by Paige Tyler
“So, how was your cross-training with the local SWAT team today?” Triana asked, as if she wanted to tease him by making him think about normal crap instead of what she might be promising.
He stuck a crowbar in the recesses of his mind and forced it to change gears. “Training was good, though it was cut a little short.”
“What happened?” she asked as they turned down a side street and headed toward Jackson Square. “Nothing bad, I hope?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. NOPD SWAT got called out to support a search warrant on a drug operation, and we went out to help them. It ended up taking the entire rest of the day.”
Triana’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wait. I thought you were just here to do some training. You went out to serve a drug warrant?”
Remy heard her heart thump louder in her chest, this time for all the wrong reasons, and he realized he probably should have kept that piece of reality to himself. Triana might be involved in law enforcement back in Houston, but that didn’t mean she was okay with all aspects of it.
“It wasn’t anything crazy,” he said, hoping to downplay any danger. “An informant said a shipment of meth was coming in on a boat, but by the time we got there, the guy had already moved the stuff. It was all a big waste of time.”
That seemed to mollify her somewhat, but she was still regarding him seriously. “You might be doing more of these kinds of things while you’re here in New Orleans…going out on real calls?”
“It’s my job.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I just thought you’d be doing training this week. I mean, I didn’t even think you’d have jurisdiction here in New Orleans.”
“My boss took care of all that before we came,” Remy said. “He didn’t want us put in a position where we needed to do something and not have the authority to do it. There was a lot of paperwork, but we’re completely legit in the city for this week. But I promise you, my guys from Dallas are the best SWAT officers in the country, and we always take care of each other.”
Triana thought about that for a while. “This is probably going to sound stupid, but you’re always careful, right?”
He nodded. “Yes. And like I said, our number-one rule is to always watch out for each other.”
She relaxed a little at that, but her heart was still beating a little faster than normal and he could feel the tension in her body. He regretted bringing up the drug raid, but there was no way to take it back.
They continued for another block in comfortable silence before Triana surprised him by asking for more details about what the raid had entailed. Remy took his time and laid out not just what he’d done today, but also what a typical search warrant operation was like. He stayed away from details she didn’t need to know, like the fact that they’d been trying to take down Aaron Lee. Triana listened carefully but also asked a lot of pointed and intelligent questions.
Remy was showing her how he and his guys communicated during operations using nothing but hand signals when they passed a club with bright, shiny lights and a gaudy sign advertising open mic karaoke every night. Apparently, the sign wasn’t lying, since Remy could already hear the most god-awful voice butchering “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones. It was one of the rare times in all his years as a werewolf that Remy was sorry he had such good hearing. The noise coming out of the open door was actually painful to listen to.
But it wasn’t the crap sound from the place that made him stop and take a second look. He was sure he recognized the club, though he wasn’t sure why it was familiar. Then it struck him. It wasn’t the appearance of the building—it was the address. He looked up and down the street a couple times to be sure, because it had been eight years since he’d seen the place last.
“Hey. Isn’t this where your dad’s place, the Jazz Joint, used to be?” Remy asked, sure he had to be wrong.
He remembered going to her dad’s club for dinner when he was in high school and had always thought the place had a cool, laid-back vibe. Nothing like this garish mess they were standing in front of now. The reputation of the club had been so good that well-known jazz musicians would show up all the time just for a chance to play there. But with the bellowing coming out the door combined with the cheap signage, he couldn’t imagine any respectable musician even wanting to walk on the same side of the street as this place.
Triana nodded sadly, not looking at the karaoke club as they walked past. She even tugged his hand a little so he’d quicken his pace as they moved down the street, clearly unwilling to spend any more time than necessary near the place that occupied where her dad’s old club had been.
Remy could understand that.
“After Dad’s death, Mom tried to keep it going,” Triana said, and Remy could almost taste her grief on the air. “Sort of in his memory…you know? She tried to get a partner, but no one was willing. Some people didn’t like the idea of working in a place where such a horrible murder had happened. Others simply pointed out that it simply wasn’t going to work. Dad didn’t just run the Jazz Joint; he was its heart and soul. Without his charisma and energy, the old building seemed like an empty shell. The people who used to play there wouldn’t come back. Mom said it was because the magic was gone.”
Triana fell silent as they crossed a street. Her father’s murder had been two years ago, but it was obvious the pain was as raw and upsetting as if it had happened yesterday. Remy squeezed her hand, trying to let her know without words that she didn’t need to talk about it but that he was there for her if she wanted to.
Rufus Bellamy had always been such a larger-than-life character—big, strong, loud, loving. Remy remembered him as this huge guy with muscles he’d gotten working on the docks of New Orleans as a young man, humping cargo and loading ships. He’d had a wild head of shaggy blond hair and a mustache to match. Everyone knew Rufus had lived part of his life on the wrong side of the law, but in a city like this, that wasn’t necessarily the stigma it might have been in other parts of the country.
