SWEET SUSPICION

by Nina Bruhns

She licked at him, sucked his tongue, driving him crazy with her arousingly wanton kiss.

  His whole body was poised on the brink of explosion. How could she do this to him with just a kiss?

  Just a kiss. That was like saying just a nuclear bomb. It didn't even begin to describe the awesomeness of its power—power to wipe out all that had come before, and irrevocably change the future.

  He could feel the keen, sublime tension building in his loins. If she didn't stop…

  "Darlin'," he moaned. "I love what you're doing, but I jus' want you to know—"

  His words cut off as she dragged her moist, skillful tongue around the depths of his mouth, igniting firestorms of sensation all the way down his body. The scorching pleasure circled his belly, homing in on his arousal.

  "It wouldn' be fair, unless you let me return the favor."

  "That's not necessary," she murmured, finding a remote corner of his mouth and plying it with hot velvet, pushing him closer and closer to the edge with every erotic stroke of her talented tongue. He was fast approaching the point of no return.

  His desperate hands shot up and captured her face, fingers tunneling into her hair.

  "Muse," he rasped out in confusion, wanting her to stop. Never wanting her to stop. "Look at me," he commanded when she continued to kiss him.

  Her sultry, half-lidded eyes lifted in question, her kiss-stung lips poised just above his. And suddenly he knew what he should do. With the last fringes of conscious thought, Remi decided to give her a glimpse of the power she held over his body—over him.

  "Watch," he said. "Watch what you do to me, chère." Ecstasy pulsed just beyond the membrane of willpower keeping it at bay, teetering right on the brink of eruption. One heated lick or swipe of her tongue would release it.

  He opened his mouth, inviting her in. With a moan of surrender, he allowed the conflagration of sensation to overtake him, gave himself over to her mastery.

  As he felt the first wave of pleasure ripple through him he murmured, "And whatever you do, don' stop."

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  Muse stared down at Remi's wrung-out but satiated face and wondered what on earth she should do next.

  "Sure I should stop now?" she asked, just in case. She didn't have a lot of experience with this scenario. None, in fact. "Are you okay?"

  "Oh, yeah," he said on a sigh filled with echoes of bliss. "I'm good. No, make that you're good."

  "But I didn't do anything. I don't really understand what just happened."

  Well, of course she knew what had happened. She just wasn't sure how.

  His right eye cracked open and he gave a weak chuckle. "You kissed me, darlin'. That's all it took."

  "But I've kissed you before."

  "Not like that."

  She nodded thoughtfully as he excused himself to the bathroom for a minute.

  What had been so different?

  Regardless of any other problems, she'd always loved kissing Remi. From the first time their lips had touched she'd been helplessly in love with his kiss.

  Perhaps the difference was, now other parts of him had enjoined her devotion as well. Such as his broad shoulders and his cute butt. His nimble mind. His sensitive heart.

  Had he felt all that in her kiss?

  "Vien ici," he said, his arms reaching for her as he slid back into bed. She felt her eyes widen. "You didn' think we were done?" he asked in an amused tone. "Did you?"

  "Um, well … actually—"

  And suddenly she was terrified. Not so much by what he intended to do as by what he might feel within her as he did it.

  Okay, also by what he intended to do.

  "Hell, no wonder you don' like sex." He snuggled up to her, front to front. Propping up on an elbow, he rested his head on his palm, then trailed the fingers of his other hand down her arm and back up again. He gazed down into her eyes. "Wanna kiss some more?"

  Terror turned to surprise. "Do you really want to?"

  "I could kiss you all night, chère," he murmured. "But don' think I'll be that easy every time," he added with a wink. "You jus' caught me off guard."

  Lowering his head, he combed his fingers into her hair and met her lips with his, and gave her another cascade of wonderful, sensual kisses.

  "This time it's your turn," he murmured, and pulled her close.

  She gasped, unable to stop the terror from returning.

  "Whoa, easy," he soothed, rubbing her back with a steady hand. "If you don't want to, that's all right."

