“Are you coming?”
Her face was grim as she followed him, staying a few paces back when he crossed the courtyard.
At the alley, he paused and looked around. They seemed to be alone. Quickly he approached her vehicle, stooped down and felt along the edge of the bumper, then continued around the side of the car. When he found what he’d been looking for, he felt a mixture of satisfaction and annoyance.
Turning, he held out a small plastic rectangle.
She took an involuntary step closer. “What is it?”
“A GPS tracking device.”
Her breath caught.
“They used that to follow you. That’s why they could sit out front and wait for you to drive somewhere.”
She shuddered. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Put it back.”
She swallowed hard. “Why?”
“So they’ll think you’re still here, even if you’re not.”
“But...”
He shook his head. “Let’s go back inside.”
She stepped away, giving him room as he entered the courtyard again, then the house.
Inside, they stood in the darkened room, a feeling of anticipation zinging between them.
“Sit down,” she said.
Fine, he thought. If she wanted to postpone the touching part, he’d give her some space—for now. But he could feel the need building inside him and knew that he couldn’t let it go forever. He needed to find out if he’d had some kind of psychotic episode back in her shop.
He canceled that thought. He wasn’t going to try to fool himself. He wasn’t leaving this house without touching her.
But for the moment he lowered himself into the chair where he’d been sitting when she arrived.
She took the sofa, her wary gaze on him.
“Do you believe your father about the gambling?”
“I think so.”
“Which leaves us with the question, why do you think those men showed up at your shop?”
“Do you think you can find out?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “You think the man I’m going to marry is responsible for your brother’s death.”
“You’re not going to marry him,” he answered, punching out the words.
She reared back. “Why not?”
“You know why not.”
He’d issued a challenge. Before she could react, he was out of his chair and across the room. Pulling her to her feet, he wrapped his arms around her.
The shock of the contact made them both gasp. It was like the first time, only more intense. He knew she’d been going to ask him for information about John Reynard. Now she didn’t have to ask. It was in his mind for the taking. His import-export business was a front for bringing illegal goods into the country. He had insinuated himself into New Orleans society to make his place in the city invulnerable. He had men murdered when he thought that was the best course of action.
She moaned when she saw the pictures he’d seen of the man who had been buried in the swamp for twenty years.
“Sorry,” he said when words were almost impossible.
She’d told him she’d visited her father. He hadn’t known how the meeting had affected her. Now he felt her pain and her bewilderment at the way her parent had just treated her.
Was it always like that? he asked.
Not as bad when my mom was alive.
I’d like to strangle him.
He’s a sad old man.
That’s charitable of you.
The conversation cut off as physical sensations made it difficult to focus on anything besides the two of them, the feel of his body pressed to hers and hers to his. Because both sets of sensations played through each of them.
She felt the insistence of his erection pressing against her middle, and at the same time he felt the way that part of him swelled with blood, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts.
He reached between them, cupping her breast, stroking his thumb across the hardened tip. The feel of her made him ache more painfully, and at the same time he felt her reaction, the pleasure of his cupping and stroking her and the way the sensations shot downward through her
Her face was grim as she followed him, staying a few paces back when he crossed the courtyard.
At the alley, he paused and looked around. They seemed to be alone. Quickly he approached her vehicle, stooped down and felt along the edge of the bumper, then continued around the side of the car. When he found what he’d been looking for, he felt a mixture of satisfaction and annoyance.
Turning, he held out a small plastic rectangle.
She took an involuntary step closer. “What is it?”
“A GPS tracking device.”
Her breath caught.
“They used that to follow you. That’s why they could sit out front and wait for you to drive somewhere.”
She shuddered. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Put it back.”
She swallowed hard. “Why?”
“So they’ll think you’re still here, even if you’re not.”
“But...”
He shook his head. “Let’s go back inside.”
She stepped away, giving him room as he entered the courtyard again, then the house.
Inside, they stood in the darkened room, a feeling of anticipation zinging between them.
“Sit down,” she said.
Fine, he thought. If she wanted to postpone the touching part, he’d give her some space—for now. But he could feel the need building inside him and knew that he couldn’t let it go forever. He needed to find out if he’d had some kind of psychotic episode back in her shop.
He canceled that thought. He wasn’t going to try to fool himself. He wasn’t leaving this house without touching her.
But for the moment he lowered himself into the chair where he’d been sitting when she arrived.
She took the sofa, her wary gaze on him.
“Do you believe your father about the gambling?”
“I think so.”
“Which leaves us with the question, why do you think those men showed up at your shop?”
“Do you think you can find out?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “You think the man I’m going to marry is responsible for your brother’s death.”
“You’re not going to marry him,” he answered, punching out the words.
She reared back. “Why not?”
“You know why not.”
He’d issued a challenge. Before she could react, he was out of his chair and across the room. Pulling her to her feet, he wrapped his arms around her.
The shock of the contact made them both gasp. It was like the first time, only more intense. He knew she’d been going to ask him for information about John Reynard. Now she didn’t have to ask. It was in his mind for the taking. His import-export business was a front for bringing illegal goods into the country. He had insinuated himself into New Orleans society to make his place in the city invulnerable. He had men murdered when he thought that was the best course of action.
She moaned when she saw the pictures he’d seen of the man who had been buried in the swamp for twenty years.
“Sorry,” he said when words were almost impossible.
She’d told him she’d visited her father. He hadn’t known how the meeting had affected her. Now he felt her pain and her bewilderment at the way her parent had just treated her.
Was it always like that? he asked.
Not as bad when my mom was alive.
I’d like to strangle him.
He’s a sad old man.
That’s charitable of you.
The conversation cut off as physical sensations made it difficult to focus on anything besides the two of them, the feel of his body pressed to hers and hers to his. Because both sets of sensations played through each of them.
She felt the insistence of his erection pressing against her middle, and at the same time he felt the way that part of him swelled with blood, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts.
He reached between them, cupping her breast, stroking his thumb across the hardened tip. The feel of her made him ache more painfully, and at the same time he felt her reaction, the pleasure of his cupping and stroking her and the way the sensations shot downward through her
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