by Nancy Gideon
She met his glower with an innocent blink. “There something you want to tell me, LaRoche?”
“Nothing that would be any of your business.”
She leaned in on her elbows. “Sooooo, there is something to tell. Spill it, boss. The looks you two give each other have more sizzle than the fryers at Daisy Dukes.”
“It’s just looking,” he told her, “and a little kissing.”
That Cheshire smile spread wide. “Kissing! That’s good news. It must have been good to have you blushing all the way up to your fuzzy dome.”
“I am not,” he snarled, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the mirror to make sure it wasn’t true.
“It was the new clothes, wasn’t it?” she urged with a conspiratorial wink. “That was my idea. Figured you might need a little nudge to make that first move.”
“I do not need your help where my love life is concerned.”
She snorted. “Love life? If you had any life at all, that would be amusing. The two of you are about the sorriest pair I’ve ever seen. What’s it going to take for you to snatch her up for some gumbo, dodo, and gogo?”
“You think food, dancing, and sex is the answer to everything.”
“Everything worth anything, duh!”
“It would be if we were free to do anything about it,” he admitted at last.
Nica gripped both his big hands hard, her expression caring and concerned. “Jacques, the only thing holding you back is a ghost, a memory. The life you once had is dead and long gone. You can’t bring it back. You can only move on. It’s time to move on.”
“Even if I agreed with you,” he said glumly, “it wouldn’t much matter, considering she got a flesh-and-blood family waiting on her.”
“Flesh and blood,” Nica scoffed with a dismissing wave of her hand. “Have you ever seen a Chosen male? Stone and ice is more like it.”
Jacques pulled his hands free to rub them over the top of his head in frustration, then asked, because he had to know, “What’s he like? Has she said anything about him?”
“She didn’t have to. I’ve met him. He’s like all of them. Pretty, petty, powerful. Having sex with him would be like artificial insemination . . . if he even sleeps with her. A lot of their males prefer surrogates or mental fantasies.” She shuddered with distaste. “She’s not like most of their females. She’s got warmth and feelings and she wants to share them with someone who’ll know how to reciprocate.”
“She said he was good to her, that he protects her.”
“Pfft. Why wouldn’t he? Not out of the goodness of his heart, if he has one, which I doubt. Our little doctor friend is one hot commodity. And I don’t mean under the covers.”
Jacques frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know how we met?” When he shook his head, she settled into her story with eyes flinty and tone cold. “Some crazies from their Purist Movement, those nutjobs who want complete separation of the species, kidnapped her little girl. What kind of cold-blooded monsters do that kind of stuff just to get her to agree to work on some project of theirs?”
Fury pulsed through him with a killing intensity. “And she hired you to bring her bebe back?”
“He did. Frost. An appropriate name. I found the fools and, as ordered, made an example of them.” Enough said about that.
“So he does keep them safe,” Jacques mused, both relieved and annoyed.
“Safe in a glass case like some trophy he’s won. Since the kidnapping, he’s gone to extremes to see that no one can get near them or her work. In her place, I’d rather take my chances on my own than be locked in his gilded cage.”
“She’s not you,” was his flat conclusion.
Nica shrugged. “She’s female, she’s been neglected. She’s ripe for some hot, beefy stud to blow her socks off. What’s your excuse, hot stuff?”
None came readily to mind. He gave her a smirky grin. “So you think I’m a stud?”
“A stud, not my stud.” She patted his cheek and carried her tray back to her section.
Stud. He chuckled at that, then cast a contemplative glance toward his office. Was that how Susanna saw him? He knew she did. Her sultry eyes said yes. Her tentative touches said yes. Her soft lips said hell yes. The only one putting on the brakes was him.
If it had been any other female, he’d have made his move long ago. What was holding him back? Conscience or fear? He was uncomfortable with the fact that she had family. It wasn’t his way to dally with mated females.
