Bayou Heat

by Donna Kauffman

  “You’ll have to do this my way. Or no way.”

  Irritation bristled through her, and she welcomed the feeling. It helped her to focus. “Why don’t we let Belisaire be the judge of what is and isn’t acceptable? If she’d said no, I would have kept the camera packed.”

  “Or just out of sight.”

  She spun to face him. “How dare you question my ethics?”

  His hair glowed blue black in the fading moonlight, his features cast in shadow. He looked huge … powerful. An irresistible invitation to play on the dark side.

  To her dismay, another chill shot down her spine.

  She held firmly—desperately—to her indignation. A clear-cut, easy emotion. “I won’t defend myself to you. You shouldn’t judge people you don’t know.”

  When he simply stared at her, she grew uncomfortable. Indignation became agitation … not all of it unpleasurable. Frowning, not caring if he saw it as surrender, she turned back around and crossed her arms under her breasts.

  After several long nerve-racking moments, a low chuckle floated to her. Sexy, soft.

  The naked bad boy in the tub had returned. With an annoyingly tempting vengeance. She wanted to groan out loud, to beg him to stop doing this to her.

  “I think knowing you any better could be dangerous, chèr.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered under her breath. And dear God help her if he decided he wanted to.

  The boat came around a long lazy bend and Erin saw flickering lights in the trees ahead.

  Minutes later as she was stepping from the bateau to the dock, he leaned in close from behind her and whispered, “But that’s the half that’s the most fun, ange.”

  She almost fell out of the boat.

  His hands clamped on her hips and lifted her up to the dock, then were gone almost before she could register their latent strength.

  “Watch that first step, chèr,” he added softly. “It’s always the hardest one to take.”

  Intelligent, stubborn, confident, mouthy, independent, worldly. And yet no idea how sexy she really was. In a word, trouble.

  “Watch out, Erin McClure,” he warned too softly for her to hear. “You have no idea what you just walked into.”

  He followed her down the path in front of them, swearing at the problems she was causing him, and all the ones she had yet to. He had a sinking sensation that his warning applied just as much to himself.

  She stopped at the edge of the clearing. “I hear drums.” The sound of a distant rhythmic pounding, almost more pulse than beat, was clearly distinguishable from the sounds of the bayou’s night creatures.

  “The ceremony isn’t over. Those are the cata and seconde. The maman drums haven’t even started yet.” Teague circled her and headed toward an almost indistinguishable track cut into the cypress. “Follow me.”

  She saluted him sharply, then did a little obeisant roll of the hand from forehead to waist as she bowed.

  Teague bit back the surprise bark of laughter. So he was used to giving orders. Both at the Eight Ball and in his work as a U.S. Customs investigator.

  But he wouldn’t apologize. With Erin, it was probably best, for both their sakes, to keep her a bit annoyed with him.

  She swept a hand in front of her. “Well?” she said sharply. “What are we waiting for?”

  Which apparently wouldn’t be a problem, he added, turning away as the smile curved his lips.

  But as he pushed deeper into the dense growth, the image of her face when she’d turned to him in the bateau came too clearly to mind. The moon had glowed white on her, highlighting her spiky halo of hair, illuminating her upturned face. Something had moved inside him then.

  Her indignation was clear, in her voice and her expression, but so was something else. Something he’d fought seeing, fought hearing … but had remained burned in his mind’s eye.

  Want.

  There had been such a deep wealth of want in those eyes of hers. To say nothing of that hollow ache he’d heard in her voice earlier, before she’d wisely shut up.

  His body had heard it, had responded loud and clear. The memory of walking up to her in the apartment assaulted him, catching him with his guard down, punching a big hole in his control.

  He’d meant to intimidate, calculated his moves to ensure his control of the situation, control of her … all part of his job, one he was very good at. He hadn’t counted on getting caught in the web too. Had barely backed away before becoming hopelessly caught in its sticky, destructive strands.

  Too much was at stake.

  Want …

  Worse than the most addictive drug.

  Right up there with need and hope. Individually they were dangerous. Combined they were soul destroyers.

  Teague pushed down the path. Best to get on with it. He had to get Erin set up, then do some quick business while he was out there. Risky, but the situation was as controlled as he could make it. He had no guarantees for later. And he didn’t need both Marsh and Erin breathing down his neck.

  “Can you tell me what it is we’re observing tonight?”

  She moved so silently behind him, her words were the only sound that reached his ears. That earned her another measure of his respect. He knew firsthand how difficult that was, especially out here. That skill had meant the difference between life and death for him more times than he cared to count. The fact that she was doing it and keeping pace with him told him it was an ability so ingrained as to be second nature.

  Good thing. Depending on how his meeting went later tonight, she might be needing it for more than observing voodoo rituals undetected.

  The idea of Erin in mortal danger didn’t sit at all well with him. And that realization sat even worse.

  He shook it off. Erin claimed she could take care of herself. And Teague believed her. A more self-reliant woman he’d never met. Except perhaps the one they were on their way to see.

