by Nancy Gideon
Jacques had left a bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. She opened it to find their clothes heaped together in a careless fashion. With just the towel wrapped about her, she sorted and separated the garments into neatly folded stacks on the smooth deep blue bedspread.
She slipped on clean underthings and a loose pair of cotton drawstring pants over which she draped one of Jacques’s swimming T-shirts. Not sure where she should put the clothes, she left them on the bed and padded barefoot with hair still damp into the main room.
Jacques was behind the kitchen bar, a bottle of beer raised to his lips. He paused midswallow when he saw her, something dark and faintly predatory coming into his eyes. Then he finished his drink.
“Food’s on the table. Help yourself.”
The smells coming from the open bucket had her mouth watering. Settling into a chair, she dove in for a drumstick and started to feast on it even as she scooped some of the salad onto her plate. She glanced up to see him regarding her with a smile.
“I see you haven’t lost your appetite,” he commented as she broke off two of the yeasty rolls.
“It’s always been surprisingly healthy,” she answered.
She thought she heard him growl as he turned to pull another beer from the refrigerator.
He came to join her at the table, an appreciative eye roving over her choice of clothing. As he walked behind her chair, she could hear him inhale. Then she felt the brush of his face against her hair.
“You smell fantastic.”
Pleasure collided with a prickly sense of jealousy. “Just like all your other lady friends.”
He paused behind her so she couldn’t see his expression.
“What?”
“I figured it must be your preference, or did one of your guests leave the bottle behind?”
“What bottle?”
“In the shower.” Her tone had grown as cold as that first blast from the faucet.
He was silent for a moment, then said, “Since you’re the only female who’s ever been invited here, my guess is Charlotte left it for you. I’ll be sure to tell her you liked it.” He moved to his chair and settled there looking annoyingly smug. Her irritation with him faded as she happily accepted that explanation.
“I’ll be sure to tell her myself.”
Jacques didn’t look up from the meat he was pulling off the bones on his plate. “I was thinking of putting a computer in the second bedroom so you don’t have to go back into the club. It would be safer and you could get more done.”
She wasn’t quite sure why that idea upset her so, but her tone was brittle with it. “And so could you, with me safely locked in your glass tower where you don’t have to keep an eye on me.”
He blinked up at her. “That’s not what I meant—”
“That would be fine,” she concluded. “I’m sure babysitting has grown tiresome for you.”
After considering his options carefully and apparently not liking any of them, he didn’t answer. They ate in silence for several minutes.
“What’s wrong with your daughter?”
The question came as an unpleasant shock. She stumbled over it. “I told you, she’s ill.”
“Then why are you here, doing favors for near strangers? Shouldn’t you be with her?”
“Damien’s there for her.” Even as she said it, she wondered if that were really true. Damien doesn’t like me. “The answers to her recovery are here. That’s why this research means so much to me. Hopefully I can turn my data into a treatment, maybe even a cure.”
“For what? What does she have?”
“A genetic condition,” she told him, careful not to give away too much. “She’s fairly stable most of the time but I’m afraid that could change drastically at any moment.” She looked away, emotions quavering until she felt his hand press firm and warm over hers. Her panic instantly settled.
Susanna ventured a look at him. Seeing the care in his intensely blue eyes, she took a risk. “If you were her father, would you urge me to stay here, even while my daughter’s asking for me, so I can search for data that would prove a financial windfall?”
“You mean would I rather you be a mother or a moneymaker? I’d have had you on a plane yesterday. Family is more important than fortune. But I don’t really have any family that I know of, so I guess I’m not much of an expert there.” He glanced back at his plate before he could see the emotions softening in her expression.
Here was the man who should have been with her child. Not Damien, who, beneath the false face he’d worn to win her over, apparently cared for no one but himself. She’d cheated Jacques out of the chance to be that man and her daughter of the chance to know him.
Pain and uncertainty drove her from the table to sit tensely on the couch where she rubbed at her eyes in an effort to stay her tears.
How had she been so easily fooled? She’d believed Damien cared for her, for Pearl. She’d believed he was acting in their best interests instead of his own. She’d thought he’d wanted a family unit, not simply a very valuable life partner whose accolades and research he could turn into his own successes.
She’d accepted his lies because she’d been willing to believe them. She’d seen good in him because she’d needed it to be there.
The cushions gave as Jacques sat down beside her. His arm rested along the back of the couch, surrounding but not touching her. His voice was low and achingly gentle.
“Anna, what’s wrong?”
Anna.
He’d always called her Anna when they were alone, never Susanna.
With a soft cry of anguish, she turned and was in his arms.
“I’ve made such terrible mistakes,” she lamented. “I’ve been so naïve.”
He held her easily, providing that sense of comfort lost to her for so long.
The truth was there desperate to be spoken, all those ugly secrets ready to spill over, cleansing her spirit at the cost of shattering his. To silence them, she lifted her shimmering eyes to meet his, her hands raising to catch his face between them. And with an insistent tug, brought his mouth down to hers.