A ghost, Nica called the figure haunting him in dreams. Perhaps she was right. He would never find her, wouldn’t even know where to start looking. If she was alive and had wanted him back, seven years was plenty of time to locate him. Maybe it was time to accept the fact that she was dead or, as Nica suggested, she’d moved on. And so should he. There was no blame to be had, no guilt to be shouldered. It just was what it was. Part of someone else’s life.
From what Nica said, and what he’d heard from others as well, Chosen males and females didn’t bond like those of Shifter kind. They didn’t raise families together. They bred offspring who were packed off to schools and training facilities as soon as they were weaned, sometimes sooner. Ties weren’t emotional. They were economical. So, bedding Damien Frost’s mate would be more like stealing from his wallet than breaking his moral code. Jacques had pillaged a pocket or two during his first lean months in New Orleans, to survive, not to prosper.
The problem wasn’t moral. It wasn’t guilt. It arose from that gut-deep panic Susanna Duchamps stirred inside him. The intensity of his reactions to her spooked him: protective, possessive, aroused, a minefield of feelings he’d led Savoie through as his naïve friend had lusted ferociously after Charlotte Caissie. That’s what these sensations reminded him of, that helpless, out-of-control state males of their species struggled through until they claimed their mate. It wasn’t the kind of path a wise fellow started down unless he knew he could successfully reach the end.
There would be no happily-ever-after ending for him and the Chosen doctor. They both knew it.
So, would a wise fellow stay away from the flames or jump in to enjoy the fire until it burned him to ash?
No one had ever accused him of being particularly wise unless the word ass was tacked on to the end of it.
Jacques was shooting a bit of bull with Philo when he saw Charlotte enter the club. Though she gave him a quick wave, her destination was his office and Susanna. Curiosity chafed at him as long minutes passed. Finally, he couldn’t stand it.
“Tib, you mind taking over for me for a minute?”
His friend shrugged. “Sure, if I can help myself.”
“To anything but the cash drawer and my waitresses.”
He took his time winding through the crowded tables, stopping to chat, patting a back here, pumping a hand there, as his books on good business practices advised him. He even lingered to hear an oft-repeated joke, while his attention drifted to the blank glaze of his office window. After laughing at the anticipated punch line, he made his excuses and a beeline for the stairs.
He didn’t knock. It was his office, after all.
The two women looked up at him, expressions defensive and unwelcoming. If his ego hadn’t been bolstered by the title of Hot Beefy Stud, he might have taken offense.
“Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”
Charlotte offered a tense smile. She looked as weary as he felt. “Hey, Jacques. No. I was just on my way out.” To Susanna she said, “I’ll see you at eight.” As she walked past him, she gave his arm a fond squeeze. “I’ll tell Max you said hey.”
“Do that,” he muttered noncommittally. When they were alone, he noticed that Susanna was shutting down her computer. “Finished already?”
“Charlotte’s taking me to see Mary Kate in the morning. I need to get some sleep. I was going to stretch out on the couch until you close.”
“I’ll take you home so you can get some real rest.”
�
��You don’t have to—”
But he was already walking out the door.
Home. Susanna mulled the word over for a bittersweet moment. She’d told him her home was in the North, but in truth, those cold, white walls had never seemed like one. She had no attachment to the place or the people there. She had associates but had made no friends. Not like here. Nothing like here, where she could be herself, express herself without fear of reprisal. Even Damien, whom she respected and depended upon, never let her drop her careful guard without a disapproving frown. Even in private, there were no tender touches, no honest expressions from the heart. Those were things she could only share with Pearl.
She watched Jacques stride back to the bar, her gaze unashamedly caressing his massive shoulders, narrow hips, and long, denim-clad legs. Big, bold, earthy, he wouldn’t fit into her sterile world. This was his place and these were his kind. He belonged. He’d made these rough, basic beings his family and they accepted him for who he was. She envied him that and wouldn’t dream of taking him from it, even for her own personal benefit.
