to take you to the mambo. Now.”
FOUR
Less than ten minutes later, dressed in fresh clothes and a scowl, Erin climbed into Teague’s truck. His ancient truck.
Sweat formed on her upper lip and across her forehead. She didn’t have to look at the dash to know there would be no air-conditioning. She closed the rattling door and yanked the seat belt across her lap. “At least something works in here,” she grumbled.
Erin felt him climb in, and the cab grew hotter. Talk about body heat. Erin didn’t look at him. Her pulse hadn’t quite recovered from that brief but intense moment they’d just shared in her room. No. She couldn’t think about that now. Ever.
She forced her mind to the night’s turn of events. She was exhausted by the long day, and now wired with the confusing energy Teague’s nearness provoked in her … This was not the way she’d planned to take what would probably be the single most important step in her study. Making first contact.
She shot Teague a covert glance and tried to ignore the trickle of sweat wending its way down between her breasts. As usual, he was calling the shots.
For now, she amended silently.
Erin fully intended to make the most of this encounter with the voodoo priestess. If she played her cards right, she might be able to gain enough of the mambo’s trust to eliminate the middle man. Then Teague would be out of the picture for good.
She felt his gaze shift to her at that exact moment.
“Don’t get any bright ideas, chèr.”
He’d spoken softly, the words barely drifting to her across the quiet space of the truck cab … yet they were no less menacing than if he’d held a gun to her head and shouted them.
Damn the man, anyway. He was too perceptive by half. “I can take care of myself.” Mac may not have been a traditional parent, but he had seen to that. The realization that she didn’t always appreciate it did little to soothe her nerves.
“You want to get back out of the swamp, you do what I say, when I say.” There was not so much as a hint of the teasing Cajun bad boy she’d discovered naked in her tub. This man was all dark shadows and uncompromising edges.
She kept her gaze trained firmly out the side window, ignoring the slight tremor his words ignited inside her. “Just introduce me to the priestess. I can take it from there.”
Teague glanced at her again. She felt it as strongly as if he’d touched her. “Until I say otherwise, you’ll take it where I lead, Erin. Don’t ever forget that.”
Shifting uncomfortably, she remained silent as he wove his way through the waning moonlit side streets to the outskirts of the small town.
Teague turned onto a narrow, deeply rutted road. The truck bounced hard over the rough terrain until they were several miles into the woods. He finally—mercifully—brought the truck to a stop by a small half-rotted pier that listed drunkenly into a small bayou.
The headlights didn’t penetrate too far into the shadows. She could make out only the dock and the glint of water beyond. Then Teague shut off the engine.
For a spine-chilling moment it was pitch-dark and stone quiet. Erin rubbed her hands along her thighs in an absent gesture. She heard a dull thudding sound and realized with a start that it was her heart.
In the sudden deafening silence she became almost excruciatingly aware of the man seated next to her. Her skin prickled, the hair on the back of her neck lifted, her mouth went dry, and her nipples tightened.
There was danger in the air. She knew it with an instinct honed over her twenty-nine years. Felt it. Tasted it.
And it didn’t lie somewhere ahead in the deep of the bayou.
The danger that she faced was right there in the truck.
The most frightening realization of all was that the danger wasn’t Teague. It was her.
“Where are—” Her words came out deep and throaty. She stopped short and swallowed. Had she ever sounded like that?
The confusing yet exquisite sensations skittered along her body, filtered into her mind, diluting everything until the only research she could concentrate on was discovering why he made her feel like this. And what could be done about it. And when.
“This is Bayou Bruneaux.” His voice slid into the silence between them. “We’ll take my bateau from here.”
Bayou Bruneaux. Cajun translation: “dark waters.”
Oh, the waters were dark all right … and getting deeper every second.
Did he have any idea how overly sensitized she was to the sound of just his voice? Her face burned in the dark of the cab, but her mind persisted down its chosen path.
“Fine.” She didn’t dare say more. The only thing worse than this sudden overwhelming awareness of him … and of herself … would be him knowing it and tossing it back in her face.
When she was on solid ground—both real and mental—then she could face whatever he chose to throw at her.
Or at least she told herself she could. It was the only thing she had to hold on to right now. To help her get past this moment. And on to the next one. And the next one, until Teague didn’t have this effect on her anymore.
Until just looking at him didn’t make her think of sweaty nights and cool cotton sheets and his hands on her … the parts of her that ached, and the ones still yet to.
Until she could do something, anything, to get him gone.
Erin grabbed her tote and crawled quickly out of the cab. The
clanging sound of the door rang like a shot over the still waters. If it was possible, the air here was even thicker, steamier. She didn’t mind the perspiration rolling off her now.… Maybe she could sweat out the heat he stirred in her.
“Careful,” he warned. “The dock isn’t stable.”
That isn’t the only thing that isn’t stable. He was too close behind her. She moved a bit faster, wanting to get on with it. She focused on that, allowing the excitement of what lay ahead to creep into her veins. The seductive thrum of entering a situation where the quantities were unknown.…
But most of all she didn’t want him to touch her.
The dark seduction of his unknown quantities would have to remain unexplored.
There was only one boat tied to the rotting wood. The small bateau looked as old as Teague’s truck. She didn’t say a word, just carefully lowered herself down, then sat on the front seat. Teague moved silently behind her, barely dipping the boat as he shifted his weight to switch on the small electric motor.
The low, putt-putting sound hardly disturbed the heavy air.
They moved slowly out into the water. As Erin’s eyes adjusted, she saw that the bayou was narrow where they’d docked but quickly opened into a wider path. She could make out the bald cypress crowding the shoreline, their knobby roots bending into the murky waters like spider legs.
Surprisingly, the silence between them became almost easy. Almost. Erin purposely put her mind to what she wanted to accomplish. Teague hadn’t let her bring her sample kits or a camera. But she’d tucked a minirecorder in her tote, along with a notebook.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Erin.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. She heard him clearly, acutely.
Her careful mental preparations fled, blurred as that seductive veil drifted over her again, unwanted, but there nonetheless. Hopes … Hers had always centered on her work. But right now her thoughts, her hopes, were anything but professional.
“You may not get a chance to meet her this time,” he went on. “Tonight we are observers. This is a public ritual, but still very closely monitored.”
“Then why the restriction on the camera?” she asked. “I would have been discreet. And I would never use anything I took without full permission. But in order to document their—”
Bayou Heat Page 4