by J. C. Wilder
Now she was really surrounded by him.
She couldn’t prevent the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. Her nipples hardened as she rubbed the thick lather over her breasts before moving to her stomach then lower to her thighs.
She knew well the signs of arousal. Vivian was a woman who was well in tune with her body and its needs. Thanks to months on the road and a lack of interest in sex, she’d not indulged in a single sexual episode, not even touching herself. Consequently she felt ready to explode.
Thanks to him…
She closed her eyes. What would one little orgasm hurt? She certainly needed it now more than ever before.
Her fingers slid through soapy curls to delve into the sensitive flesh it protected. She leaned against the tiled wall as her strokes grew bolder. Circling her aroused flesh, her breathing grew strained as tension spiraled higher. She cried out as a powerful orgasm washed over her body.
Legs wobbly, she sank to the floor of the shower, warm water raining down on her head. Her body hummed with satisfaction, happy to know that her brain was still alive at least. As her pulse slowed and her breathing returned to normal, she realized that she wanted more, much more.
Thanks to Sinjin.
Chapter Six
Sinjin barely resisted the urge to reach over the bar and throttle Brent Draven, the New Orleans detective who’d been flirting with Vivian for the past hour. Shortly after the Chat had reopened under Sinjin’s command, Brent had developed the habit of stopping in once or twice a week for dinner and a single beer before heading home.
The detective was now on his third beer.
Vivian approached the end of the bar where Brent sat. She gave the detective a big smile as she slid her empty water glass over the bar to Julius for a refill.
Dressed in the requisite Chat uniform, on her feet were the torturous high heels that showed her long legs to their best advantage. Her skin glowed with radiant health and Sinjin knew well why that was. He’d sensed the subtle change in the sexual energy that emanated from her skin. During the daylight hours, she’d had some sort of powerful sexual release and it had stirred her energy to a peak. Was there another man?
Vivian tipped her head back and gave a delighted laugh, the sound sending ripples of pure sensation down his spine. The dark-haired detective certainly seemed interested in his lovely hostess. His gaze was fastened on her face as he spoke, the signs of his arousal there for all to see. No, this wouldn’t do at all. There was no room for the detective in their relationship.
Sinjin hung a dishtowel over the rack and approached the twosome.
“My brother, Michael, should be able to help you out,” Brent said. “He works in Vice and he’s well acquainted with the more esoteric side of New Orleans.”
“That would be fabulous.” Vivian laid a hand on his arm and gave it a friendly squeeze. “I’m really in dire straits for this information. People seem to be reluctant to talk much about this area of voodoo. Can you give me his number?”
“Sure.” Brent leaned toward her and Sinjin was annoyed to see that Vivian didn’t step away as she had with him the previous night. “Can I give you my number as well?” He put his hand over hers, his thumb stroking her soft skin.
“Well—”
Sinjin stepped up to the bar. “Vivian, can ye please grab a fresh bottle of disinfectant from the supply closet?” His voice came out a little harsher than he’d intended.
“Sure thing.” Her expression was startled, almost guilty and she stepped away from the detective.
Both men watched her disappear into the kitchen before they faced one another, their gazes clashing.
“Draven.”
“St. James.” He lifted his beer in a mock salute.
“Flirting with my employees again?”
Brent’s brow rose, his surprise evident. He shrugged. “It’s never bothered you in the past.”
Sinjin was well aware of the detective’s sexual prowess with several of his waitresses. Even with the scar that marred his temple and cheek, Brent Draven was very popular with his female employees. Tracey said it gave him a sexy, dangerous look that attracted the girls like crazy. One thing was for sure, the detective was right, it had never bothered him before.
“Well it does this time.”
Brent set his bottle down on the bar. “I think this is a decision that the lady needs to make for herself.”
“What lady, what decision?” Vivian reappeared with a spray bottle, which she handed to Sinjin.
Brent leaned back, his smile welcoming as he gave her a bold glance. “Just talking about a mutual friend.”
Did his gaze linger on her breasts? Sinjin wanted to reach across the bar and thump the detective over the head with his own beer bottle.
“Okay then.” Vivian picked up her refilled glass. “Please don’t forget to leave your brother’s number for me, Brent. I really appreciate it.” She flashed him a smile, practically ignoring Sinjin before she walked back to her station.
The detective followed her with his gaze. “She’s a beautiful woman. She strikes me as one worth fighting for.”
“Aye, that she is.”
“And I’m leaving the choice up to her.” Brent turned and picked up his bottle, raising it in Sinjin’s direction again, his expression mocking. “May the best man…win.”
* * * * *
Vivian swiped the credit card through the machine then punched in the amount of the bill. She was tired but it was a good tired. It was almost one-thirty a.m. and the bar was still full, but the restaurant was almost empty. There were only two tables of customers and the waitress had been called into the nightclub to lend a hand so Viv had agreed to play waitress for them. They were almost ready for their check and she still had to break down the hostess stand, then she was done for the night. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could be in bed by three and up by noon to begin the great voodoo research caper.
