SWEET SUSPICION

by Nina Bruhns

  "I want to touch you again," she whispered, leaning down for another kiss. Brushing her fingertips over his nipple.

  He moaned softly into her mouth. "You're going to test me, aren't you, chère?"

  "How far will you let me go?"

  "As far as you take me."

  She liked the sound of that. This was new for her. A completely different kind of sexual experience. One where she set the limits. For the first time in her life she wanted to explore the possibilities of the physical.

  Starting with her lover's body.

  So she put her hands on him, touched him all over, caressed his limbs and torso, watched his eyes glaze over with pleasure, heard his breath grow labored, felt his arousal thicken beneath her.

  She felt powerful, in charge.

  Her movements became more sure, more decisive. More demanding. She leaned down to kiss him, lacing her fingers through his and bringing his hands above his head. She held him fast, enjoying how he moved under her as he rubbed his chest up against her breasts, bucked his hardness against her belly. She kissed him hard and long, fighting him when he made to unlace his fingers and lower his hands to her. Their panting breaths mingled in his groan.

  Suddenly she realized what she was doing. She jerked back, staring at him in horror and contrition.

  "I'm sorry," she gasped, pulling her hands from his. He stared in confusion, then comprehension filled his eyes. He took her hands back, wove his fingers with hers and raised them above his head. "Don' even go there, honey. There's a big difference."

  "But I'm forcing you."

  His lips curved. "You hear me sayin' no?"

  "No," she whispered.

  "Am I yellin' for help?"

  She shook her head, feeling the beginnings of a smile.

  "Don't think for a minute this is the same thing that happened to you. The difference is I gave you permission."

  She looked down at his handsome face, his perceptive eyes, and understood for the first time it hadn't been her fault. Her soul filled with an overwhelming relief.

  His sensual mouth tipped up for more kisses. She obliged with a joyful sigh. "Anything I want?" she murmured.

  "Tout quoi ti veut. Anything."

  Slowly she sat up, bringing his hands with her, placing them on her thighs.

  "In that case…"

  She caught his gaze and held it as she slid his hands up her legs, over her hips, up her midriff, stopping just under her breasts. She watched his eyes close, then quickly glance toward the nightstand. On it were neatly lined up his Beretta in its holster, his handcuffs and wallet, Dev's cell phone, the extra gun he'd lent her … and a short stack of small square packets.

  "Take off your panties."

  Her pulse stalled, then zinged.

  For a moment she faltered, floundering in the unfamiliar emotions invading her, the unexpected sensations flooding her body. The fire in her breasts, the sharp need between her legs, the almost painful excitement in her belly.

  Then he touched her. Slid his fingers from hers and cupped her breasts. Rubbed his thumbs over the achy, hardened tips.

  She scrambled to wriggle out of the confining silk, returned to straddle him, to feel his hands on her. All over her, like hot sunshine and cold snow all at the same time.

  She shivered and sweated and moaned and loved everything he did to her. Loved the sensation of him under her, moving between her thighs, blazing like an inferno against the most intimate part of her, skin to skin.

  He pulled her to her hands and knees, kissing her from below, kissing down her chin and throat, licking, nipping, coming ever closer to her breasts. When his mouth finally, finally closed over one pebble-hard tip she thought she would die of pleasure.

  She cried his name, wanting, wanting more.

  He tongued first one, then the other, holding them, squeezing them with his fingers, suckling them so she saw stars.

  "Touch yourself," he murmured, and guided her hand between her legs. "Show me how you like it."

  Her eyes went wide.

  "I know you've done it. Show me."

  "I can't."

  "I want to know how to please you. Teach me." His fingers slid over her and she gasped. To her shock, they found wetness there. "Like this?" he asked.

  Blushing furiously, she managed to nod, breathless, boneless, unable to protest when his fingers nudged hers to help him discover her most sensitive, receptive, hidden spots.

  He was a quick study.