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, curling into his chest. "I'd rather you just hold me."

  "Can we sleep like this?"

  "Yes," she whispered.

  She felt him smile against her forehead. "You have no idea how nice it is to finally sleep with you face-to-face."

  She glanced up at him. He was right. This was the first time she could ever remember wanting to sleep in a man's arms. Up until now she'd always preferred being at his back, afraid of that uncomfortable feeling of confinement, restricted by his strong muscles and unrelenting grip on her. Along with what he might do.

  But now, with Remi, she felt only cherished and protected.

  She snuggled up against him, feeling his firm embrace surround her. She held her breath, waiting for the panic to come.

  It didn't. All she experienced was warmth and coziness.

  She sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

  And fell asleep in the circle of his arms.

  * * *

  She was having one heck of a dream.

  In her favorite position, Muse was nestled comfortably at Remi's back. Her breasts squeezed softly up against him and one arm was slung possessively around his waist.

  She smiled in enjoyment. All on its own, her hand was roaming the front of him, slowly gliding over his bare skin.

  Suddenly her eyes sprang open.

  This was no dream!

  Remi's fingers were laced through hers, and it was him moving her hand over his body. She held her breath as he sifted their joined fingers through his coarse chest hair, pausing to rub them languidly over his beaded nipples.

  Farther and farther down his torso he guided her hand. Edging closer and closer to the juncture of his thighs.

  Her heart pounded like thunder, her breath coming in short gulps.

  "Do you have any idea what your touch does to me?" he asked, breaking the sexually charged silence. Letting her know he was aware she'd awakened.

  "I think I have some idea…"

  Slowly, inexorably, he pulled her hand toward his arousal. She tried to tug it away, but he wouldn't let her escape.

  "I want you to know exactly how you affect me. How easily you can control me."

  She gave a gasp of shock when he closed her fingers around him, holding them in place with his hand over hers. "Are you afraid of this?" he asked.

  "No," she whispered. Amazed that it was true.

  "Bon. Then touch me."

  Hard and thick, he seemed ready to explode at her very touch, at every nuance of her softly probing fingers as she slid them over his length.

  He didn't suffer silently. He moaned encouragements, whispered endearments, urged her to explore to her heart's content.

  "You're killin' me, chère," he rasped as she gingerly took his rounded sac in her palm. Groaning long and low, he clenched his teeth.

  "Am I doing it wrong?" she whispered.

  "No, darlin', you've got it exactly right."

  "Then why don't you…?"

  Giving a strangled chuckle, he grasped her hand and moved it up and down over his shaft once. "Can you feel how hard I am?"

  "Yes." She swallowed.

  "Who did that to me?"

  "I did."

  "Do you have any idea how much power you have over me right now? How much control? How badly you could hurt me with a single movement?"

  She swallowed again, tracing her fingernails over his swollen sac and up his erection. His whole body shudd
ered in response.

  "Or how much pleasure your touch brings me? What's in your hand—you know where I want it?"

  She hesitated. "Yes."

  "Where? Say it, Muse."

  "Inside me."

  "That's right, chère," he said. "Inside you. And you know why?"

  This time she stayed silent. Afraid to hear the truth.

  "Not to hurt you or control you, you understand that, non?"

  She gave a wobbly nod against his back.

  "So why would I want to be inside you?"

  "For pleasure?"

  "But I could have that right now if I wanted it, non, chérie? You would willingly give me pleasure if I asked, wouldn't you?"

  "Yes," she said, her fingers tightening around him. She'd give him anything he asked of her. Anything.

  "But I won't ask," he murmured. "Because I don' want you to get the idea that simple pleasure is enough."

  She felt the sting of tears. "It's not?"

  "Not nearly enough. I want something more than my own pleasure, Muse. I'm greedy. I want yours."

  In a single movement he turned to face her and grasped her gently by the arms.

