She caught her breath and pulled him to a stop. “Are you…? Jean-Luc, are you asking me to move in with you?”
He released his grip on hers to wipe his palms on his shorts. “I was gonna let you see the house first. It’s four bedrooms, three baths. Nice open kitchen. It’s kinda empty right now ’cause I’m hardly ever there, but it’s a good place to start a home. Maybe do the family thing someday. The whole living room wall is glass and looks out on the lake.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she blinked hard. “It’s sounds beautiful, but you didn’t answer my question. Do you want me to move in with you?”
Everything stopped for him. The noise of the city faded away, the people disappeared. All he saw was Claire. And he was so hopelessly in love with the woman, the thrill of it left him tongue-tied. He took her hands in his again and raised them to his lips. “Ma belle, I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “Yes.”
He froze because that sounded like a heavy “yes,” full of meaning. Not that he was a language expert or anything. “Is that a yes to moving in or a yes to—”
“Everything,” she said simply. “I want everything you just described. The window. The family. Spending the rest of my life with you. Yes.”
With a happy whoop, he grabbed Claire and kissed her, nearly bending her over backward in his excitement. People around them erupted in cheers, and only then did he remember they stood on Bourbon Street, surrounded by drunks.
She laughed and swatted him until he released her. “Oh my God. I can’t believe there are still so many people out this late.”
“It’s New Orleans, cher. As long as there’s booze and music, there’ll be a party.” He led her into the teeming crowd of people on the city’s most famous street. “It’s beautiful and seedy and chaotic and…” He felt her studying him as he spoke and, as he so often did around her, he ran out of words. “And I don’t know how else to explain it, but—”
“You love it,” she finished.
“I do.” He closed his eyes and breathed in air thick with humidity, frying foods, alcohol, human, and horse, with undertones of night-blooming flowers. It wasn’t always a pleasant scent, but it smelled like home to him. “There’s something about it. A little…something extra. Magic. It sizzles in the air here. Can you feel it?”
When he looked at her, he saw her clutch the gris-gris still hanging from a cord around her neck. She’d put it back on as soon as they’d changed out of their wedding clothes. Ever since he’d given it to her, she was rarely without it. He grinned at her and she let the necklace drop back into place.
“I do feel it,” she said matter-of-factly. “The magic.”
He leaned over to kiss her, because that admission had to have cost his pragmatic scientist some dignity. Taking her hand again, he led her away from the chaos of Bourbon Street. “Allons. I want to get my car so I can show you our house.”
“Are you happy to be back?” she asked as they strolled down the quieter side street toward the condo he split with his siblings.
Jean-Luc took a moment to think about his answer. Was he happy? Yes, but that was because Claire was with him. He could be back in Nigeria or Dracula’s castle in Austria and still be happy as long as she was by his side. “Being back is…interesting.”
“Interesting?” Claire gave their joined hands a little swing. “How so?”
He looked around at the narrow street with its old-fashioned lamps and galleries decked in ivy. Music and laughter soared from a half a block away. “I do love this city. I love everything about it. The food. The music. The people. But every other time I’ve been here… Mais, I don’t know if I can explain it. I always had this manic need to experience the place. Like there was a hole inside me and the only way I could fill it was to drink and fuck and…”
He trailed off as a woman stepped out of the shadows in front of them. He recognized her instantly. The voodoo queen who had put the cunja on him during Mardi Gras. Her hair was longer now, twisted into tight dreadlocks that sprouted from a high ponytail. She was still just as gorgeous as he remembered, almost ethereal in her beauty.
She smiled, her teeth very white against her dark skin. “Heard you were back in town.”
Merde. He’d been back for all of a half hour. How had she known? No, scratch that. A powerful queen like her had her ways, and he wanted no part of them.
His first instinct was to protect Claire. He stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “What do you want?”
The woman’s smile only widened. “Came to see about my curse.” She eyed Claire. “I see you’ve broken it. I knew you would. Eventually. You just needed a little push, and the right woman. Good luck to you both. It’s a blessed match.” As she walked by, she paused and met his gaze. Her dark eyes danced, and he felt like a snake caught in the spell of a snake charmer. “Edmee says she’s proud of you.”
He felt Claire’s fingers tighten on his, but he was too stunned to move. “Isn’t Edmee your grandmother’s name?”
“Hey!” He spun around, but the woman was already gone. To the empty street, he whispered, “Thanks.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
HORNET Headquarters
Wyoming
How stupid could she have been to trust HORNET?
Mercedes paced her cell—okay, not really a cell. It was comfortable enough, and she’d been held in worse places. It was more like a dorm room with its own private bathroom, but they’d welded bars over her window and bolted everything to the floor. There was nothing to use as a weapon. She’d checked. Multiple times.
When she’d approached HORNET in Port Harcourt, she’d thought… Well, shit, she didn’t know what she’d been thinking.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside and she squared off with the door, waiting. They were punctual, that was for sure. Every night, six o’clock on the dot, they brought dinner for her.
Except nobody came in.
She waited, listening, her heart picking up speed with each passing moment. This wasn’t normal. Could this be an ally? Someone who could help her escape? Or maybe… Seb? She squashed that hopeful thought and the fluttering that came with it. Even if he knew HORNET had her, he wouldn’t come. Too much risk.
She heard a muffled curse and the door swung open. She backed away, because, no, this was the last person who would ever help her. She was alone and in terrible danger and for once in her life, she didn’t know how to get away.
Marcus Deangelo stood in the doorway, a gun pointed at her. In the hallway behind him, her temporary guard, the chatty Sean Carreras, lay slumped against the wall. Her heart tripped over a beat because at first, she thought he was dead and she was next. But then Carreras let out a snore. Not dead. Asleep. Marcus must have drugged him.
Which still didn’t bode well for her. If he’d been willing to go so far as to drug a friend, what would he do to his enemy?
She returned her attention to Marcus and tried for bravery, but her voice wobbled. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Everyone’s gone, celebrating a wedding in Key West, and your guard is sleeping on the job.” He stepped in and closed the door behind him. She flinched at the finality of the lock clunking into place. “I’m the only one here, and we’re overdue for a chat.”
Suddenly cold to the bone, she folded her arms over her chest. “You can’t keep me locked up like this. It’s against the law.”
He laughed bitterly. “Who you gonna call, the FBI? You killed one of their agents. They’re not gonna care.” He motioned to a chair with the gun. “Now sit your ass down and tell me everything I want to know about Danny’s murder.”
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About the Author
Tonya wrote her first romance in 8th grade and hasn’t put down her pen since. She re
ceived a B.A. in creative writing from SUNY Oswego and is working on a MFA in popular fiction at Seton Hill University. Tonya shares her life with two dogs and a ginormous cat. She’s from a small town in Western New York, but she suffers from a bad case of wanderlust and usually ends up moving someplace new every few years. Luckily, her animals are all excellent travel buddies. When she’s not writing, Tonya can be found at a bookstore or the dog park. She also enjoys painting, watching movies, and her daily barre workouts.
If you would like to know more about Tonya, visit her website at www.tonyaburrows.com. She’s also on Twitter and Facebook.
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Reckless Honor (HORNET) Page 28