  Her whole body trembled, quivering with electric sensation, building fast and tumultuous as a summer storm, crashing down with a flash of blinding pleasure that stole the breath from her lungs and collapsed her limbs. She lay upon him panting.

  And rose to consciousness to the feel of him grasping her hips, lifting them and slowly sliding her onto his long, thick arousal.

  She'd never felt anything so good in her life.

  "Okay?" he asked.

  "Wonderful." She sighed with pleasure, stirring herself to move with him. To kiss him.

  "C'mon now, you're in control here."

  "You take over for a while."

  She felt him smile against her mouth. "If you insist." And he did.

  Brilliantly.

  Rousingly.

  Shudderingly.

  He felt so right; together they felt so right. The sensations he created within her were amazing, like nothing she'd ever dreamed were possible. She gave herself up to him completely. Surrendered to the bliss of his body and the unflinching possession he claimed of her own.

  He thrust and touched and kissed and guided, and all she could do was hang on for the ride, wanting it to go on forever but craving the sweet conclusion they both were speeding toward far too quickly.

  "Vien!" he cried, and she went with him, tumbling over the precipice, calling his name again and again in breathless disbelief that she could ever feel this much pleasure.

  And as they finally crumpled to a sweat-slick heap of tangled arms and legs, kissing each other with sated joy and winded devotion, Dev's cell phone rang.

  * * *

  Remi froze where he lay, instantly alert. Bien, as alert as a man could be under the circumstances.

  Muse looked up from his chest, her blue eyes soft, face flushed and radiant and her blond hair a mess. He'd never seen anything so pretty in all his days.

  The phone rang again, yanking him out of love's afterglow.

  "It must be Dev," Muse murmured. "Wonder why he's calling?"

  Dev would never call unless it was an emergency. Remi grabbed the phone and punched the Talk button. "Dis moi."

  "There have been further developments with Muse's sister," Dev said without preamble.

  This was not what Remi needed right now. "What kind of developments?"

  "Some New Orleans cop named Creole Levalois has gone rogue, trying to hunt down James Davies in order to settle a personal score."

  "What does that have to do with Grace?"

  "Apparently he met up with Grace and has convinced her to pose as Muse around the Quarter, trying to lure Gary Fox out of hiding. I assume as a way to get to Davies."

  Remi cursed roundly. "This from your contact at the Eighth again?"

  "Yep."

  "Anything new from Morris?"

  "Nope."

  Damn, damn, damn. "All right. Thanks, old man."

  He hung up and returned the phone to the nightstand, wondering what the hell he was going to tell Muse.

  She was peering up at him, alerted by the mention of her sister's name. "What's happened to Grace?"

  He put his arms around her, tried to rub her back. "Nothing's happened to her. Not exactly. But she hasn't left New Orleans yet."

  "What? Why not?" Muse sat up, grabbing his hand. "Remi, what's going on?"

  He let his gaze move over her, his beautiful lover with her wild golden halo and succulent breasts shaped like two ripe mangoes begging to be plucked. And sighed with the certain knowledge he was about to be denied his fervent desir
e to do just that.

  "She's joined up with some rogue cop from the NOPD, and is pretending to be you all over the Quarter."

  Horror permeated Muse's face. "Why? Why would she do that?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know. Dev said Morris hasn't been in touch."

  "It's him. Morris has to be Davies's informer. We've got to go to New Orleans. Warn Grace." She tugged on his hand, pulling him up.

  He pulled her back on the bed. "We don't know anything for sure. There could be lots of explanations why Morris hasn't been in touch and why Grace is with this cop."

  "Masquerading as me?"

  "Yeah."

  "Like what?"

  He cleared his throat. "I don't know, maybe Morris got appendicitis, too. Maybe this cop is one of your old boyfriends and Grace took a shine to him. Maybe—" He stopped at Muse's furious look.

  "I only have one old boyfriend, and Grace doesn't 'take a shine' to men," she mimicked angrily. "She's not the type. Especially if he's anything like—" This time she stopped.