Her urgency quickly overcame Jacques’s surprise as her lips moved upon his, sweeping, searching, waking a rumbling groan in his chest. The taste of him fueled her desperate hunger for more of the feast, encouraging her tongue to slip over and around his until he was coaxed to reciprocate with deep, lolling thrusts.
His kisses had always had the power to reduce her to pure sensation. She burned for him, for his touch.
But just as she was ready to lose herself in him, Jacques eased back just far enough for their gazes to meet, his a hot laser blue, bright with passion, tempered with one unspoken question.
“Please,” she whispered against his parted lips. “I need this.”
“We both do,” was his response as he leaned into her.
His mouth teased hers in a tender stroke, caressing lightly over the slight swelling that remained at one corner, touching to her flushed cheeks, her feverish brow, to the flutter of her eyelids before sinking down to sample the frantic tempo at her throat. Susanna closed her eyes and let her head roll back against his shoulder as she clutched at the back of his head, rubbing over the bristle of hair he’d been letting grow out. She freed one hand to grip his, guiding it beneath the edge of the baggy T-shirt she’d borrowed, her body shuddering at the first warm glide of his fingers over bare skin.
It had been so long.
He continued to kiss her as he traced the outline of her bra, as he explored one lacy cup to excite a hard new pattern to rise against his palm. Her soft moan encouraged him. Her heart knocked like the bad valves in his Caddy as she kneaded the hard line of his shoulders with helpless, hurrying motions as he toyed with the center clasp. A sigh whispered from her as it popped open and he brushed that first barrier away.
Anticipation trembled through her, spiking gooseflesh all across her body as his thumb buffeted a sensitive peak. She arched her back to encourage him but he
didn’t need any urging. His fingers hooked the bottom edge of the T-shirt, drawing it slowly up to her chin.
The room’s cool air was no match for the scorch of his stare as she angled back to settle against the slanted arm of the couch, her legs slipping across his thighs. Her lips parted in sultry invitation, bringing him down to her for a slow, searing kiss.
When her calf rubbed against the hard bulge behind his zipper, Jacques caught her knee to still the movement.
“Not a good idea,” he whispered upon her lips. “Yet.” She could feel his smile and relaxed, going temptingly languid so he could take his time.
Once he’d kissed her nearly mindless, he shifted his attention lower. Her breath hitched into a jerky rhythm as the scrape of his chin was followed by the delicious contrast of soft mouth and damp, teasing tongue. Her breasts quivered beneath that sensual assault as his hand slid lower still, trailing over the curve of her hip, caressing along her thigh.
“Please. Touch me.” She didn’t recognize the raspy purr of her own voice.
His palm cupped between her legs, pressing, circling until the cotton crotch of her bottoms dampened. Without leaving his tender worship of her breasts, he tugged the drawstring at her waist, loosening it so he could tuck his hand between soft fabric and softer skin.
So close already, all it took was the purposeful dip of his long middle finger, parting the moist folds of her body to sink deep inside her. A swift jolt of sensation sent a rolling climax through her, shaking along muscle groups, sizzling across nerve endings in a powerful wave. He swallowed her loud gasp with a heady kiss that prolonged her ride over those continuing crests until she sank into a satisfaction so deep it was like a dream.
A dream interrupted by the sudden loud buzz of the intercom.
Unwilling to be pulled from the intense pleasure of the moment, Jacques ignored the summons. The soft, luscious female he’d just brought to the first of what he’d planned to be many suspenseful peaks over the course of the evening was wet and more than willing for that journey. The scent of her arousal, of her readiness, fogged his senses like a thick perfume. The lambent glow in her half-lidded gaze spoke of her desire for him. The slow undulation of her hips pressing her hot sex against his hand demanded his attention.
And then that damned buzzer called. Once, long and forceful. Again, in three short, urgent blasts.
Susanna was struggling to sit up, hands leaving their appreciation of his body to wrestle the T-shirt down. She twisted out from under the claim of his palm to settle her feet on the floor.
“You’d better get that,” she said breathlessly and scooted from the couch to the sanctuary of the bedroom while he dropped back against the cushions with a groan.
Cursing with every awkward step around an erection that felt like he’d tucked his Louisville Slugger down the front of his pants, Jacques crossed to the door. He punched the intercom and Philo Tibideaux’s face peered up at him from the small closed-circuit screen that Max had installed in his apartment.
“Yeah?” he growled with a menace that would have scared most away.
But Philo looked deadly serious as he urged, “Buzz me up, Jackie.”
Muttering another dark oath, he did so. Glancing down the hall toward the bedroom. The night was still young and she hadn’t closed the door to the room or on his intentions.
Jacques was taking a long swallow of his beer and extended an opened bottle to his friend as he slipped into the apartment. Something about Philo’s tense mood overcame Jacques’s irritation.
“What’s going on, Tib?”
He took a deep pull at the bottle before answering. In that time, his gaze did a quick sweep, noting the half-eaten meal, his boss’s rumpled appearance, and the distinct odor of female.
“Bad timing?”
“Coulda been a helluva lot worse,” Jacques grumbled. He gestured to the bucket Philo was eyeballing. “Help yourself.”
Philo tore into a piece of the now cold chicken and munched thoughtfully before gesturing to the hall with the stripped bone. “Is she here?”