Being in the soundproof room was like living in her world, cut off from the things that celebrated life. No music to tempt the toes to tap, no laughter to coax a smile, no mélange of smells like yeasty hops, honest sweat, and warm body heat. Hers was a cold-blooded existence and as such, the heat in New Orleans drew her with a fatalistic charm.
How was she going to surrender herself back up to that ice-encased existence where she’d never be warm again?
Jacques leaned over the bar to exchange words with his friend Philo, who nodded and shrugged in an accommodating manner. But as soon as the brawny bartender started back her way, she saw something change in Philo Tibideaux’s expression as his gaze lifted to where she stood. She knew he couldn’t see her there but she felt the hostile chill of that stare nonetheless. Philo knew she didn’t belong here in their world, where she presented a threat to their safety and his friend’s well-being. He didn’t trust her intentions or appreciate her interference. Again, there was that honesty she admired: raw, faintly menacing, but deadly honest. And he was right to fear her.
“Ready to go?”
She gave Jacques a tight smile and picked up her bag.
He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, studying his computer, then asked, “Is any of your work saved to my hard drive?”
“No,” she answered carefully. “All my data is on my flash. I remote into the programs on my lab computer. Why do you ask?”
“Just being cautious.” He turned off the lights behind her and, for the first time, locked his door.
His palm settled at the small of her back to steer her down the hall. It wasn’t a big deal. She’d noticed that with his female staff and friends he was a hands-on male. But she wasn’t used to being touched with that easy kind of familiarity and was startled.
“Forget something?” he asked, responding to her jerk of movement. His hand remained where it was, spread wide just above the curve of her bottom.
“No.” She forced a nervous smile. “Just distracted.” And she walked quickly toward the outer door, away from that innocent contact that had her senses jumping.
The interior of the mammoth Cadillac had suddenly compressed into that of a subcompact. Or so it seemed during their ride to the docks. A clammy drizzle fogged the windows and had Susanna shivering slightly in her seat. Or was that trembling due to the man beside her? A soft, bluesy Robert Cray tune was accompanied by the slap of wiper blades and the hurried rhythm of her heartbeats. “I was warned about her love,” the song lamented all too insightfully.
Since there was nothing to see through the windows, Susanna focused her attention on the large hands guiding the wheel. Strong hands, browned by the sun, roughened by physical labor. She remembered the feel of them on her body, their impatience as they tore at her clothes, their slow, seductive magic as they stirred a fire of passion inside her, a heat she’d never felt before. Or since. She squirmed restlessly on the leather upholstery, drawing his quick glance. He frowned slightly.
“You okay?”
The rough purr of his voice was like the drag of his palms, unbearably sensual.
“Fine.” She managed a smile.
His brows lowered slightly but he let it go, turning his attention back to the dangerously slick streets.
Susanna pressed her thighs together, dangerously damp herself.
The docks lay under a heavy mist. Lights glowed like eerie eyes at regular intervals but failed to illuminate through that wet gloom. When Jacques turned off the ignition and the headlights blinked out, the darkness in the vehicle was complete. His hand was on the door handle when Susanna’s quiet voice stopped him.
“Jacques?”
He turned toward her, his eyes adjusting to the blackness so he could see her anxious expression. Before he could ask again what was wrong, she reached for him, her hands cupping the back of his head to draw him toward her. In his surprise, he was easily manipulated. Her smooth cheek brushed his. Her soft lips pressed to his skin.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jacques didn’t move, not even to take a breath. When she didn’t sit back, he murmured, “You’re welcome,” thinking that would be the end of it.
She started to ease back but as soon as their gazes met, she hesitated. Her eyes fluttered and that luscious mouth touched his, shyly at first, then with a light stroke of her tongue.
He fought not to groan as his system slammed into overdrive.