  He set his jaw. "Like me?" he asked coolly, sliding from the bed and heading for the bathroom.

  "Like a rogue," she completed loudly, but he knew better than to believe that's what she'd intended to say. "Grace isn't into rogues."

  "Like you are, you mean?"

  "I refuse to have this inane discussion while Grace is in danger of being tortured and killed. I'm going."

  She got up and had almost made it to the bedroom door when Remi caught up with her.

  "You're not going anywhere," he said, grasping her arm.

  "Let go of me, Beaulieux. You can't stop me."

  "Oh, but I can. And I will, if I have to."

  Her eyes sparked with anger. "What if Grace finds the tape and gives it to this rogue cop? What if the cop works for Davies?"

  She didn't have to complete the thought. Remi got the idea. If Levalois was dirty and only using Grace to retrieve the video, he'd kill her when he got hold of it.

  Still, that didn't explain the masquerade. Or why he might work for a man he had a personal vendetta against. It didn't add up.

  "Morris has promised to take care of Grace and he will," Remi assured her.

  "But what if he's the mole?"

  "Then Davies already knows Grace isn't you and doesn't know a thing about any stolen video. Morris has no reason to let Grace get hurt. It only draws attention to himself and the case."

  She jerked her arm from his grasp but didn't move. "I guess you have a point," she said grudgingly.

  "Muse, I can't let you go to New Orleans. You have to see that. It's too dangerous."

  "But my sister—"

  "She'll be fine. I'm sure Morris and Simmons have talked to her by now and she's packing her bags for home. There's no choice here. We have to stick to my plan."

  "I want to call Morris."

  Remi ground his teeth. The woman was impossible. Didn't she see he was only doing this to keep her safe?

  No, she only cared about her sister. Who did that remind him of?

  "All right, fine. We'll call him."

  Remi didn't know why it angered him so much that she'd choose concern for Grace over trusting his judgment. After all, Grace was blood kin and it was perfectly natural Muse should worry about her.

  Nonetheless, he punched in the number with unnecessary violence and snapped at the receptionist who answered the call.

  Maybe it had something to do with the fact that up until ten minutes ago he'd been experiencing the most amazing night of his life with this woman, and now she was insulting him, trying to tie knots in his plan and couldn't wait to get away from him.

  All of which served to remind him once again of the perfidy of emotional relationships.

  In the end the other person always chose someone else more important to them, and Remi was left holding his heart in his hand.

  He wordlessly passed the phone to Muse when Morris came on the line.

  Dev was right to avoid women completely. Remi'd have to seriously consider adopting the policy himself.

  He looked at the naked woman standing so close to him, and had never felt so alone. The lovespell surrounding them earlier had been broken, the warm feelings between them shattered. He fought back the urge to take her in his arms, hug her tight and tell her everything would be all right.

  Because she didn't want that from him.

  She handed back the phone without a word, and he didn't ask what Morris had told her. He could see she'd resigned herself to staying and that was good enough for now.

  Yeah, he'd managed to sweet-talk her into his bed, and they'd had a great time. But you couldn't sweet-talk a woman into having feelings for you if she didn't. It was as simple as that.

  Which was just as well. Because any kind of relationship between Remi Beaulieux and Muse Summerville beyond here and now was just plain impossible.

  No matter how deeply he felt about her.

  The thought was so depressing he didn't even protest when she silently turned on a heel, stalked out of his room into her own and closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  Muse lay for a long time in her lonely bed before falling asleep, thinking about Grace and worrying herself sick.

  She could kill Remi. She was devastated by this inflexible, controlling side of the man she thought was different from all the rest. In bed he was a dream come true, but with clothes on he insisted on calling all the shots regardless of her feelings, and refused to listen to her opinion or concerns.

  How could he be so nurturing when it came to making love and so insensitive when it came to her worries about her sister?

  It wasn't the sex, and it wasn't Remi's job keeping them apart. It was his unerring need to be in charge—a need she couldn't live with. Despite his physical warmth and wonderful sexual understanding, he was too controlling. Always, it was his way or no way.

