reached down for the bag on the floor by her chair.
“I’ll get that for you,” he quickly offered.
He moved closer, bending to pick up the bulky shoulder bag. She froze as he straightened, his arm grazing hers, his nose brushing past her hair for a deep inhalation.
Jacques’s senses swam with the perfume of her scent. Its seductive familiarity knotted him up into a hard ache of longing and desire he couldn’t begin to understand. But he knew it. He’d felt the strange, torturous pleasure, the hot, mindless euphoria years ago, back before his memories began. Again, his instinct remembered what his mind could not.
Want. Need. Craving so sharp it razored through his gut, then his groin, in swift, brutal strokes.
For this woman? This Chosen female? He reared back in denial. No, never. He knew their kind; he despised her type. Cruel, cold, and condescending. Users, takers, never givers.
But he knew that was wrong. One of them hadn’t been that way. The one he’d loved. The one who’d accepted what he was enough to let him claim her. The one he’d lost.
He turned away, agitated by the feelings this foreign female stirred inside him, and growled, “Let’s go.”
She followed without a word. He would have believed she hadn’t noticed his reaction to her if she didn’t go out of her way to stay an arm’s length from him. He smiled ruefully.
Well, at least she wasn’t crying.
Jacques slid a glance at his passenger as he negotiated the narrow streets of the Quarter.
He’d expected her to peer down her dainty nose at the condition of his ride but she’d smiled at the sight of his slightly listing old Cadillac, raising her brows at the big dents on the roof and hood where metal had buckled under the impact of weights dropped from high above, his own being one of them. Even now, as she sat beside him, her fingertips caressed the leather dash and sent the chunky green, purple, and gold Mardi Gras beads hanging from his crooked rearview mirror swinging so that they glinted in the early morning sunlight. He tensed as if feeling that touch personally.
As he accelerated from a stop, the huge boat of a vehicle shuddered and coughed. “C’mon, Louise,” he muttered. “Don’t get temperamental just ’cuz we’ve got company.”
“Louise?”
He glanced at Susanna, then patted the steering wheel affectionately. “We’ve been together for over five years. My longest relationship with a female. Probably ’cuz she’s older, more reliable, and appreciates my attention.”
“Not like the younger, faster models who are all show and no go.”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
She flipped through the stack of cassette tapes strewn on the seat between them. “Hmmm. Muddy Waters, Metallica, and Mozart. An interesting cross section.”
“And those are just the M ’s.”
Jacques was still smiling slightly as he rounded the next corner and cozied up to the curb in front of MacCreedy’s building. He cut the engine and hopped out, trotting around the back of the vehicle to open the passenger door. She gazed up at him, vaguely surprised by the gesture.
“What? I have manners. Just choosy about when I use them.” He put down his hand and after a slight pause, she slipped hers into it, letting him lift her out of the low seat. When he opened his fingers to release her, hers traced over his palm and thumb.
“You have nice hands,” she mused in a tone as soothing as her touch. “Strong, warm, gentle.”
He jerked away, making a fist. “Don’t forget rough and thick-skinned.” Angry over how easily she unsettled him, Jacques reached through the open rear window to haul out her massive leather bag that doubled as purse and briefcase. “I think you can manage this from here.” He let it drop to the sidewalk, then was quick to put the width of the Caddy between them. He’d opened the door when she called his name.
“Jacques?”
He cast a fierce look her way, then found his gaze caught by hers.
“I’ll get that for you,” he quickly offered.
He moved closer, bending to pick up the bulky shoulder bag. She froze as he straightened, his arm grazing hers, his nose brushing past her hair for a deep inhalation.
Jacques’s senses swam with the perfume of her scent. Its seductive familiarity knotted him up into a hard ache of longing and desire he couldn’t begin to understand. But he knew it. He’d felt the strange, torturous pleasure, the hot, mindless euphoria years ago, back before his memories began. Again, his instinct remembered what his mind could not.
Want. Need. Craving so sharp it razored through his gut, then his groin, in swift, brutal strokes.
For this woman? This Chosen female? He reared back in denial. No, never. He knew their kind; he despised her type. Cruel, cold, and condescending. Users, takers, never givers.
But he knew that was wrong. One of them hadn’t been that way. The one he’d loved. The one who’d accepted what he was enough to let him claim her. The one he’d lost.
He turned away, agitated by the feelings this foreign female stirred inside him, and growled, “Let’s go.”
She followed without a word. He would have believed she hadn’t noticed his reaction to her if she didn’t go out of her way to stay an arm’s length from him. He smiled ruefully.
Well, at least she wasn’t crying.
Jacques slid a glance at his passenger as he negotiated the narrow streets of the Quarter.
He’d expected her to peer down her dainty nose at the condition of his ride but she’d smiled at the sight of his slightly listing old Cadillac, raising her brows at the big dents on the roof and hood where metal had buckled under the impact of weights dropped from high above, his own being one of them. Even now, as she sat beside him, her fingertips caressed the leather dash and sent the chunky green, purple, and gold Mardi Gras beads hanging from his crooked rearview mirror swinging so that they glinted in the early morning sunlight. He tensed as if feeling that touch personally.
As he accelerated from a stop, the huge boat of a vehicle shuddered and coughed. “C’mon, Louise,” he muttered. “Don’t get temperamental just ’cuz we’ve got company.”
“Louise?”
He glanced at Susanna, then patted the steering wheel affectionately. “We’ve been together for over five years. My longest relationship with a female. Probably ’cuz she’s older, more reliable, and appreciates my attention.”
“Not like the younger, faster models who are all show and no go.”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
She flipped through the stack of cassette tapes strewn on the seat between them. “Hmmm. Muddy Waters, Metallica, and Mozart. An interesting cross section.”
“And those are just the M ’s.”
Jacques was still smiling slightly as he rounded the next corner and cozied up to the curb in front of MacCreedy’s building. He cut the engine and hopped out, trotting around the back of the vehicle to open the passenger door. She gazed up at him, vaguely surprised by the gesture.
“What? I have manners. Just choosy about when I use them.” He put down his hand and after a slight pause, she slipped hers into it, letting him lift her out of the low seat. When he opened his fingers to release her, hers traced over his palm and thumb.
“You have nice hands,” she mused in a tone as soothing as her touch. “Strong, warm, gentle.”
He jerked away, making a fist. “Don’t forget rough and thick-skinned.” Angry over how easily she unsettled him, Jacques reached through the open rear window to haul out her massive leather bag that doubled as purse and briefcase. “I think you can manage this from here.” He let it drop to the sidewalk, then was quick to put the width of the Caddy between them. He’d opened the door when she called his name.
“Jacques?”
He cast a fierce look her way, then found his gaze caught by hers.
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