SWEET SUSPICION

by Nina Bruhns

  "Sounds like an armed camp," Muse remarked.

  Dev shrugged. "In my line of work it pays to be prepared. But it's all well hidden. You'll never see any of it."

  "Just another country cottage," she murmured.

  "That's right. And you don't have to worry about the locals, either," Dev assured them. "I grease the wheels regularly in the village, so anyone staying at the cottage is treated like kin, and any strangers asking about them are treated as hostiles."

  "Sounds perfect," Remi said gratefully.

  "Stay as long as you like. Just mail me the key when you get back to New Orleans."

  After saying their thanks and goodbyes, Remi pointed the Porsche back to the main road. For the first time since the bullets started flying at the safe house two days before, he felt like he'd caught up with his plan. Thank God for Dev. The man was a bit of an eccentric, but friends didn't come any better.

  Another hour and Muse would be safe from the long reach of James Davies.

  He just wished he could be equally certain she'd be safe from the rather short reach it would take for Remi Beaulieux to get his hands on her.

  He'd made up his mind, resolved to keep her at arm's length, off-limits. But thinking he'd lost her, then holding her close again, feeling her warm, soft breasts press into his chest, seeing that hint of vulnerability in her eyes, knowing how she struggled against appearing weak despite her fear, everything about her made it difficult not to want her like crazy. And made it almost impossible not to reach for her and soothe her fears by giving her a few moments of intimacy with a person who really cared for her.

  And he did care for her. Too much for his own good.

  He wanted so much to make her forget all the bad things that had happened in her life. Show her that not all men were out to hurt her.

  And to give her the pleasure she so deserved.

  He could do it. He knew he could. It would take some time and patience, but she trusted him. That was the key. And he'd already planned it out in detail, how to ease her into the pleasure without triggering her anxiety.

  The question was, did he dare?

  He was already feeling far too emotionally involved with Muse for comfort. She wasn't part of his plan. His job demanded no ties, no relationships to compromise his effectiveness.

  And once they'd crossed that line of being together, there was no going back. Muse wasn't like the other one-night stands he'd indulged in over the years. Would he be able to have a short fling with her, lasting only as long as they were in hiding, and then leave her?

  He didn't know. But he had the sinking feeling he wouldn't be able to just walk away.

  And that was dangerous. More dangerous than anything Davies could throw at him.

  He wanted her like he'd wanted no one and nothing else in his life. But was the price they'd both have to pay too high?

  * * *

  The cottage was lovely.

  Muse grabbed her things from the back seat of the car and wandered up the uneven brick path toward the front door, taking a deep breath of rose-scented air. Despite the oppressive heat of the summer sun, the garden was a riot of color. Perennials of all description crowded the flourishing flower beds on either side of the entryway, and every inch of the white picket fence enclosing the yard was draped in pink rambling roses.

  A perfect spot for a honeymoon hideaway.

  Remi strode up to meet her, carrying his duffel bag on his shoulder, looking tall and dark and enchantingly masculine in contrast to the romantic femininity of the garden. Her heart sighed. Too bad this wasn't their honeymoon and he wasn't her groom, about to carry her over the threshold and into a wonderful new life.

  For a split second she felt a twist of pain deep inside because she would never have any of those things.

  She pushed the pain aside. It was her choice. As much as she'd like to have a normal life with a normal husband, it wasn't going to happen. She wasn't a normal woman, and it was useless to wish it were otherwise.

  Besides, she enjoyed her life as it was. Truly. She had a good job as a paralegal, lots of friends, a nice place to live, a loving sister and a terrific mother. Yes, things sometimes got a bit wild, with too much dancing, too many parties, too many people who didn't see her as she really was. But that was going to change. As soon as she got out of this current mess, she was definitely going to simplify her lifestyle. Give up the craziness and work on becoming more respectable. More responsible. Maybe she'd even move back to South Carolina for a while. It would be good to be with her family, have their support, as she struggled to shed the layers of the past and emerge a better person.

  Maybe if she got through all that she could consider what Remi had proposed.

  Or maybe not.

  Meanwhile she could surely enjoy the view.

  "Pretty cute, huh?" Remi said as he stopped next to her, looking around.

  "You sure are, sugarcane," she answered with a smile and stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. Pretending she didn't see his astonished look, she walked up the stairs to the front door, juggling the things she was carrying. "Open up before I drop all this stuff."

  "Don't move!" Remi said, his voice suddenly urgent. "Stay right where you are."

  She froze. "What is it?"

  He slowly lowered his duffel to the ground and drew his weapon.

  "Remi, what's wrong?"

  "Behind you. A snake. A really big snake."

  Ho-kay. Cautiously she turned her head to check it out.

  "Don't move," he repeated, "I'm going to shoot it."

  "No!" she cried, spying the giant black reptile coiled peacefully in the sun, regarding them with passive alertness. "It's just a harmless water snake."

  She glanced back at Remi, who was squinting at the snake with an expression of grim distaste. He inched backward. "It's huge. Let me get rid of the thing."

  "By killing it? No way." She couldn't believe— "Oh, my God! You're afraid of snakes!"