The machine beeped and Vivian glanced down.
TRANSMISSION ERROR
She hit the “clear” button. The screen flashed.
PLEASE RUN CARD THROUGH AGAIN
She swiped the card again and keyed the amount before hitting “enter” to send it off.
DIALING
“Well, work this time, darn it,” she muttered.
A newspaper lay beside the register and she picked it up to toss in the trash when the headline caught her eye.
SLASHER STRIKES AGAIN
She frowned and scanned the article, noting the reference to the woman who’d been found dead in the French Quarter. Judging from the article, this murder had occurred just eight blocks away from the Chat. The body had been left in a dumpster and lay undiscovered for over twenty-four hours. The newspaper mentioned the murders had occurred within a few hours of each other. Were they connected?
So far the NOPD had opted to remain virtually silent, only stating that an investigation was underway and they couldn’t comment until it was complete.
Vivian folded the paper and dropped it in the trash. Outside on Bourbon Street, the crowds still gathered. Some walked to unknown destinations while others loitered in small groups, talking and laughing with friends. It would be easy to kill someone here in the heart of the French Quarter. Many of the side streets were narrow and some were poorly lit once you got away from the center of the district. New Orleans was a city of nooks and crannies and there were secrets hidden within its depths.
Dangers aside, there was an energy to the city like nothing else she’d ever felt. She loved New York and it would always be home for her, but New Orleans felt very comfortable like a long-lost friend. Possibly comfortable enough to put down roots and stay awhile.
She smiled as the thought took hold. For the first time, it felt as if her journey was almost over. Maybe she should buy a cute little house in the Vieux Carré and have beignets and chicory coffee in the mornings. There was so much to see and experience here—
And don’t forget Sinjin…
She bi
t her lip. Yes, there was him as well. What was she going to do about her growing attraction to the handsome bartender? As she told him last night, she was far too old for him. He needed someone younger, less jaded by life and armed with better thighs.
The machine dinged again and the printer spewed out a receipt. She reached for the paper when the hair on the back of her neck prickled as if someone had breathed on it.
Curious, she glanced around the restaurant, looking for the source of her unease. The occupants of both of her tables were finishing their drinks, but none were looking for her. She glanced at the bar. Julius was chatting with a lovely blonde and several others lingered over their drinks. Sinjin was nowhere to be seen.
Vivian tore off the receipt and tucked it into the leather binder along with a pen. Strolling toward the table, she glanced out the large glass windows that looked out onto the bustling street, trying to discover what was giving her the heebie-jeebies. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
She reached the table and presented the bill with a wide smile before retreating to an unoccupied corner of the restaurant to peer out the windows again.
The street was well lit and the crowds continued moving to and fro. No one was paying the slightest bit of attention to her or the brightly lit windows of the Chat. Directly across the street was an empty storefront currently under renovation. The windows were covered in heavy brown paper and the light above the doorway was out.
Bonnee had mentioned it was going to be a coffee and pastry shop. When Vivian had come into work before dark, she’d seen activity as the workers finished for the day, but now it looked quiet. Her gaze narrowed as a sudden shift in the shadows drew her attention back to the darkened doorway.
Or was it?
She stepped behind a large potted fern, using the abundance of greenery to block some of the interior lighting thus enabling her to see across the street better. There, in the shadows of the doorway, stood a figure staring at the open front doors of the Chat Noir. She frowned. Why would someone stand in the darkness and stare at a restaurant? Was it a friend of Sinjin’s? Foe?
“Miss?”
Vivian jumped and had to bat a huge leaf out of her face as one of her customers approached.
“I’m sorry,” she forced a laugh. “I thought someone had dropped some napkins back here.” She stepped from her hiding spot.
“We’d like our check, please,” the woman said.
“Sure, just a few seconds.” Vivian hustled over to the register to compile their bill before presenting it to the table. Keeping an eye on them, she stepped into her previous spot and peered at the doorway of the soon-to-be coffee shop.
The spectator was gone.
Sinjin glanced at the door for the hundredth time. Where was Elena? It was almost one-thirty and she’d yet to make an appearance. He picked up a case of beer as Vivian breezed by, face forward, a receipt in her hands as she headed for the last occupied table. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air behind her.
Before Draven had left, he’d seen the two of them, heads together as he’d handed her a slip of paper. It grated to not know exactly what was written on it. Had the detective slid her his phone number along with that of his brother? He transferred the bottles of beer into the cooler. Over his dead body would she get involved with a man like Draven.
A rush of energy across his skin heralded the arrival of Elena. He allowed the cooler door to swing shut as he turned to see her approaching the bar.
Black leather pants clung to her slender muscular limbs with a duster-style leather coat sweeping behind her. A creamy buckskin vest, the low neckline showing off the shadowed valley of her breasts, completed her outfit. At another time he would have appreciated her appearance and contemplated how to get her into bed. But now he felt nothing other than mild interest when he looked at her.
Instead his gaze flicked to Vivian. She stood by the credit card machine, her narrowed gaze definitely hostile as she followed Elena’s progress through the waiting area toward the bar.