“Yes.”
“She make any calls?”
“Not that I know of. What’s this about? More conspiracy theory bullshit?” When Tibideaux didn’t answer, his tone grew more impatient. “She’s not spying on us. She’s a doctor, not Mata Hari.”
“Who?”
Jacques grabbed the phone from Susanna’s purse and cued up her call history, breath held until he verified that none had been made while he was getting their things out of the trailer. More confident with that information, he faced his friend to warn, “Leave her alone, Philo. I’m not going to let you make her part of your witch hunt.”
Philo met his stare angrily. “I’ve had over a dozen reports from my Patrol since this afternoon of strangers asking questions and being real aggressive about it. That’s not my imagination. That’s real trouble here in our city. If they’re hunting, and it’s not her they’re looking for, I’m pretty damned sure who they’re after.”
Max Savoie.
“What are we supposed to do, Jackie, wait until they come knocking closer to home? Wait until they get rough?”
“Like you did with Susanna?” He hadn’t believed her tall tale about injuring herself by accident while in their company. One of Philo’s goons had struck her purposefully and he was still mad as hell about it.
“She’s one of them, Jacques. Morris told me she was in his head, messing with his mind, getting him to do stuff against his will. That’s one of their favorite tricks. Is that the kind of hoodoo she’s been working on you? Open your eyes. Just because you’re bedding the bitch—”
Jacques fisted his shirtfront, yanking the lighter man up onto his toes so they were eye-to-eye as he snarled, “Watch your mouth.”
Philo knocked his hand aside and jumped back. “Watch your step. You can’t see over your dick. She’s leading them right to us. You’re gonna be serving them drinks while they’re tearing the hearts outta every one a your friends. You gonna have Savoie bury all of us in his backyard? That’s what it’s gonna come down to if you doan listen to me. Listen to me!”
“All I’m hearing is crazy talk,” Jacques argued, fighting against his own worry that perhaps his friend was right. “You’re as bad as they are with your ‘Kill ’em all and ask questions later’ macho crap. Our enemy is right here. It’s the fear you’re shoveling with both hands. What are you protecting? Your right to feel important?”
He knew he’d gone too far when Philo went still and simply stared at him through agate-hard eyes. Jacques palmed the top of his head in agitation, breathing too fast for logic to take hold.
“You think that’s what all this is about?” Tibideaux finally asked with a deadly quiet. “You think this is about me wanting to be a big man? About me being jealous of Savoie? Well, maybe that’s part of it. But you’re forgetting the bigger part. You’re forgetting what they did to Tito.
“I wish that coulda all been in my imagination. They killed my brother, Jackie. They beat the shit outta him, blew his brain apart, and threw him in the river like garbage. What part of wanting to keep them from doing that to you is about my ego?”
Jacques pulled his friend into a fierce one-armed embrace, hugging hard. The two brothers had taken him in like family, given him a place to live, work to do, a way to rebuild from nothing. Everything he’d made of himself he owed to them and their unconditional friendship. Everything.
So when Philo pushed away and confronted him with a somber expression and an even darker question, he didn’t flinch.
“Where are your loyalties, Jacques? With Savoie and his human intrigues that are about to expose us? With this Chosen sympathizer who’s wound her way around your ability to think straight? Or with your own kind, who’ve stood behind you and up for you for no reason other than you’re one of us?” He gestured about the elegant apartment. “Doan let all this dazzle you into forgetting who you are. Doan let her confuse you into forgetting what you are.”
With that challenge, Philo struck at the root of all Jacques’s troubles. He didn’t know those things. Not who he’d been or what he’d done before opening his eyes to stare up at a drizzly Louisiana sky.
Philo placed his hand on Jacques’s shoulder and pressed hard. “All we got is each other now. We gotta stand together. Doan let Savoie with all his cash and big promises change that, or that pretty little piece of tail in there convince you that she’s not your enemy. It’s up to us to protect what’s ours. You know that, doan you? You know I’m right.”
And while he couldn’t agree completely, in all good conscience, Jacques couldn’t tell him to go to hell.
Philo clasped the back of his neck to give him a firm shake and to caution once more, “Keep your eyes open and remember who your friends are.”
He was remembering after Philo left him with a promise to keep him posted. Remembering who and what was important.
Savoie hadn’t bought him with extravagant gifts. Philo was wrong about that. Max had won him over with hope, with promises of freedom and pride in himself and for his race.
Susanna hadn’t seduced him with sex. His friend was wrong about that, too. She’d intrigued him with her courage and honor. Simple sex didn’t come close to describing the sensual hold she had over him.
But she was Chosen. How could he feel that compelling urge to mate with one outside his own kind? Because it had happened once before with a female he couldn’t remember, under circumstances he couldn’t recall? Or because she was manipulating his thoughts to make it seem so?
He glanced at the door that was now closed between them. She’d heard their conversation. He didn’t check the knob. It didn’t have to be locked to keep him out. Not while doubts swirled about his head the way the scent of her still did, confusing him, misleading him.
He took another beer from the refrigerator and carried it out onto the balcony where the breeze blew cool and heavy off the river far below.