  What could it hurt to drive to New Orleans and speak to Grace for five minutes, to explain what was going on and then leave as quickly as they'd come? Davies would never be the wiser, and then she'd know her twin was safe.

  But no, Mr. Macho FBI Agent couldn't deviate from his precious plan. Grace didn't figure in the plan, therefore Grace was out of luck.

  Muse understood perfectly that having a well-thought-out strategy was a good thing sometimes, and certain people needed the security of always knowing where they were headed. Considering his background, it wasn't surprising Remi was one of those people. But not Muse. Okay, running for your life might be one time having a plan was smart. However, you still had to be flexible about things.

  Nothing ever went according to plan. At least in her life it didn't. Flexibility and spontaneity were a must.

  She didn't think those words were even in Remi's vocabulary.

  Punching her pillow, she turned over for the hundredth time since climbing into her cold bed, trying to get comfortable. Which was tough because her pillow was soaking wet.

  There wasn't a man on earth more wrong for her than the inflexible, plan-obsessed, gone-tomorrow Special Agent Remi Beaulieux.

  So why did she miss him so damn much?

  And why, oh, why had this happened on the most wonderful night of her entire life?

  Staring at the ceiling, she let the tears trickle down her cheeks unimpeded. Best to let it all out tonight. Let the memories of their lovemaking flood her mind, recalling the joy and happiness he'd shown her she could experience with a man. Concentrate on the past night with him.

  Not on the fact that she knew with sinking certainty no other man would ever be able to take his place.

  Or that come morning she'd have to pretend none of it had ever happened.

  Because it was that or lose her sanity completely when he moved on to his next case, leaving her behind.

  * * *

  Remi did his best not to think about what was happening with Muse, but didn't have a lot of success. Sleep came only in fits and
starts. After Muse went to her own room, he tossed and turned, unable to get away from the scent of her and their lovemaking, or the overwhelming ache of wanting her back. He needed her sleeping next to him in his bed.

  He was also unable to stop checking the security camera monitor to make sure she was safe in her room. With his protectee sleeping every night until now snug up against him, he'd forgotten what a bitch 24/7 surveillance normally was.

  And he was worried about Davies.

  He'd told Muse they had at least a day or two before yesterday's phone call to Morris could connect them to Dev, but one should never be complacent about such things. Especially after phoning Morris again last night.

  As soon as possible Remi wanted to implement Plan B. Which meant getting out of the cottage first thing tomorrow.

  And going home to Verdigris.

  * * *

  The next morning Remi awoke feeling like crap.

  He missed Muse like hell. He wanted her back. In his bed. In his life. Speaking to him.

  The silence during breakfast was deafening, broken only by the beep-beep-beep of the security monitors.

  He was sorry to have to keep Muse from going to her sister, but it was the only thing he could do. His job was to protect her life until James Davies was behind bars, and no other considerations could be allowed to come into play.

  He could not be swayed by the tears she was trying so hard to hide from him or the loss of the incredible closeness they had found last night.

  "Come on, Muse. This is ridiculous," he finally blurted out, as she quietly washed the breakfast dishes. "Didn't last night mean anything to you?"

  She spun and gave him a recriminating look. It broke his heart to see her eyes all puffy and red, her lashes spiked with moisture.

  "That's not fair. You know it did."

  "Then talk to me."

  "About what?"

  "About whether I can have a kiss good morning."

  She turned back to the dishes. "That wouldn't be a good idea."

  He rose and went to her, stood close so he could smell her fruity shampoo and the unique scent of her that always made him dizzy with want. "Why not?"

  Her spine straightened, and he barely resisted running his knuckles along its elegant curve. She was wearing another of those sexy summer dresses he loved so much, short and shapely in a bright shade of violet. Like the irises his grandmère used to grow in her garden at Terrebeau. He wondered if they were in bloom right now. Did irises bloom in August?