The man had been out of that life for a while by the time Remy had met him. As far as Remy was concerned, Triana’s dad had been a faithful husband and loving father. But at the same time, Remy understood where Rufus Bellamy had come from. He loved to laugh and have fun like anyone else, but he was also a man no one wanted to mess with unless they wanted to know what it felt like to be beaten to a bloody pulp.
It was hard to believe that a man as powerful and full of life as Triana’s father was gone. He’d been a rare kind of person.
“Mom finally ended up selling the club,” Triana said after a few blocks. “While neither of us wanted to keep the place after my dad’s murder, it still sucks seeing the jazz club he poured his heart and soul into become a karaoke bar. It’s almost like blasphemy.”
“After hearing whoever was singing as we walked by the place, I agree,” Remy said. “But I’m pretty sure your dad wouldn’t be that upset. As I recall, he used to get up and sing with some of the musicians who came in…and he was pretty awful. That never kept him from doing it, though. I think he’d be fine with people singing in his old club as long as they’re having a good time.”
Triana stared at him for a moment, then a big smile spread across her face. “You know something, I think you’re exactly right. Don’t tell Mom I said this, but if Dad ever came back as a ghost, I could imagine him standing up at that karaoke mic, butchering songs with the best of them.”
They laughed at that image, and before long, they were telling each other all the stories they remembered about Rufus Bellamy—and there were a lot of them. By the time they reached Muriel’s over on Saint Ann, Triana’s mood had lightened considerably and they were back to the playful, sexy banter that had started off their date.
With its red brick and white wood trim, the two-story building on the edge of Jackson Square known as Muriel’s Bistro was a beautiful structure. The buildin
g on the corner of Saint Ann and Chartres had been in existence in one form or another practically since the founding of the city, and the owners of the restaurant had invested a lot money into lovingly restoring the place to its mid-1800s grandeur.
The best thing about Muriel’s—beyond the amazing food, of course—was the ambience. There was something about the blend of mid-nineteenth-century French charm, the New Orleans mystique, and the Southern hospitality that really worked for this place. How many other restaurants maintained a reserved table for a ghost? It was true. The place kept a table set with wine and bread for the ghost of Pierre Jourdan, one of the restaurant’s previous owners.
Remy didn’t miss the way men’s heads turned to follow Triana as the hostess led them across the main red-and-yellow-decorated dining room and seated them at a table for two in the back corner. While he was surprised at the spike of jealousy that rushed through him, not to mention the animalistic urge to turn and snarl at the gawkers, he couldn’t blame the men whose gazes were drawn to Triana’s hypnotic beauty. He certainly was as well.
The hostess took their wine orders, then mentioned the name of their server and left them alone. Even though the dining room was crowded, the alcove where they were seated offered them a little privacy. Not that it mattered. Triana was so alluring it was like there was no one else around.
“So, what are the other guys from Dallas up to while you’re out wooing me tonight?” she asked with a sparkle in her eyes.
He chuckled. “Wooing? Is that what I’m doing? I thought I was taking you out for dinner.”
She flashed him a smile. “I could have had dinner at home. I came out with you tonight because I’m expecting much more than food.”
Remy felt a crazy vibration start in his gut at the teasing, playful look she gave him. Gaze locked with his, she licked her full lips, tracing her nimble tongue over them in a gesture that was innocent and sexy at the same time. The heat that had come with that earlier vibration spread from his stomach in a distinctly southerly direction. Sitting this close, it was impossible to miss the pheromones rolling off her—or to be immune to them.
That’s when he knew the night was going to be very special.
“Are you the kind of woman who likes to be wooed?” he asked, his voice sounding a little deeper as his inner wolf attempted to come out and play. He casually looked over at his fingers where they rested on the table to make sure his claws hadn’t slipped out. Thankfully, they hadn’t.
“All women like to be wooed and charmed and appreciated,” she said softly, tilting her head and looking at him in a way that made his inner wolf growl a little louder in hunger. “If the man doing those things is the right man.”
He grinned. “I hope I’m the right man.”
Triana leaned forward a little. “Well, if it helps, you’re definitely on the right track so far.”
They were forced to put their flirting on temporary hold as their server arrived to introduce herself and deliver their glasses of wine. The woman gave them the standard pitch about house specials and chef recommendations, but since he and Triana were more interested in each other than in dinner, they ignored all the appetizers, soups, and salads and headed straight for the main entrées. He ordered the filet of beef while Triana chose the sautéed salmon. It wasn’t like they could go wrong with anything they picked because everything was good there.
“You never did answer my question,” Triana reminded him after the waitress left. “What are your friends up to?”
Remy sipped his wine. “They said something earlier today about heading to the French Quarter again.”
“You’re not sorry we didn’t go out with them, are you?” she asked teasingly. “We could always give them a call and meet up with them later if you want.”
His mouth twitched. “No, thanks. I’m good. Don’t get me wrong. I’m closer to the members of my SWAT team than most people are with their families, but tonight, I’d much rather spend time with you instead of them.”