  Another smile curved his lips. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but if Belisaire chose to make an appearance, it just might make taking on Marsh’s favor worth all the pain-in-the-butt adjustments he’d had to make in this case.

  “Teague?”

  His skin actually prickled in awareness at the sound of his name on her lips. Not a good sign, Comeaux.

  “You’ll see when you get there,” he said. “If we get a move on, you might be able to witness the end of the ritual. She might speak with you afterward. No guarantees.”

  “I’m surprised. Grateful, but surprised. Mac and I had to work months and months in Africa before we could so much as witness a meeting between the bokor there and an individual seeking advice. We were never permitted to observe an actual ritual ceremony. They had no public ones at that time.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s just say I have an inside track.”

  He felt the warmth of her hand the instant before she placed it on his arm. He stopped suddenly and she walked right into him. Her breast, feeling soft and fuller than he remembered from that night in her bathroom, pressed hard into his arm.

  Her soft gasp made his jaw clench. She backed away from him, but he doubted his body would register that fact for several hours.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I, uh, I just wanted to let you know that, despite our unusual beginning, I really do appreciate all you’re doing for me.”

  Something in her voice pulled at him and he found himself looking at her before he was aware of it. As he did, he realized what it was. Uncertainty. A trait he’d have thought Erin McClure didn’t possess.

  One he was disturbed to discover he had a trace of as well.

  “It’s a favor to Marshall. That’s all.” He turned and continued down the narrow trail.

  “What is your connection to Marshall? He’s never said. I don’t know him that well, but I admit I was a bit surprised to—”

  Teague caught her by the forearms and held her still.

  “Surprised someone like him had a connection with someone like me?” He hated th
e dark emotions simmering inside him, but he was helpless against them. Just as he was apparently helpless against all the other emotions Dr. Erin McClure aroused in him. “Is that what you meant, chèr?”

  He’d startled her, he knew. She didn’t try to pull away, nor did she appear angry. But her pulse under his fingertips told another story. He felt his blood begin to stir hot and heavy, like the night air, pushing thick and hard through his veins.

  His hold on her changed. He still held her captive, yet now she held him too, in her own way. He couldn’t stop touching her.

  No moon filtered through the trees. Her eyes were black, bottomless, but he didn’t have to see them to know she was responding to him. He could feel it, pulsing under his fingers, beating in his ears, thrumming in his groin. He could smell it. Wanted badly to taste it.

  His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders. He exerted just enough pressure for her to know he wanted her closer but didn’t wait and stepped in closer himself.

  “Erin.”

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said on a shaky whisper.

  The admission shot a hot thrill through him. “What am I like, chèr?”

  She stared at him, her face cast in deep shadow. The silence between them stretched out, the only sound that of the earthy throb of the maman drums as they echoed through the trees. Teague felt that beat deep inside his belly, and lower.

  Just when he thought she wouldn’t answer, she spoke.

  “Dangerous. To me.”

  “Why? What do you think I’m going to do to you, Erin?”

  There was a pause, then her voice stroked him again. “It’s not what I think you’ll do, it’s what I want you to do.”

  “What is that, Erin?” He took another irreversible step forward and lowered his mouth close to hers. “What do you want me to do to you, Erin? Tell me.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Tell me.”

  “Teague.” His name was no more than a gasp.

  “That’s right, ange.” He touched his lips to hers. “Say my name again.”

  “I don’t—”

  He kissed her then, slowly, completely, swallowing words he should probably hear but didn’t want to. She stilled. He took the kiss deeper, pressing his tongue past her soft lips, twining it with hers. Not admitting, even now, that he was inside her mouth, pulling her body tight against his, that it might go beyond that. That he wanted it to.

  When she lifted her hands to his arms, grasping his biceps, digging her fingertips into the twitching muscles there, he felt something drop hard into his stomach, leaving him almost light-headed. Lighthearted.

  Something beyond sexual pleasure, beyond the carnal knowledge of her that his body was screaming for.

  She leaned into him and relaxed her mouth, granting him an invitation, one he took to heart.

  And that is exactly why he pulled away.

  They stood staring at each other, their breathing audible in the small space between them. Teague felt something shift inside him. Around him. As if this moment somehow defined a very important change in the world. That nothing would ever be the same.

  “He’s my half brother.”

  Erin was obviously as nonplussed by his declaration as he was for blurting it out.

  “Who is?”

  He could still taste her on his tongue, felt her there as he spoke. It made his skin heat and his body even harder. “Marshall. You asked what my connection is to him.”

  He waited while she absorbed that information. It was common knowledge in the parish; she would have heard anyway. He was surprised she hadn’t just asked Marsh. But somehow him telling her was like a declaration. Of what, he was afraid to ask himself.

  “Are you close?”

  Her question took him by surprise. She’d asked sincerely, honest interest clear in her tone. He wondered if she’d forgotten she was holding his arms. He hadn’t forgotten anything.

  “No.”

  Silence fell heavily between them. Her gaze dropped to where she touched him. He felt her fingers tense on his skin, then she carefully relaxed her grip and let her hands fall away.

  Only when she moved back enough to put pressure on his own hold, did he find the will to drop his hands as well.