  "When you're ready," he whispered, and kissed her, his lips and tongue telling her she had nothing to fear. He loosened his grip and rubbed his hands slowly up and down her arms, brushing away her trembles.

  "Oh, Remi."

  She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him close. His body was a hot brand, burning into the front of her. Her mound pressed lightly against his hardness, creating an unimagined craving within her.

  "Tonight, when you come to bed," he murmured low so she had to strain to hear, "I'm going to ask you to take off this shirt."

  She swallowed heavily. "You are?"

  He tugged on the hem where his hand rested on her hip. "Slowly. Button by button. I want you completely naked. So I can see your breasts."

  He smoothed his hand up and over her. "I want to touch them. Skin to skin, with nothing between us."

  She was too paralyzed to utter a reply.

  Her nipple pebbled tightly under his palm. Her body was reacting to him more urgently, their strong attraction coaxing out a response, her trust in him overcoming her apprehension.

  He tipped her chin up and locked his gaze with hers. "If you say yes to that, I'm going to ask if I can lick them." He extended his tongue and licked over her lips. "And kiss them and suck them, like I've done to your mouth. And then I'll ask to do it to the rest of you."

  To her amazement, instead of raising a riot of alarm within her, his lustful declarations caused her breasts to ache and an intense hunger to stir deep in her center.

  "I'm just going to ask," he quietly assured. "And I'll respect whichever way you answer."

  She wanted to tell him how he made her feel, to say, Don't wait, do it now.

  "Remi, I—" She stumbled over the words, the unfamiliar emotions making mincemeat of her attempt to verbalize them.

  He laid a finger over her lips. "Don' say anything now. You have all day to think about it. I want you to be sure. Don' say yes unless you're certain it's what you want. If not, I'll understand."

  With that, he slipped from the bed and dressed, leaving her to gather her scattered wits.

  What kind of man gave a woman a whole day's warning of his intent, instead of just rolling on top of her and having his way, especially when she so clearly would give him anything he asked of her?

  An honorable man, she realized. Beneath the roguish, rakish exterior that Remi Beaulieux showed the world beat the heart of a true gentleman.

  * * *

  Later that morning they made the drive to Dev's place as planned, to e-mail Morris about Grace. Afterward, over lunch, Remi listened as Dev told Muse about some nice wrought-iron fences on the estate property, at a big plantation house just up the riverbank, which just happened to be his own ancestral family home. Excited by his descriptions, she talked him into letting her include them in her book. With no references to name or location, of course. With Dev's reassurances, Remi had let her go by herself. She seemed particularly eager to be alone.

  Remi waited for Morris's answering e-mail while shooting the breeze with Dev. When the computer signaled an incoming message, they both sauntered over, figuring it was for him.

  It wasn't. But Dev showed it to him, anyway.

  Remi read the e-mail four times and swore. Merde.

  He glanced at his friend. "This is not good. Where did this information come from?"

  "A contact at the NOPD Eighth District Station."

  "The French Quarter."

  Dev nodded. "Can't you get Morris to do anything?"

  "I thought I had," Remi said disgustedly. "I told him specifically not to let Grace Summerville leave South Carolina."

  "And now she's in New Orleans asking questions and demanding to file a missing persons report on Muse."

  Remi raked his hands through his hair and swore again. "I hadn't pegged Morris as Davies's informant at the field office, but I'm beginning to think I could be wrong."

  "You sure someone in the Bureau is working for Davies?"

  "How else could he have known about the safe house? Not to mention my cover being blown. And now this."

  "Sounds like you better not trust anyone there, Morris included."

  "What the hell am I going to do?"

  "More importantly, what's Muse going to do?"

  He threw Dev a worried look. "Grace or no Grace, there's no way I can let her go back to New Orleans. Better lock up your guns, mon ami, or I could be a dead man. She's not going to like this one bit."

  Dev gave him a smile of sympathy. "She a good shot?"

  "Fourth place in her gun club for pistols. First for rifles," he said miserably, remembering what she'd told him that first day on her apartment stairs. Dieu, didn't that seem like a lifetime ago.