This woman, a woman he hadn’t even bedded yet, hell, he’d barely kissed her, had ruined him for every other woman on the planet. A vague sense of panic propelled him from behind the bar. “Elena.”
A quizzical smile graced her face, her brow raised as she glanced down. “For me?”
He looked to see the empty case dangling from his fingertips. He grinned and set it on one of the stools. “Not unless ye want to go to work.”
She cocked her hip, placing her hand on the slim curve and drawing his attention to her body. “As much pleasure as I’m sure it would be to work under you, I’ll have to pass.”
As far as making a pass went, that was pretty good, he had to give her that. His smile was big. “Yer loss.”
“Mmm.” She opened her coat to let him see a manila envelope in one of the roomy interior pockets. “Shall we adjourn upstairs and discuss business?”
“Aye. After ye.”
She nodded and walked toward the steps and Sinjin couldn’t resist a backward glance at Vivian. Still standing at the credit card machine, a receipt in her hand, she stared out the front window, her expression perturbed.
He followed her gaze into the street and noticed nothing amiss. The usual crowds traversed the sidewalks, cups in hand as they enjoyed the evening in New Orleans.
“Vivian,” he called.
She looked at him then past him, her eyes narrowing the moment she caught sight of Elena heading for the steps.
“Wait for me, I’ll escort ye to yer hotel,” he said.
“Sure you won’t be too busy?” Sarcasm laced her voice.
Sinjin saw that Elena waited for him at the bottom of the steps, her expression amused. “I think you’re in trouble, tiger,” she said.
He ignored her. “I’ll fit ye in,” he said to Vivian.
Elena chuckled and Sinjin could feel Vivian’s eyes boring holes into his back. An imp caused him to place his hand at the small of the werewolf’s back as they moved up the steps.
The woman leaned toward him. “You are in so far over your head and you don’t even know it yet, do you?”
“What are ye going on about?”
“Your girlfriend. She won’t be too happy with you, my friend.”
Habit made him reply, “Nae, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“What is she then?” Elena moved away from him as they entered the familiar clutter of his office. “Another in a long line of flings?”
He rolled his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable. “Ye make it sound as if I go through women left and right,” he muttered.
“You did when you first arrived in New Orleans.” Elena removed her coat, revealing smooth shoulders and muscular arms. On her left arm she had a tattoo of a heart pierced with a dagger.
“Ye’ve been listening to stories, I take it?” He swept a stack of invoices, payroll receipts and catalogs into the top drawer of his desk.
“As you have about my family.” She withdrew the envelope from her coat pocket. “I needed to know more about the man I might be doing business with. So I made a few subtle inquiries about your character and standing in the preternatural community.”
Sinjin sat behind his desk, trying not to show his irritation. He would have done the same thing if he’d been in her position, so why did it annoy him so much that she’d enquired about him? “Did ye find out anything interesting?”
“You’re well-respected by most. Your word is your bond and you can be trusted.” She tossed the envelope on the desk between them. “Some also believe that you’re crazy as a loon. Living in the wilds of northern Scotland, alone for most of the time. Some say that you went voluntarily, while others believe that your friends forced you into hiding.”
He knew what the preternatural community thought of him and it didn’t faze him one bit. He made the choices he made because they were right at the time. He would make no excuses nor would he respond to her statement.
“You also went through women like a madma
n when you first came to New Orleans after losing the love of your life.”
“Ye’re verra thorough.” He reached for the envelope.
“It’s understandable.” Her fingers closed over his, halting him. Their gazes met and he saw pain in the depths of her dark brown eyes. “Your reaction. It’s only normal to want to experience the thrill life has to offer after the death of one so close to you, to revel in your ability to just be.” Elena released him and stepped away as if her revelations had made her uncomfortable.
Somewhere in the depths of her past she’d experienced the loss of her heart’s desire, as had he. Silently he acknowledged the shared bond of pain between them as he withdrew the pages and laid them out on the desk. Ruthlessly he forced his attention back to the task at hand.
There were four pages of photographs that were printed from a computer onto photo quality paper. Each one showed a different page of what appeared to be an old book. Sinjin reached into his desk and pulled out a magnifying glass. Turning his lamp onto the highest setting, he selected one to study.
The handwriting was old-fashioned, probably middle 1800s. If the book was genuine, it was one of the copies as the original had probably disintegrated years ago. The pages were well preserved, the writing black, but beginning to fade around the edges. As he scanned the text, one word caught his eye.
Niall.
He stopped to read the sentence.
My son, Niall was born two days ago. He is such a healthy boy and he sleeps well already. Manfred shows little interest in his child. Instead, he eyes him with great distrust and I fear for the child’s life.
Sinjin sat back. There was no doubt that this book was the diary. Very few knew that the were-cat Renault was Mikhail’s biological son. Certainly, none would have known it when this copy of the diary was crafted in the 1800s, as the preternatural world had believed Mikhail’s son to be dead. Renault’s parentage had only been revealed eighteen months earlier.