  “This is the first thing he’s asked me for in a very long time.”

  “Well, I’m grateful he asked, and more grateful you agreed. Whatever your reasons.”

  He didn’t want her gratitude. But that begged the question of just what it was he did want. He refused to think about that.

  His reasons for being here, for bringing her here, precluded his ever answering that question.

  “We’d better move.”

  At that instant the drums stopped. The sudden cessation of the beat, the final echo through the trees, froze them both momentarily in place.

  Before Teague could move, the underbrush rustled to his left. Without thought he turned toward the noise and pulled Erin behind him. There was a whisper of sound, then in the next instant, they were surrounded by at least a dozen hounsis, all dressed in white cotton shifts. The glow of their clothes against the dark background was surreal, almost otherworldly.

  Erin tugged at the arm he’d wrapped around her, trying to step past him. He turned and pulled her forward, so they were side by side, staring down the silent wraiths.

  “Initiates?” Erin whispered.

  “Yes. Followers of Belisaire,” Teague answered back, keeping his voice low.

  She looked at him, then turned back as the trees rustled once again. A small figure eased into view, almost as if she had been part of the trees, but now stood separate, alone. Also dressed in white, the woman was small, both in height and build. But the power radiating from her was almost palpable.

  “Teague.” The woman’s voice was strong, commanding, and, he knew, surprising to those who had never heard it before.

  He glanced down at Erin, needing to see her reaction, as if it would somehow make everything that was to come understandable. He knew it wouldn’t. And yet he didn’t—couldn’t—look away. The only time in his life he’d known Belisaire’s presence not to hold his full attention.

  The creeping dawn helped to illuminate Erin’s face. Avid curiosity and sharp awareness lit her eyes. Her even expression couldn’t hide the almost tangible excitement he swore he felt growing in her. Strange, hypnotic.

  Teague worked hard to shake the unsettling feeling.

  “Belisaire is the mambo.” He turned to face the woman. She did nothing but stand there, yet she commanded the attention of all those in the clearing. Including Erin.

  “She is also my grand-mère Comeaux.”

  FIVE

  Erin swung her gaze to Teague. “Your grandmother?”

  “Yes, Dr. McClure,” Belisaire answered for him.

  Erin turned back to her. The woman had somehow managed to close the distance between them without a sound. She stuck out her hand. “I’m very honored to meet you.”

  Belisaire studied her proffered hand, then laid her small dark-skinned hand over Erin’s. The slow scrutiny of her black-eyed gaze was more than a bit unsettling. Erin had been subjected to examinations before, by chieftains of little-known aboriginal tribes, leaders of warriors in countries still more untamed than civilized. None had made her feel so exposed. She felt naked to her soul.

  After what felt like hours, but was certainly only seconds, the priestess lifted her hand and spoke. “You have faced the darkness before, Erin McClure. You will face it again. Here.”

  “Yes,” Erin answered. “I am very grateful for the opportunity.”

  A smile split the woman’s dark features, rocking Erin with its unexpected whiteness. Here was Teague’s grandmother in the smile they both shared. And, Erin realized, the darkness that lay beneath the blinding smile.

  “I hope you still feel that way when your time here is done.” The woman turned slightly, as if to leave, then stopped. “But be warned, Erin McClure. The darkness I spoke of isn’t what we do here in t
he bayous in the full of the moon. It resides in you and one other. Make no mistake, Erin McClure. The choice will be yours. May you both find the light.”

  This time she faced Teague, completely shutting Erin out. Belisaire lifted her hand to caress the side of his face as one would a small boy. So incongruous to the woman of a second ago, so … grandmotherly …

  “It takes too much to bring you to me,” she said to Teague, who stood still under her touch.

  Erin was captivated by the notion of Teague being raised by this woman.

  “But this time I forgive your long absence.” She dropped her hand to his and covered it tightly.

  Teague leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You forgive too much, Grand-mère.” He grinned. “And I’ll always let you.”

  The older woman smiled in return, then her features tightened, and just like that Belisaire the mambo was back. Teague straightened, but she held his hand.

  “You will have a choice to make too, chèr. My only guidance is to trust your heart. It is time.”

  Her whispered words were meant for Teague alone and just barely reached Erin’s ears.

  “The only heart I have belongs to you alone, Grand-mère.”

  She dropped his hand with a sharp snap. “Then you are already lost.”

  Teague’s smile vanished, and his voice dropped to a rough whisper. “Are you just now accepting that, Grand-mère?”

  She just turned and walked away, melting back into the trees like a wraith. Erin looked around and realized she and Teague were alone once again. Or were they?

  She shivered. “Quite a woman, your grand-mère.”

  “And at times a real pain in the ass,” Teague muttered.

  Erin was dying to ask him a hundred questions about the older woman, not one of them having to do with her research. “I take it the evening’s festivities are over?”

  Teague turned his attention to her. Erin felt it like a live thing, touching her.

  “No. We follow. The invitation has been issued.”

  Erin laughed. “Then I guess it is a good thing you’re along. I never would have deciphered that as an invitation.”