With a Herculean effort, he pulled back very slowly and smiled. “You are very welcome.” He read her confusion and embarrassment and, to calm both, stroked his knuckles lightly beneath her chin and said, “We’d better get inside before all hell breaks loose.” And he didn’t mean the weather.
He got out of the car, manner casual so she wouldn’t think he was running from an unwanted overture. Keep it cool, he told himself as he circled behind the vehicle. Keep it friendly. Don’t get excited. Hard advice to follow after scenting her increased arousal.
He opened the door for her, offering his hand to help her out. She took it with the slightest hesitation and released him immediately to reach for her bag.
Crisis averted.
He started to place his hand on her back, then stopped himself. No sense in fanning those flames again. Instead, he started for the metal steps, aware of her close behind him. He unlocked the door and stepped back so she could precede him inside. By the time he’d switched on the light, she’d disappeared down the hall into the bedroom.
Relieved, yet as uncomfortably revved as his mighty eight-cylinder with its pedal to the floor, Jacques shook the rain from his shirt, stirring up the trace of her fragrance that lingered there. Pretty danged sure he wasn’t going to get any sleep, he went through the motions anyway. There was nothing to clear off the sofa, a pleasant first. In fact, his whole place seemed fresh and inviting. Nice to come home to, even though it wasn’t much of a home.
He was getting a light cotton blanket out of the hall linen cupboard when Susanna came out of the bedroom. They did a side-to-side dance until he finally flattened against one wall so she could slide by him and shut herself into the bathroom. He took advantage of her absence to retrieve a clean T-shirt and his gym shorts from his thrift store dresser and left a second shirt on the bed for her, hoping she hadn’t let Nica talk her into sexy lingerie to go along with her provocative new wardrobe. There was only so much a male animal could take.
He heard a flush and the rush of water in the sink, but before he could scoot to safety, Susanna exited the bathroom, trapping them in that treacherously narrow hall once again. This time, she moved to one side but he quickly discovered there wasn’t quite enough room to walk past her. When he turned sideways to edge through, her arm straightened to block him.
Oh, hell.
Her body swayed into him, the barricading arm curling about his waist, the other draping across his shoulders. She fit beneath his chin with a custom-built ease. Cautiou
sly, he placed his hands in the safest place he could think of, just beneath her shoulder blades, and he held her, not tight, but with a relaxed compliance.
There was nothing relaxed about him below the belt. Couldn’t do anything to hide it from her the way she was pressed over him like a fitted sheet. She didn’t seem alarmed so he didn’t make a big deal out of it.
And then she took a shaky breath, her face lifting so that the light from the bedroom glittered in her eyes and made her parted lips shine with an inviting wetness.
This was that point on the path where a wise man would have slammed things into a smoking reverse.
Damn me to hell.
Jacques lowered to take that irresistible offering, slowly, thoroughly, until her fingers clenched in his T-shirt and her legs trembled against his. Gently, gently, his saner self cautioned. Such a delicate creature wasn’t used to aggressive male desire, raised as she was amongst the passionless, thin-blooded Chosen. He reined back so as not to frighten her.
And that’s when she lunged up on her toes, thrusting her tongue so deeply into his mouth she must have speared his brain, because all his reactions short-circuited. He pulled back so abruptly his head cracked against the wall, and stared at her, eyes wide, his breath panting.
Susanna went flat-footed in dismay. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, arms dropping to her sides, face flushing hot. “I thought—” She swallowed awkwardly. “Don’t you want me?”
Her lips quivered, then firmed into an angry line at his sudden, booming laugh. Before she could mistake his response, he gathered her to his chest in a close embrace that tightened when she tried to squirm away. The effort of restraint rumbled in his voice.
“That’s a question that shouldn’t be asked or answered tonight if we’re both as smart as we say we are.”
Susanna burrowed her face against his chest until the shame heating her cheeks began to cool. The way his hands rubbed over her body from shoulders to backside in a rather lusty grope bolstered her self-confidence.