“Good answer. You really are skilled at this wooing thing,” she said with a smile. “But I have to admit, you have me intrigued. I saw the way you guys acted with each other last night, so I could already tell you’re tight with them. You obviously spend a lot of time with them outside of work.”
“Yeah, I hang out with them a lot,” he said, trying to figure out how to put what he wanted to say into words that made sense. It wasn’t like he could tell her he was a member of a wolf pack that spent just about every waking minute together. “The men and women on our team are kind of like a family—closer than most families, actually. It’s kind of hard to explain, but doing the job we do tends to make for a pretty tight bond.”
Triana regarded him over the rim of her wineglass. “There are women on your SWAT team? Do I need to be jealous?”
“I don’t know,” he said, unable to resist teasing her. “Are you the kind of woman who gets jealous at the idea of a man she’s seeing working with another woman?”
She hesitated, seeming to think about it. After a moment, she frowned thoughtfully. “Normally, I’m not. But in this case, I find myself feeling somewhat…possessive.”
While there was a part of him that felt a trace of alarm at what Triana’s jealousy meant, a more practical portion was quick to point out he’d been a little possessive himself a few minutes earlier when half the guys in the dining room had twisted their heads around like Linda Blair in The Exorcist to follow Triana’s movements across the room. What was good for the goose was good for the gander, as his grandmother used to say.
As to what all that jealousy meant, he and Triana were sexually attracted to each other. The primitive part of them that wanted to get naked and nasty was sure to express itself in other ways, such as in her knee-jerk jealous reaction to him working with women and his desire to bite the men who were ballsy enough to stare at her ass.
“Well, in this case, you have no reason to feel possessive,” he told her. “There’s only one woman on the Dallas SWAT team and she’s off-limits. Beyond the fact that I think of her as a sister, she’s in a serious, committed relationship with another member of the team. They’d probably be married by now if it wasn’t for the fact that they have to hide their relationship from the brass.”
Triana did a double take. “Wait a second. Two members of your SWAT team are sleeping together and the rest of you are covering for them?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Their food came then, interrupting their conversation. Remy was glad, because he definitely didn’t want to get into the fact that the only woman on the Dallas SWAT team was in a relationship with her own squad leader. For someone like Triana, who worked in the law enforcement community, that little detail might be difficult to accept. It wasn’t as if he could tell Triana that bonding with one’s soul mate threw all the normal rules of society straight out the window.
Remy speared a piece of steak with his fork and tasted it. As he’d expected, the food was amazing. Triana seemed to approve of the salmon she’d ordered as well, if the little moan she let out was any indication. As she nibbled another piece of fish off her fork, Remy discovered he enjoyed watching her eat. He was as orally fixated as the next guy, and seeing her lips close over the fork and her mouth move as she slowly chewed was an erotic experience.
Then again, almost anything Triana did would probably be a turn-on, considering he seemed to have it rather bad for her at the moment.
She must have seen him staring at her lips as she chewed, because she gave him a sultry smile. “Are you watching me eat?”
He contemplated denying it but changed his mind. What would be the point?
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. But you have a very sensual mouth and I have a hard time watching it move without thinking all kinds of things I shouldn’t be.”
“That’s a pity,” she murmur
ed, returning her attention to her salmon and field pea succotash.
“What’s a pity?” he asked, hoping she’d clarify her words. “That I find your mouth so sensual, or that I have completely naughty thoughts when I watch it move?”
Triana lifted her head to look at him, then slowly and carefully ate another bite of fish, clearly savoring it. When she finished up by licking her lips, he was relatively sure everyone in the dining room could hear the thump his hard-on made as it smacked the underside of the table.
“I think it’s a pity you don’t feel comfortable enough with me to talk about those naughty thoughts,” she said as she sipped her wine. “I’d enjoy hearing every one of them in slow, exquisite detail.”
Remy’s fingers tingled and he quickly slid his hands under the tablecloth to hide the fact that his claws had slipped out. Damn, this woman was dangerous. He flexed his fingers a few times until his claws retracted. Crisis averted—for now at least.
“I guess I’ll have to be bolder, then,” he said. “I’m sure that by the time we have dessert, I won’t be able to keep my thoughts to myself anymore.”
Triana smiled. “Good, because I thought we could go to Café du Monde for beignets and coffee after dinner. I just love the way that powdered sugar sprinkled over the top of them gets absolutely everywhere.”
That vivid image of her covered in powdered sugar was almost enough to have Remy calling for the check. But he resisted, knowing this night of extended verbal foreplay was only getting started. He might have a difficult time walking with an erection, but he had no problem stretching the evening out, if for no other reason than the anticipation would make the end of the night even better. So, as difficult as it was for him to think about anything other than the image of Triana covered in powdered sugar, he did his best to move the conversation toward another topic.
“In a blatant and obvious change of subject, how do you like living and working in Houston?” he asked, spearing another piece of steak.