  "I am not afraid of snakes," he muttered. "I just don' like them."

  She grinned, shuffling the things in her arms. Her purse dropped, causing the snake to lift its head, then quickly slither off. "Well, apparently the feeling is mutual," she said, absurdly pleased that she'd found a weakness in the otherwise perfect man.

  Unlocking the door, he frowned at her, no doubt half in embarrassment. "If he gets in the house, you're taking him out."

  "Baby," she chided with a wink and went inside as he held the door open.

  "Very funny."

  "He might have friends. Maybe I should check all the rooms before you come in."

  She heard Remi's duffel drop to the floor right before her own things were lifted from her hands. "You are really askin' for it, woman."

  Suddenly she was in his arms and he was chuckling and tickling her and kissing her all at the same time.

  She squealed in surprise and batted at his hands and laughed and struggled and threw her arms around him and kissed him back, and it wasn't until much later that she realized she hadn't once felt afraid of his hold on her. She was too busy enjoying the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of his fingers in her hair and her own on his muscular backside, thankful the awkwardness between them had dissolved.

  He moaned, kicked the door shut and leaned against it, bringing her with him so her back was to the room as their kiss deepened. His body trembled when she ran her hands up his chest. His grip was gentle but insistent as he held her, his fingers edging up her body, slowly, slowly, closer and closer to her breasts. Their tongues tangled, her nipples ached, the air deserted her lungs, her blood pounded. And panic seeped into her, claiming her inch by inch, as surely as Remi's mouth and hands.

  She pulled away. Out of his arms.

  They stared at each other, breath coming in gulps.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  "So am I," she whispered. "I wish—" Her voice broke and she tried again. "I wish I could give you what you need."

  He shook his head. "I wis
h I could take away your fear."

  "You do," she said, and moved back to him, rested her head on his shoulder. "More than anyone ever has before."

  "I feel like I'm pressuring you. That's the last thing I want to do."

  "Grace says change only happens under pressure," she murmured without thinking. "Maybe you should keep it up."

  He lifted her chin with a finger. "You really want that kind of change?"

  "More than anything," she finally acknowledged aloud. To him. To herself. "I just don't think it's possible. It would take a miracle."

  "Are you giving me permission to try?"

  Her blood slowed to a stop. "I don't know. I'm so afraid."

  "Of me?"

  She closed her eyes, and a wave of tremors shook her body. "No. Never of you."

  "Then what?" he asked softly.

  And suddenly she knew with blinding clarity. It wasn't Remi she was frightened of, or his touch, or even if he failed to change her feelings of panic to pleasure. What scared her most was something quite unexpected.

  "I'm afraid of what will happen if you succeed."

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Muse spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding Remi.

  What had gotten into her, saying those things to him?

  She didn't want to change. She didn't want him to pressure her. She was frightened of him, of his touch, of the pleasure. Terrified, in fact.

  And he wouldn't succeed, anyway, so any concerns she might have about afterward were moot.

  Choosing the smaller of the two bedrooms, she went in and slowly unpacked her few things, stretching out the time as long as possible. Sitting on the bed, she picked up the gun that had lain atop her overnight bag and contemplated it for a moment. Should she carry it around with her? She felt safe enough. Dev seemed more than trustworthy to keep their whereabouts a secret, and out here in the back of beyond the threat of James Davies finding her seemed remote. She placed the gun under her pillow.

  She wandered around the cottage a bit, exploring its nooks and crannies, and realized that Remi had gone outside. He was busy conducting a tour of the cameras and motion detectors. Dev was right, you could hardly spot them even if you knew what you were looking for. It was obvious Remi did, for he had little trouble locating the small electronic gadgets hidden in each of the corners of the property.

  Not that she was following him, but she decided to go out, too, and take a look at the garden. Going in the opposite direction from Remi, she spent a couple of hours examining every single one of the many flowering plants someone was taking meticulous care of. She'd never had a yard of her own because she'd always lived in apartments. But she'd always dreamed of having one just like this.

  The brick pathway meandered among drifts of green and pink and purple, full of sweet scents and buzzing insects and teeming with sunny optimism.

  After running out of plants, she climbed the stairs onto the back verandah and sank onto an old-fashioned wooden swing, pretending to rest her eyes. But she was really peeking out from under her lashes, watching Remi as he ambled back and forth, testing the cameras and motion detectors and checking out the results on the monitors in the cottage. It seemed from his casual pace he was doing it for lack of anything else to do more than from any real need.

  Every time he passed by the verandah, he gave her a lingering look.

  It was unnerving. In fact, she'd never been so petrified in her entire life.

  She knew he would never hurt her, so she couldn't understand the quaking in her limbs. But this wasn't her normal knee-jerk reaction when a man cornered or manhandled her. It was far worse. It was a gnawing, numbing trepidation deep inside the most hidden parts of her. Places that hadn't felt anything for half her life.

  She didn't know whether to jump in the car and drive like hell until she got clear to the Yukon or to throw herself on the ground in front of him and cry, "Take me now and get it over with!"

  At least then she wouldn't have this horrible kind of anticipation. Not knowing what he intended to do—or if he intended to do anything at all.