  Dev whistled. "I think you're in trouble, buddy."

  He knew he was in trouble. In a whole lot more ways than one. But at the moment, Grace was the trouble he was most concerned about.

  Muse would be back any moment from her photo-taking jaunt. Maybe having gotten some nice pictures would temper her reaction to the situation with Grace.

  Yeah, right.

  When she sailed through the door all sun-pink and radiant smiles, Remi wanted to do anything but tell her the bad news. They were at an unsteady place in their relationship, and he didn't want to spoil things by having to play the big bad FBI bodyguard role again. He knew how she felt about that—he might as well be playing the Big Bad Wolf.

  But he had no choice, so he took the bull by the horns.

  "Your sister's turned up at the NOPD station in the Quarter, asking questions and demanding the police treat you as a missing person," he announced gravely.

  "What? Oh, no!" Muse leaped off the couch where she'd just taken a seat. "I have to go to her."

  Remi shook his head firmly. "Not possible. You know that."

  "But I have to protect her from Davies!"

  "Not your job. I've already contacted Morris again. He'll make sure she's all right."

  Remi decided not to worry Muse with his suspicions about Morris. There was nothing to be gained. If Morris really was the traitor, then Davies would already know Grace was the sister and not a threat. And hopefully leave her alone. Unless it became obvious she could be used to control her twin's testimony. Which it would if Muse rushed to her.

  Muse's pretty lips thinned. "But it is my job. It's because of me she's in danger."

  "You're not responsible, Muse. It was her choice to come."

  "She is my responsibility. She's my sister."

  "I understand, but—"

  "Do you?" she interrupted hotly. "What do you know about family responsibility? You don't even have a family."

  Remi felt as though he'd been run through with a knife. All he'd done to protect the family he did love—Beau and Grandmère—flashed through his mind. If his real family gave a damn, he'd have done
the same for them. Even his usurping half brother Zeph. Zeph, who'd gotten everything Remi should have.

  His anger spiked. "And you're such an expert on responsibility?" he retorted. "Your idea of responsibility is to let your sister rescue you from trouble! Or blame everything on your father and leave town."

  Her chin went up. She opened her mouth to retort, but instead her eyes filled with tears.

  Ah, hell.

  "I'm sorry," he said and went to her, took her in his arms. "Damn, I'm sorry."

  "No," she whispered in a watery voice. "I deserved that for saying what I did. When I'm upset I say things without thinking."

  "I guess I do, too," he murmured into her hair. "But you may as well go on ahead and get it all out of your system, because I'm still not letting you within a hundred miles of New Orleans."

  She stilled in his arms. "I have to know she's safe, Remi. I have to."

  Unless he wanted a full-scale mutiny on his hands he'd better find a compromise. "All right. We'll risk calling Morris."

  "Use my cell phone," Dev said, pretending he hadn't noticed their intimate embrace. "It's not a hundred percent secure, but I've got it routed so it's pretty tough to trace."

  "Thanks," Remi said, and took the phone from his friend, exchanging glances. They both knew if the dirty agent learned of Remi's connection to Dev, Davies would be that much closer to finding their location. Though, Dev would never tell him a thing no matter what anyone threatened—not that they'd ever get close enough to ask.

  Remi just prayed Morris wasn't the informer.

  * * *

  Okay, so he wasn't a complete gentleman, Muse thought, still feeling a residual sting from Remi's comment on her lack of responsibility. The fact that he was right was completely irrelevant.

  They were in the Porsche cruising down the river road next to the levee, heading in the general direction of their bayou cottage hideaway. The day had turned Turkish-bath hot and humid, but the car's AC was cranked high and a crisp zydeco tune played on the radio.

  Oh, what the hell. The man had only pointed out the obvious. And her comment had also been mean. Yeah, meaner.

  She leaned over the gearshift and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for calling Morris. I feel a lot better, now that I know he's taking care of her. Sorry I got cranky."