  "You plannin' to avoid me forever?" his voice interrupted her quandary. The sun was going down. She must have fallen asleep on the swing.

  Remi was leaning against the porch rail, holding two glasses of wine. His black hair had been brushed back from his face, emphasizing the strong, masculine angles of his square jaw and long, straight nose. The diamond in his ear gleamed bloodred from the sunset light as he tipped his head awaiting her response.

  "What do you mean?" she stalled, noticing the trim lines of his tall, lean frame, his slim waist and muscular thighs encased in a pair of well-fitting slacks. The man was killer handsome.

  Not only that, but he was a good person, sensitive and thoughtful, protective, and as much as it annoyed her, being organized wasn't really a bad trait in a man.

  She was crazy not to want him like crazy.

  Except she did want him like crazy. Just not like that. And surely not for a relationship. She didn't do relationships.

  So what did that leave?

  "Feeling confused?"

  It was uncanny how he always seemed to be able to read her mind.

  He offered her one of the glasses of wine. She took it, glad for something to do with her hands besides wring them.

  "Yes. Very confused."

  "Dis moi. Talk to me." He indicated the swing and walked over to join her.

  He sat but she preferred to stand. "It was a mistake. What we talked about earlier. I can't do it."

  He took a sip of wine. "Because you're afraid I'll succeed."

  "No. Yes." She shook her head. "No. You won't succeed."

  "You didn't sound so certain earlier."

  She looked down at him in quiet desperation. "You won't. But let's say for argument's sake a miracle happens and I like making love with you. What then?"

  He took another sip. "Then that's a good thing, non? It's nothing to be afraid of."

  "Yes, it is. Because what happens after that?"

  "We do it again?"

  She couldn't help smiling at his predictably male response. "Be serious."

  He smiled back. "I am."

  She kicked his shoe, then sat down beside him. "No, I mean it. You're so big on having a plan for everything. So what's the plan for us?"

  "We do it as many times as we want for as long as we're together."

  "And then we say goodbye?"

  "We say au revoir. New Orleans is my home base. I get back there every so often, between assignments."

  She pushed out a breath. "And that's it."

  There was a short silence, then he said, "And that's it. But you won't be afraid any longer. Someday you'll meet another man, the right man, and you won't have to go through all this again."

  She folded an arm across her stomach and looked away, taking a swallow of wine without tasting it. "What if I don't want another man?"

  This time the silence was much longer. "Has something changed since this morning?"

  "No." She got to her feet, paced a few steps away. Turned. "No. I don't want a relationship, I'm not the kind of person—" She closed her eyes. "It's just—" She opened them and gazed at him pleadingly. "I've never wanted a man before. What if you actually do this thing, take away my dislike for intimacy and give me pleasure? I'm a woman, Remi. After that, any woman would want you. Want to keep you. And that would just complicate both our lives."

  His somber expression said he hadn't thought about that. "It would," he agreed quietly. "And I don't want to hurt you." He held out his hand. "Vien ici."

  She felt weak and at sea and wanted nothing more than to run. Run like hell, away from this situation, away from Remi, away from her whole messed-up life. But she did as he asked, went to him, and he guided her to stand between his knees, took her wineglass and set it along with his on the verandah railing, then linked his fingers with hers.

  "I wish I could offer you more than these fe
w days together. But my job makes it impossible. It would be too dangerous for both of us. Besides—" his mouth turned down in a thin, humorless smile "—if you really knew me, you wouldn' want me for long. I'm one unlovable bastard, and that's the plain truth."

  "I don't believe it for a minute," she protested, wondering why he'd say such an awful thing. "You're the most amazing man I've ever met."

  His smile turned wry. "Which isn't to say I'm lovable. Don' worry, I've worked hard all my life at being anything but."

  "And why's that?" she asked, recognizing a defense tactic when she heard one.

  He slid his arms loosely around her hips and pulled her near. "It's a long, boring story."

  She touched his shoulder, his hair, lifted a raven lock behind his ear. "And we've got all night with nothing to do but talk."

  He tugged her closer still. "But we were talkin' about you."

  "I think we've used that subject all up."

  "Mais, non, I don' think so."

  He looked up at her, his eyes moving over her body all the way up, and suddenly she was acutely aware of what she was wearing. The thin cotton camisole, barely buttoned and showing acres of cleavage, had never seemed immodest before. In fact, modesty had never been an issue with her at all before. She was proud of her body and didn't mind showing it. She'd even been known to earn a necklace or two down on Bourbon Street. It was part of her image—flirty and sassy and a little bit wild.

  But with his smoky eyes on her, his face so close she could feel his warm breath on her skin, his arms holding her there between his powerful legs, she suddenly felt naked. And vulnerable.

  She inhaled deeply to keep the usual panic at bay and felt a whole new kind of panic. One of wanting him to peel away the covering of her camisole and let his life breath pour over her breasts in a hot current, touching her yet not, letting her feel the sweet heat of him without the choking confinement.

  His lips brushed a kiss between her breasts, and she shuddered out the air from her lungs unevenly.

  "Easy, it's all right," he murmured, loosening his grip on her.